Creative Non-Fiction..

...the class that sparked my return into blogging. Not really a return, per se, but a re-ignited interest. I'll post some work here, and maybe even continue after class is done. For now, sleep.

the prompt for this piece was "maps."

Transatlanticism

There's a lyric by Death Cab for Cutie that’s always fascinated me: "The Atlantic was born today, and I'll tell you how. The clouds above opened up, and let it out. I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere when the water filled every whole. And thousands upon thousands made an ocean making islands where no islands should go...oh, no! I need you so much closer!" The song, titled "Transatlanticism," continues to detail this epic creation as imagined by Ben Gibbard for a few minutes. Death Cab's talky-imagery at the opening reduces to a final plea: "I need you so much closer! I need you so much closer!", and a chorus joins in to invite: "So come on! Come on!"

The song is long, and always seems to induce a stupor as I listen at my computer. Where my desktop sits, I have a perfect view of the giant map on my wall (a transplant from my childhood room), whose bright colors and labels suggest a middle school geography class. I stare, placing myself in Manhattan, and imagine knowing neighbors in France who suddenly begin floating away as an ocean is created. In many songs, the relationship is complicated by a third party, difficult break up, even death. In this piece, Ben simply yearns for his friend to come back, the only blame he places is on the rain. “I need you so much closer, so come on!”

When I heard this song I was on a High School trip to Italy. I was with my Latin class, but my teacher and parents both knew: the only reason we went was to experience Europe before college so we wouldn't feel left out at college and, perhaps, to have our first legal drinks. I was equipped with a 1st generation iPod nearly as cumbersome as a walkman (funny how Steve Jobs' feverish inventiveness makes relatively new technology feel archaic), and dozens of playlists of new music. I downloaded Death Cab's Transatlanticism album just for the occasion. I thought it would be poetic to glide over the sea on my first trip off the continent to the tune of something Oceanic, Epic and a little emotional, as this was a vacation away from my then boyfriend, Alan, who had just returned from college for the summer. It's cheesy, but I find myself perpetually trying to create moments, perhaps after one-too many episodes of montage-happy shows like The OC and Six Feet Under, where something profound is understood to the tune of a thoughtful melody. Somehow, it always works. I had a lovely, thought-provoking flight across the map to our old neighbors in Europe.

That's the interesting thing about distance. It sucks because you're not together, but most things are the same where you've ventured. With an iPod, camera, and a nice blanket, we can take ourselves at any moment to a different place. I walked around Florence alone that vacation, accompanied only by my iPod and map, feeling independent but very comfortable, like there was nothing to be proud about. I mean, I had a map. When I got back, I made Alan a playlist of the music I'd listened to and showed him my pictures, and now I barely remember what it felt like to be that far from him.

I do remember the pain of the 3-hour drive and endless static between us when he was much closer on the map to me, mere counties away at college. Long distance conversations almost need a mediator their effect can be so numbing. But somehow, when provoked by a good hour of TV or, even better, the shared love or exchange of a new song, things feel like they're going to be okay.

The lyrics surprised me as I crossed the Atlantic, because gazing at my map I had never thought of the Ocean as a malicious thing. Ben's pain makes me study that blue expanse in disbelief. What the hell! How have we not conquered distance yet? Remembering countless mix CDs and a few emails with this in the subject line: "Download this...I love you," I wonder if we have, or if we've discovered an alternate solution. People say all the time that music transports us, but forget that it's just not out of daily life or away from stress. Sometimes it's more directional. Looking back, it's hard to remember whether I actually jumped in my car in the middle of the night to see him or if I just closed my eyes and went to bed. Either way, the playlist was the same.