In Biography

When I was little, I wanted to be a singer. I loved the way words curled around my tongue and filled my mouth with emotions. In some cases, my first taste of an emotion was through song, rather than experience. I loved listening to my Dad sing. He would stop working and focused completely on the song. His deep voice filled a room or the car and his eyes softened, as if taking on this other persona for 2 1/2 minutes meant he got to be himself. He was fully open when he sang. I imagine he was the same when making arguments in court.

One year, I got a tape recorder for Christmas. I hurried to my playroom, aptly called the middle room because it was between my sister’s room and mine. I used two hands to press down the record and play buttons. I sang into that recorder with all my heart. And then sat, horrified, as I listened to the playback. Surely that wasn’t really my voice–that flat and tinny pancake voice sounded nothing like the tones in my head. I sat on that wood floor, the future applause dying, the stage lights disappearing, the divine costumes pooling around me. Sweet famous singer me, her imaginary headstone–a plastic tape recorder.

 

Recent Posts
Comments
  • alicia
    Reply

    wow – palpable, relatable , wow

Leave a Comment

Contact Us

We're not around right now. But you can send us an email and we'll get back to you, asap.

Not readable? Change text. captcha txt