Everything in My Heart

Everything in My Heart

Time travel, it is indeed possible. Perhaps not courtesy of a plutonium-powered DeLorean, quantum mechanics or wormholes but the simplest act of turning on the radio, adjusting your FM dial. Music is an instant time machine; I know this to be true. For example, every time I hear Corey Hart’s ‘Never Surrender’, I am instantly transported back in time, to a warm sunny day in the mid-eighties, one I spent with my Rock Star Brother.

It should be noted, that as a dumpy young girl, I idolized the padded-shoulder blazer off my Rock Star Brother, convinced he’d walked straight out of the pages of 16 Magazine instead of being born of our Mother’s loins. In my day-dreamy phase/haze, he was just as famous as Ah-Ha and my favorites, Duran Duran.

One fortuitous afternoon (for me anyway), my Rock Star Brother pulled into our newly paved driveway where moments before I’d wiped out hard on my friend’s BMX bike. My Mother was chuffed, tending my scraped knee with a bloody tissue and rubbing alcohol. “You have a perfectly nice bicycle with a banana seat and those tassels you wanted, why do you have to go racing around on Allan’s bike?” I lied and told her the banana seat hurt my ho-ha. The truth was, my pal Allan’s bike was faster, easier to fly over a make-shift ramp and didn’t make me look like a wuss. I had plenty of image problems as a blob and his bike boosted my self-esteem. It’s true, I did ask for the pastel tassels. I thought I wanted a banana seat until I took a rip on a BMX. My Mother, at her wits end with me, pawned me off on my Rock Star Brother. He protested at first, just a little, citing very important band errands as the reason I wouldn’t be able to tag along.  I stood there between them, short and stout, I shrugged and started off with my bad knee back out the side door, dejected. If I’m being honest, part of me was profoundly crushed. My Other Big Brother had always refused to take me to the races with him despite my begging to go. It didn’t feel unusual to be told no but it twisted up my heart like a pretzel all the same. Another part of me was relieved. My Rock Star Brother was a larger than life figure. I was in complete awe of him and that made me somewhat shy which I’m sure came off as standoffish back then. God only knows. I was always mum around him because I was at a loss for words in the presence of his abundant coolness. I never wanted him to think I was a big dough head. Even though I was.

I can’t tell you why he changed his mind, but he hung out of the side door and called to me as I was about to climb back on the BMX for further injury. “If you’re coming with me, go get ready!” He startled me. I stood there, wide-eyed, like an imbecile, staring at him, the bike leaning toward the asphalt almost fell out of my hand. There was a long awkward pause. I clued in eventually that I was going to be heading out with my Rock Star Brother to do very important band errands. “Well, are you coming?” I dropped that bike quicker than a hot potato and ran like a bat out of hell in the house to tidy frumpy self.

I brushed my dark feral mullet, then my teeth, checked for whiteheads on my chin in the mirror, changed from stretchy shorts to stretchy pants, pulled a stiff white cotton t-shirt over my head that made me look like a saltine cracker box, square and blunt. Those were the days of training bras and I was borderline mortified that the only t-shirt I had clean that fit, aka covered my chub, also revealed the seams of what my Way Cooler Big Sister jokingly referred to as an over the shoulder boulder holder. It took me two point five seconds to get ready and another two point five to muster the courage to open the bathroom door, leave the house and go with him. I was terrified of making a fool of myself. I wanted him to think I was at least marginally cool enough to tote around for his very important band errands.

With the sun shining and my heart in my mouth, I climbed in the gold Pontiac station wagon, better known as the band wagon, settled myself on the front bench seat, clicked my seat belt secure and took a deep breath. It should be noted that I was smiling like a brute. All the windows were already rolled down so when we started out the earnest wind whirled through the vehicle while a lone microphone stand clunked and rolled around in the empty back. I found myself squinting as we made our way into town from Cow Bay. He told me to reach into the glove compartment and see if a spare set of sunglasses might be inside. I was in luck. I pushed the too-big frames on my face and suddenly I was a rock star too.

