You know about music, enough to make it with your little sing songs anyway. But do any of us really know music? It had lived a life, and in the end, that’s all anyone can ever hope for. Formative and other moments be as follows:
September 2, 1914 – The day the music lost its first tooth.
January 30, 1930 – The day the music had a hangover and didn’t get out of bed until noon but at least there was some poutine left on the side table from the night before. And some water too. Drunk music always looks out for hungover music. Somehow music didn’t even have to pee. It hoped that didn’t mean it peed the bed. Everything felt dry enough and turned out okay.
August 11, 1941 – The day the music lost its keys and was late picking its kids up from its ex’s place. Music looked everywhere for them – its pockets from the pants it wore the day before, its coat, the kitchen table. It did laundry so it’s possible the keys are in the basement in the dryer, but it likely would have noticed them during the transfer from the washing machine.
February 3, 1959 – The day the music died.
February 8, 1959 – The day the music’s funeral took place, a lovely service down at St. Michael’s. The turnout surpassed music’s family’s expectations. It was clear that music had meant a lot to a lot of people, but no amount of crying was going to bring it back.
November 13, 1977 – The day the music’s grave was robbed. The offender had heard stories and believed that inside the coffin was an amount of gold that music wanted to be buried with, but it turned out he was too late. The preacher overseeing the service in 1959 had had significant gambling debts and removed any valuables before the casket was lowered into the ground.