Old Music

Before the girl got married to the salesman she always loved music. Nothing underground; the mainstream goodies. She always loved to get high and listen to Sgt. Peppers, and she didn’t care if it was cliché because it felt good. She went to hundreds of concerts over the summers at the shore. After the concerts her and her best friend Shirlie would go sit on the docks and sing through the set list song by song as the kicked up moonlit baywater.

When she met her future husband, the salesman, he was in to music too. The girl knew it was perfect. Another set of legs at the dock. Even though he sang “I’m a believer” as loud as the two girls, Shirlie wasn’t a believer. Shirlie could tell that he had found that which was dearest to her friend, her love of music, and that he would exploit her trust using it.
Years later, the girl, now a woman, and the salesman, still a salesman, sit at dinner with their two teenage children in silence.
“What kind of music did you listen to when you were our age, mom?” interrupts the youngest girl, Lindsay.
The woman glances at her husband, shrugging.
“Well I guess whatever was on the radio. Nothing special.”
“Dad?”
“Always been a Baroque Man myself. The Classics kids, learn ‘em.”
Once the dog died and the kids were older and moved out, the woman spent a lot of time at home, wondering why she was so unhappy and knitting scarves.
One particular day, there were two men, about her age at the house to retile her bathroom. She sat in the living room facing the bathroom, knitting, so she could make sure they weren’t up to any trouble. One pulled out a small radio and plugged it in, arranging the antenna to face the window.
“You care what kinda music we play?” he asked as he scanned through the stations.
“Oh, well, I don’t know” she stuttered.
He arrived at an oldies station, “Fixing A Hole,” is playing. “This o—“
“WAIT” the woman gasped, dropping her maroon and beige scarf to the floor.
“Huh?”
She paused, chest heaving for air.
“106.7. The Classics Station. Now”