As I walked down the dimly-lit hallway, I heard loud music blaring from a
nearby room. I slowly opened the door and was greeted with a string of
obscenities accompanied with heavy guitars. My granddaughter was on her bed,
jumping around and rocking out to the music, which more or less made her
look like she was having a seizure. I cringed looking at the scary and
wild-looking men that graced the posters plastered on her walls.
"Hey! Zaria!" I yelled over the noise.
Zaria stopped and paused her stereo. "What is it?"
"How on earth can you like that?" I demanded with a frown and hands on hips.
Zaria grins. "Because they saved me!" With that, she resumed the music.
I smiled half-heartedly and knew she was referring to her suicide attempt a
couple years back. Her favorite band, Reapers, became and still was, her
obsession and life.
The air was chilly. Well, of course it would be, considering I was in the
damn attic. I was surprised that that old stair-ladder didn't bust once I
stepped on it.
"Lights," I said to the dark room. Immediately, fluorescent bulbs flickered
on. Ah, the wonders of technology. I scowled at the sudden brightness that
shone. I shuffled over to a corner where a lot of labelled boxes were
stacked.
Grandma. Ugh. I dont think I'll ever get used to that. I'm not that old!
Eighty isn't ancient. One hundred and twenty, maybe, but not eighty! It was
just yesterday when I was partying with my friends and getting drunk.
Now.. where was that freakin' box? I don't know why my son wanted me to go
up in the cold attic to get it. He could have done it himself. I found
myself sighing sadly. I supposed that he feels I'm depressed and that going
through old crap will lift my spirits. Yeah, right. After losing all my
immediate family years ago, seeing their faces will make me feel reeeeeal
happy.
I should have been thankful though. My adopted son and his family were kind
enough to take me in last year when my husband passed away. But that meant
uprooting me and dragging me to Canada. Considering they're the only people
I have now, I couldn't refuse.
Grandma - Photos c. 1995. I hurridely shoved that box aside and searched for
another. I didn't want to look at those pictures.
Well, now. What's this? Something that isn't written on. I reached out and
shimmied the box out from its tight spot. I brushed my hand over the top to
sweep away the dust and I easily peeled off the cracking, yellowed tape and
peered inside.
Instantly, my throat tightened and tears welled up in my eyes. "Oh, God.." I
whispered. It came out shakily as my body was racked with sobs.
I pull out an old long-sleeved shirt. I spread it on my lap and stroked it
tenderly as my tears splash onto it. A chill came over me when I traced my
finger over a slightly faded autograph under the embroidered ADIDAS logo on
the chest.
"Jon," I murmured, holding the shirt to my face. I inhaled deeply and could
still smell his scent. In my mind, I replayed the time I met him. I could
see his smiling, and sad face as he laughed, pulling off his sweaty shirt to
give to me.
Sniffling, I draped the shirt over my legs and delved deeper into the
cartoon. There, I found everything that I loved and what kept me sane for
decades. Korn.
Back in my bedroom, I plugged in the old - now primitive - CD player and
felt nostalgic as it hummed and buzzed on. A greeting of HELLO! flashed
across its small screen. I sat on the edge of my bed and fed a CD into the
stereo. The slot drew back in and in a few moments later, the music began.
The quiet, almost inaudible cymbal tapping trickles out of the speakers. I
closed my eyes and pictured myself sixty years ago, when I was only twenty,
at my first Korn concert. I watched them again, as they were scattered on
the enormous stage and I looked at them adoringly.
Now the guitars played. My fingers crawled up an imaginary fretboard and
plucked the invisible strings. The music grew louder, and louder, and
louder! I saw the sea of fans pumping up. Cheers. Whistles. Screams.
Jonathan held the microphone tightly in his hands. Together, we both
bellowed, "Are you ready?!"
I lost it. I became sucked into the song as I let myself move to the music,
reliving that vicious yet incredible night in the pit. I pratically felt
those other Korn freaks crashing into my sore sides and watching the band
play. It felt so wonderful, I really thought that for a moment I was
transported back in time.
"Granny?"
Being jolted out of my reminisce, I whirled around and saw Zaria standing in
the doorway. Her hands were on her hips and she had a look imitating my one
I gave her earlier. "Granny, what are you doing? How can you like that?"
I smiled fondly, sensing that lump forming in my throat again. I gazed at
Zaria with happy, teary eyes and softly answered, "Because they saved me."
Zaria's lips twitched into an acknowledging grin. She walked over to me and
sat down. For a few moments, she just sat and absorbed the song. "What is
this?"
"This is Blind. It's the first song off their first CD."
Zaria gave me an odd look. "Not the song, this thing." She gestured at the
CD player.
I laughed. "It's my old CD player."
"Oh. Huh. Interesting." She paused again. "You know, this is a pretty good
song."
I beamed at her. "Do you want to hear another?"
"Sure," she shrugged.
I skipped to the seventh track. "This is Shoots and Ladders."
She tilted her head a bit, straining to listen. "I don't hear anything."
"Wait.. Just wait." As the seconds counted off, the sweet chirping of the
bagpipes became more amplified. I watched Zaria as she listened to the
music. Different expressions crossed her face and I could tell she was
actually paying attention.
"I love it," she commented when it finished. "Play another, Granny."
I pondered for a moment. "Daddy. It is unbelievably sad, but it's amazing."
"What is it about?" Zaria questioned.
I put a finger to my lips. "Ssh."
Mo-o-other.. Please forgive me. I just had to get out all my pain and
suffering. Now that I am done, remember I will always love you. I'm your..
son.
Zaria raised an eyebrow at me but didn't say anything. She flopped onto the
bed, sprawling out on her stomach and listened intently to the song. I
looked away from her before Jonathan could belt out those painful lyrics. I
didn't want Zaria to see me cry.
As Jon belted out those last lyrics and launched himself into a sobbing fit,
I took a chance and peeked over at Zaria. She was staring at the floor,
tears streaming down her cheeks. I put my arm around her and she leaned into
my side as we wept with Jonathan.
"I don't think.." she started. "I don't think I've ever heard such a
powerful song, Granny."
"Me neither," I said.
Zaria stood up and grabbed a tissue, dabbing it at her eyes. She glanced
over at the large opened box on the floor. "Hey.. is this the rest of your
stuff?"
"Yep," I replied, joining her.
"What is this band's name anyway?"
"Korn," I grinned.
"Korn?" echoed Zaria. She giggled. "That's a dumb name if you ask me."
"That's what David said!"
"Who?"
"The drummer!" I pulled out a fat binder from the box. I momentarily held it
to my heart as I was about to look at the faces I had shut out and flipped
it open. Inside were pin-ups from magazines I had purchased years ago. I
skimmed through it, and chose a photograph of David from one of Circus's
last issues. "This.." I said, handing the binder to her, "..is David."
Progenies de Amator