Time Travel

Now, I'm the farthest you can get from being a scientist. I can barely call myself a biology student. And I'm sure there are many more educated people out there who can explain the dynamics of time travel, weigh the pros and cons, and probably provide you with an armful of nonfiction books about it.
But last night, while I was having trouble sleeping, I was scrolling through the artists on my iPod. I couldn't decide what to listen to, and sometimes that is when you find the perfect album. Except you don't know it right away, but once it starts playing, you realize how perfect it is that you chose that album.

Maybe all of that just happens to me.

But this is what happened last night, when I was at a loss of what to listen to, and settled for the James Blunt's Back to Bedlam.

Listening to him again is probably the closest to time travel I will ever get. That's the beauty of music, really. There's something so amazing about how a song can take you back to a moment, or a day, or a year, and it almost feels like you're there, reliving it. You almost wish you're there. That's why we hold on to songs for so long. Songs that people remember from decades ago are thought of today because of how great and impactful they were during that time period. The key phrase is "that time period." They will always be a tribute to what was happening at the time the song was recorded. When I was younger, I never understood what my parents or grandparents meant when they said, "Oh, that takes me back." Now, I think I understand, Maybe not to that extent, because it's not as if I'm reminiscing from 50 years ago. But still, it's the same feeling.

I bought James Blunt's album when I was in 8th grade, just because I swooned over that hit single, "You're Beautiful." This was before the days where I previewed all the songs on iTunes beforehand and double and triple checked to make sure I really wanted this album before buying it. This was when I still carried around that red CD player with the holes that were made to look like bubbles. And the headphones that went all the way over my head. Before everyone had those little buds you could sneak in your ear when class got boring or you just weren't too engaged in that conversation with your friend. This was before my parents bought me my first iPod. This album was the first imported into iTunes, I was in the FYE in the Milford Mall, and when my dad took the CD from me, he was concerned because it had a parental advisory sticker on the back. I told him that a man who sings "You're Beautiful" can't have too much of a potty mouth. (Ironically, that song ended up being the one where he dropped the F bomb and I practically dropped my jaw.)

It was winter when I really got into that album. I would sit in the downstairs room and play it on the big stereo while my dad was stuck shoveling snow in the driveway. I knew this because when I sat up against wall, I could make out his figure through the shades covering the window. At the time it made me feel rebellious to see my dad working when I didn't have to, but now I feel bad for even feeling like that. We had the crappiest computer that was buried deep in the corner of our basement. The only light came from a single lightbulb hanging from a chain. I had seen enough scary movies (AKA Goosebumps movies) to know that I should stay away. The furnace was down there too, which I had convinced myself for years was a monster that made strange noises when you got too close.

So I decided to use the old laptop. Which was equally crappy. But I was satisfied.

I would lounge there, on the floor, downstairs, with a crappy laptop and the old house phone (before I dropped it in the toilet) cradled between my ear and shoulder. That was when I was close friends with Jessie, and Nicole was all of a sudden mad at me, so it was just me and Jess. We badmouthed her most of the time, saying how stupid she was because I didn't do anything, and she was such a slut, and she needed to grow up and--

I still loved her as a best friend, but I was upset. That was the kind of attitude I had back in 8th grade, I thought that if I masked my feelings with something neutral, like anger, then they weren't there at all. That was when Jessie and I wrote a fanfiction that, not surprisingly, bashed Nicole. We called it Barbara and Walter because we were too scared to write Nicole and Dally as the document title.

That was when I held onto my 7th grade yearbook like it was a lifesaver, because Tyler was going to high school now, and that small square picture was all I had left.
That was when I still believed we would work out.
That was when pictures like these could be found all over my wall and screensaver:

That was when school was easy as hell, and I didn't have to worry about going to college or finding a job or picking my major. That was when my sister and I could still hang out. As stupid as it sounds, I miss living in that separate world I lived in when I was twelve, when I sat by the front door on the phone again, and giggled, saying, "I can't believe I talked to you until 2 AM last night! Oh my god!" I remember being sprawled on the couch downstairs, chewing on that ugly watch I wore every day, when Jessie asked, "Are you tired or something? You're slurring." And I laughed so loud I thought my parents were going to wake up. "No," I replied, still giggling. "I'm chewing my watch!"

That was forever our inside joke. "Hey Laura, are you tired or just chewing your watch?" "Wait, what? I didn't catch that. Were you chewing your watch again?" "You and that damn watch, Laura, really."

I fell asleep almost thinking I was twelve again, being stupid and carefree, and writing lame fanfictions.

The boyfriend I would never have because fictional characters are just that: fictional.

Waking up this morning as a fifteen year old sophomore, having to face my load of schoolwork and the looming future...it was just about the most depressing thing I've ever done.