This One's a Jem (DMV Part 5)

The efficiency with which Lily disposed of her dad’s possessions was admirable. Yet at the same time, she absolutely knew what to keep; she was efficient but not indiscriminate. In addition to his car, and lots of memorabilia, she kept all of his t-shirts, the smell of which will move her to tears. 

His very well chosen, somewhat highbrow cds got a good price at the used cd store. The day after selling a big box of them, we found yet more, and Lily wanted to sell that second box immediately.  There is not a huge commonality of musical taste among the three of us; it was easier to find a movie we could all enjoy than a cd we could all listen to. Nevertheless, Barrett would offer me music; I’d accept his cd and give it back a month later saying I’d never had a chance to listen to it. I try not to believe that this kind of stuff, stuff I did and said, and the way I steadfastly refused to like his ideas, contributed to his death. Though it certainly didn’t contribute to his life.

JEM was a cd of Barrett’s that I kind of liked--I mean there was a cd by someone named Jem, and I liked one track, “They,” a very minimalist and ironic song. I never actually told him that I liked it; I only heard it because it was on Lily’s iPod, not because I had listened to Barrett’s cd, which I had returned to him without opening. Only later, hearing the Jem song on Lily’s iPod, did I find it compelling. I could see why he thought I'd like it. Lily says it was only on there because her dad had insisted she put a few songs on her iPod that he liked. (Good thing we never took driving vacations.)

So anyway, we sell all Barrett’s cds, including JEM, find another whole box the next day, and Lily asks if, that very second, we can head back to the cd store and sell this newly found box. I don't want to, even though I envy her lack of procrastination. It’s out of the way and inconvenient--the used CD store in Evanston that she and her dad frequented. And this is something I’d normally say no to, but just days into having a child without a dad, I was willing to do a few inconvenient things if they would make her feel somehow better, or more empowered. Sigh.

So we go. We park. And we hoist the box of sellable CDs out of the trunk. I open the door for her while she carries them into the used CD store.

We look at each other and say a silent NO WAY.

Because yes. They are playing our song. The one song. The only song Barrett had ever introduced me to that I LIKED. Of all the cds they could choose. Of all the songs that could be playing from that cd when we walk in. From the box we sold them the night before. The synchronicity was staggering.

“I’m sorry, so sorry

I’m sorry it’s like this…

I’m sorry, so sorry

I’m sorry we do this”

 ~Jem, “They”

GO TO PART 6