Teenage angst you ask? Dating the tall, dark, sexy skater boy with long curly hair and a six-pack, whom your mother absolutely loathed. That was my teenage angst. Because of him, I grew an everlasting love for a specific band called Misfits. The song Saturday Night was our favorite song. One that he would sing, loudly into my ear as we laid wrapped in each other's arms on my family sofa. And which is now part of my everyday playlist.
Teenage angst you ask? Blazing killer weed with my cousin before school blasting Bone Thugs and Harmony's- Weed Heads, as we hotboxed Stevens multi- colored Camaro. I'd close my eyes, lean back on my seat, and exhale the smoke that drew out the stress and anxiety caused by living in a broken home with an alcoholic mother.
Teenage angst you ask? Drinking an MD/2020 at a house party where my best friend's brother's band is playing. And as the singer belches out the lyrics of Weezer's-The Sweater song and my best friend's brother slams on the guitar and he stares at me, lusting over me, never breaking eye contact with me through the entire duration of the song.
Teenage angst you ask? Running to the stage, screaming along with the lyrics of the Misfits-Halloween as my three best friends rocked out on stage at our high school battle of the bands, the rest of the crowd following my lead to the stage. I held up my cellphone so my sister who couldn't make it could hear.
Teenage angst you ask? Jamming to Rush's-Limelight as my cousin ironed my hair with an iron, after my mother asked me not to do it, and layering the black eyeliner in, and around my eyes. So much so that a kid named Alex would tell me that if I touched something it'll turn black and melt into ash.
Teenage angst you ask? One of the boys, whom every girl wanted, except me, singing his heart out to Rick Sprinfields-Jessies Girl because he was jealous of my then-boyfriend, Jesse. Embarrassing me in front of our whole history class.
Teenage angst you ask? My cousin and I steal my mother's car at 1 o'clock in the morning drinking Smirnoff and blasting, on repeat, Eddie Money's- Take Me Home Tonight on the radio. The night breeze, my favorite kind of breeze, flying into the car as we scream the lyrics. Our voices hoarse the following day.
Teenage angst you ask? Laying in bed at night, dizzy from drinking Modelo with the boys next door, listening to INXS's-Never Tear us Apart, as I listen to my mom and her boyfriend, in a drunken rage, beat the living shit out of each other. And disappearing into the lyrics of the song.
Teenage angst you ask? Begging my best friend's step-mom to drive him and me to the Engine Room to see the Misfits, live in concert, popping our concert cherries.
Teenage angst you ask? My best friend laying on my chest as we cry along to the lyrics of The Postal Service's-Nothing Better, and she explains to me how Dominick broke her heart by sleeping with another girl behind her back.
As I write this and try to unblock some of the forgotten memories of my youth, the melancholy of it all, brings tears to my eyes. The music of my youth, shaped and molded me into the adult and mother that I am now. Without the music of my youth, I'm not quite sure I'd still be here today. The music of my youth healed my soul and gave me the strength to continue and climb out of the pool of loneliness and despair I swam in for so long. To say that music heals is a gross understatement. Music can give life when there is none.
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