La Vie En Rose (Seeing Life through Rose Coloured Glasses)~

Bruce Springsteen always united Ami and me. First there was Dancing in the Dark and then this. Today I stuck a tape in the CD player, which in itself is a visit down memory lane in this digital-infested world, and hearing the song felt the strongest urge to fall in a puddle and get a hearty weeping. How did she do it? That gentle swaying between the feet like a footballer getting the blood flowing to those knotty nerves, while she clicked away on the fingers, head rolled down at an angle and eyes closed. I recall that she always tried to pull me in tango style into the dance but I was too self conscious to let my self go. And then she would grin, goofy style (my mother, she would grin goofy style) and sing the lyrics out of tune and often wrong.
And today as the song blared at an obscenely high volume and I looked out the curtain-less window onto an unusually darkened, somewhat melancholy back yard, was reminded of all the missed times when I didn’t dance.

Some bugger sang it right:
“I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance

(I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance. Never settle for the path of least resistance. Living might mean taking chances, but they're worth taking. Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth making Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter. When you come close to selling out reconsider.)

So today, to not miss that chance, here I stand softly humming, gentle swaying between the feet like a footballer getting the blood flowing to my knotty nerves, while clicking away on the fingers, head rolled down at an angle and eyes closed. Somewhere in the back of my mind I conjure up a room with silly girl pictures, a pink sofa centre stage, books all over, while an old technics tape recorder sings:

“Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go away and leave you all alone
I got a bad desire
Hey, I’m on fire
Tell me now baby is he good to you
Can he do to you the things that I do
I can take you higher
Oh, I’m on fire

Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife baby
Edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley
Through the middle of my soul
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the middle of my head
Only you can cool my desire
Oh, I’m on fire.”