You had a no play list. It made sense. Songs that reminded you of [her] weren’t allowed into your ears. If I added something to the YouTube list, you’d reference your running list. Wish your site was still around. A different post for a different day.
This week I realized a whole band – one I’ve loved since their inception – might be headed in that direction. How do I separate memories? The poster I’ve had, the one that he has, came off the wall. Now it’s sitting in a corner. How the fuck do I separate the memories.
The word compartmentalization has been stuck in my head for a week. Is it a good thing to heavily separate people you think you care about from those who become important to you? I don’t have an answer to that question. What I do know is this: I don’t know how to compartmentalize.
I have good memories of Toad The Wet Sprocket’s 2011 show in Burlington, VT. I went with my youngest sister. My friend was touring with the band during that time, too. Among other things, he was their merch manager. In exchange for mailing a handful of posters back to Santa Barbara for the band, he gave me the one I just took off the wall. It’s a good story and an even better memory.
Fast forward a few years to the summer of 2014. I spontaneously decide to go to see TTWS at a tiny venue in rural Connecticut during a pretty heavy thunderstorm. (Pre-pandemic I had a habit of going to see concerts alone.) The short version of the story is that the storm that had soaked me on my way into the venue also took out the electricity in the middle of the show. No generator. No light except for some devices glowing and a few candles. The band – gotta love Glen Phillips belting out Finally Fading – kept playing. It was a special night.
Before the storm killed the power, I’d been writing down the set list. You asked what I was writing. I asked if you had the new album. The exchange started a six plus year relationship. Not too long after that I visited your place and saw your copy of the same poster. The one I just took off my wall. Until last week, my framed version of the poster was one of the few material things with sentimental meaning in my current home.
Now? It reminds me of you. The whole fucking band reminds me of you. Was it all a lie? It feels that way. You lied to get my contact information that night. Something I figured out later by asking.
But back to the poster. How do I compartmentalize? I still love it. But I loved you too and when I look at it, all that – the crap I don’t have room for – swirls around and it doesn’t feel good. The space on the wall is empty which is appropriate. And the band? They might end up relegated to a no play list.