Staring at the Carpet

One Saturday in 1993 or 1994, I sat on my friend’s living room floor, lost in a world of thought. I’ve always been a thinker, content to entertain myself with the ideas in my head. The look on my face must have reflected my thoughts. No doubt, I was considering some problems I had with people at school and issues at home.

It was a difficult year, and I spent a good deal of time wrapped up with the challenges I faced and my own wishes to merely be a regular high school student. My friends were applying to college while I was trying to find a way to help my parents keep their house. On top of everything, I kept odd hours, often staying out until the wee hours of the morning. This took its toll on my appearance, and I walked around with sunken eyes and ghostly pallor.

That's how I ended up at friend's house. I glided through each day in a fog and tended to wander here and there. I sum up most of my time during the period as just existing. It was about all I could hope for under the pressure. 

My friend watched me stare into the carpet, and he picked up his guitar. He started singing, “Alison, I know this world is killing you.” I didn’t know at the time that this was a “real” song. I thought he was just singing off the top of his head for me. (My first name is Allison.) But I sat there and cried, feeling the weight of my life in that moment. By the end, my load was a little lighter and I could actually smile.

A few years later I found out that this was a “real” song. The lyrics don't really match up with what was going on at the time, but I still have trouble making it to the end of the song without tearing up because that one line did fit exactly how I felt then. I guess that's what I love about any type of art; you can find one piece that resonates with you and just cling to it.