We came to a full stop at traffic lights and that’s when he switched the radio on. He manually checked all the stations unsatisfied with what he heard. He ducked into the mall and left the car humming, I waited for him still buckled into the bench seat daring my feet to hit the filthy floor; Rock Star Brother came out after what felt like eons, with a record store bag. I vetoed his Rush purchase on the spot but was agreeable to the Corey Hart cassette. While he drove, I ripped the cellophane from around the clear plastic case, squeaky at its hinges, inhaling the fresh scent of the glossy liner notes, and popped the tape into the deck.

Rock Star Brother drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel through the first few upbeat tracks, primarily built on jangly synthesizers layered with surly vocals. But, a few songs into the tape lived a soaring power ballad called ‘Never Surrender’, its lyrics suffused with the positive message to self-empower. I didn’t know that then, but it served as the perfect soundtrack to rolling around the city doing very important band errands with a very important person. While Corey Hart crooned with a little perseverance you can get things done/without the blind adherence that has conquered some, I rested my chin on the car door and watched houses and streets and beautifully manicured lawns roll by, the sting of the hot sun on my face, a warm breeze through my stupid hair, and my Rock Star Brother’s familiar voice singing with the radio.

We stopped at a random house. Random to me anyway. I sat vigil with Corey Hart while Rock Star brother dropped things off. Once he made is way through the front door, I re-wound the song and sang clumsily along. The next place we landed was Music Stop. While he was in there doing God knows what, bartering, paying, begging, or borrowing, I re-wound the song and listened to it again. If he noticed he never mentioned it. Rock Star Brother hurled a heavy amplifier into the back of the Pontiac and then handed me two oranges. “Peel these for us while I drive, wha’?” I dug into the thick skin of the citrus and removed it in one long piece. I gave the first one to him, evenly halved on a super suspect McDonald’s napkin from the glove compartment I spied when I dug out the glasses. He set it in his lap and popped the wedges in his mouth as he drove. I peeled mine and wondered how the holy heck he managed to get oranges at a music store. I was too nervous to ask. I chewed on the orange slices nervously, worried that my acne would explode. They didn’t call me pizza face for nothing. I envied my Rock Star Brother, his perfectly tanned cheekbones, his dirty blonde tresses, his pale colored eyes; not to mention his natural ability to carry a tune and play a guitar. Beauty and the Beast rollin’ and I was not the Beauty in the tableau. I never did quite catch up to his loveliness. Or his coolness. Always a little worried I wasn’t worthy. I certainly didn’t feel worthy doing very important band errands, but I did feel lucky to be along for the ride with him.

There was a bit of distance between Music Stop and our next destination. I rewound the tape so many times I didn’t realize there was another soaring power ballad, ‘Everything in My Heart’. Somehow, he knew every single word and sang them beautifully, even better in my humble opinion, then Corey Hart himself. I sat with my little adolescent heart swelling under my stiff cotton t-shirt, my eyes like moons, listening, desperately wanting to chime in. At that moment, and on many occasions after, everything in my heart, beat for my Rock Star Brother, beat with love and pride and admiration.

We had one last stop to make that day. My Rock Star Brother had to pick up his Lead Singer. All six foot million of him folded in half to squeeze himself into the back seat. Compared to the sleekness of our driver, Lead Singer looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed. It was after three in the afternoon. “Man, I just woke up! Let’s rock ‘n’ roll!” He tapped his hands quickly on the back of the bench seat, playfully tousled my mullet and growled, “Hey little sister what have you done …” I blushed ten shades of red.

Rock Star Brother and Lead Singer disappeared into the basement when we got back to Cow Bay. Eventually, the other band members arrived, and band practice commenced. Unbeknownst to my chauffeur, I snuck back out to the station wagon, ejected the tape from the car stereo, put it right into my Walkman Father Mine had just bought me. I rewound and fast-forwarded to listen to those two soaring power ballads a thousand times over stole away in my room. I listened to every note and nuance and recalled every second, I spent with my Rock Star Brother doing very important band errands.

My Mother came to call me for supper and asked me how my day had been. I told her it was the best day of my life. I’ve had so many amazing days with my Rock Start Brother since, but I don’t think he ever knew just how much spending any time at all together meant. Perhaps he still doesn’t. I hope he does.

With a little perseverance you can get things done …

***

A wee piece of creative non-fiction about my Rock Star Brother.

I love you.

In propinquity,

Nic