That song

But it did come to an end. A thrashing, broken end. Isn’t it interesting that hearing the song, that song, conjured up those two memories.

In one, I’m carefree, enveloped in friendship’s accepting embrace. I’m lost in the beat and I can still hear the background chatter – peals of laughter, the crackling bonfire, and waves lapping on the beach.

And the other? I’m hearing the melody coming from the hospital’s common room, echoed down the cold, sterile walls of the hallway. There is laughter here, too. But this time it’s crazed laughter drawn forth from madness. I never thought I’d get used to that laughter. But, I guess you can get used to anything if it happens often enough.

Ten years later, hearing a song transported me back in an instant. First to the beach. Then, to the hospital. No sooner than I started reminiscing about the time spent in those therapy sessions, something pulls be back to reality.

“Time for your meds, Dear.”

And the song, that song, continues to echo down the hall.

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