Music never ceases to astound me. The way it can take a time and place and hold it hostage in it’s melody is pure magic. This is one of those songs that the moment I hear it I am transported to the months of July through September, after the album “Folklore” came out. I was working my way, track by track, obsessing over each one until every song was burned into my brain. This is still my all-time favorite Taylor album by a long shot. It has all of the best lyrics and the music is so entrancing. It’s almost as if she was weaving a sort of fairy-tale.
“August” in particular transports me to a naive innocence in my life; the prologue to Charlie’s diagnosis.
Much like how this album came unexpectedly into my life, Tony did the same into our lives. Little did we know that he would become a permanent fixture. He was a bright spot in the chaos of the covid pandemic. He broke up the monotony we had become accustomed. Because of him, Charlie started playing Magic the Gathering with me. Tony introduced all of us into the Commander format. Granted it was a format I was unfamiliar with at the time, but it would immediately become one I would forever prefer over standard.
The music recalls the joy of hanging out and laughing in our hot tub, drinking liquor heavy beverages, and talking about all of the dumb shit in our lives. After a long soak we would retire to the living room where we would play “beat saber” on Tony’s playstation or watch a movie. Then, still drunk, we’d all climb into bed and fall asleep. Charlie nestled safely in between Tony and I; a little glimpse into the future.
It was the calm before the building storm. Accompanied by a lingering anxiety that can’t be placed.
Charlie was officially diagnosed at the end of September, the day before he was meant to have a face lift in Tijuana. The entire drive down, both of us were filled with this immense anxiety that we could not quite place. For me, it ate away at my gut. I could just feel something bad waited for me. I thought it was from leaving him in Mexico for a week, by himself. I never could have imagined that it would be his diagnosis.
We had driven down the day before his scheduled procedure, crossed over the border on foot, and got picked up by the driver for the clinic for his pre-op consultation. (It should be noted that to make the anxiety of meeting this stranger even more harrowing Charlie’s foot caught on the sidewalk and he landed chest first into the pavement. I could have unraveled at the seams.) After we paid the $1,000 deposit we went back to the hotel to unwind. It was there, while scrolling his e-mails and watching a television program in English, between Spanish commercials, that he got a new message in his patient portal.
Both of us broke down into tears researching his new ALS reality. Ultimately he would lose all interest in having a face lift (“what is the point,” he had said) and, counting the $1K deposit as a loss, we both just wanted to go back home. Not even 12 hours later we were driving back, overwhelmed with the truth.
It’s weird how that day feels like eons ago while simultaneously feeling as if it was just yesterday. So much happened in between then and now, as life tends to do, that it all feels like a blur. I sometimes wonder if I want to remember these moments, especially if all they do is bring me down.
But there was a brief moment before all of that, where it was surreal bliss.
I wish I could go back to that time, before the e-mail. I would savor every second of the “not knowing” and “not worrying.” I would treasure finally getting my husband to play a trading card game with me, after 15 years together. I would just enjoy the ignorance for as long as I could.