I Only Listen To Modest Mouse When I'm In The Car

with my friends on the way to this wonderful place called the ____house. I hate Modest Mouse. I would never listen to any of their songs if it were only me. But my friends love them, so we used to listen to Modest Mouse a lot. Now, I just wish I had a Modest Mouse album so I could listen to it and remember those times. But it wouldn't really feel the same... This is one of those things that happens with others. I hate Modest Mouse. But I like listening to them when I'm in the big white Suburban with five other people around me, a sleeping bag on my knees, and a tub of cookie dough in a Kroger's bag stuck between my feet. Because then I know we're going over to the ____house for a sleepover. And those times are the best. The sun sets as we drive down what would be called __________ Road if it weren't called __________ Parkway. The gate that looks locked but really isn't. The long, dark, bumpy road with the trees, the cows, and the mud. And Modest Mouse singing, singing inside the car. This is what happiness is.

I listened to Rosanne Cash last night, and I suddenly found myself craving sauteed zucchini and colored rotini. When I lived in _____, we lived in a pretty little blue house we called "The Blue House". My dad was absolutely in love with Rosanne Cash and sauteed zucchini, and us children were in love with the multicolor rotini. Therefore, dinners tended to include all three when mom and her nutritious, balanced meals took the night off. When I hear Rosanne Cash, I hear the loud, xylophone-like cicadas screaming in the mesquite trees, I smell the heavy, heady, sweet Texas summer air, I see the multicolored plastic glasses on the large round table on the hardwood floor and the eternal Texas Christmas lights over the couch. I think of Dad making pancakes on Sunday mornings, of violin practice in the office, and gift-wrapping sessions behind the big bed in the boys' bedroom. It's been seven years since I last lived there. But every time I listen to Rosanne Cash, this is what I think of. This is what happiness is.

I saw a line of ants walking in a ray of sunshine, and I thought of the one memory I have never shared with anyone. I thought of a single second that seemed like forever six years ago. I thought of the reason why I fell in love. This is what happiness is.

I opened an envelope and I didn't recognize the handwriting. The second I saw what was inside, I remembered the first seven years of my life I can remember. It was both a birthday card and the collected memories of seven years of sharing every moment and secret and Wednesday afternoons spent at the park together. My first friend. My best friend. This is what happiness is.