A Sister's Picture Writing Prompt Challenge: "The 5 Stages of Music Grief"

***

"What do you mean, you don't know this song?!?!" the turtle squealed, throwing her hands up to her head, as the boy laughed and gently pinched her playfully between his fingers. "Everyone knows this song!"

It was ranked in the top 10 of the 100 greatest songs of the 1990's; it was the #1 song of the 50 top heartbreakers. It was a classic. The music video was iconic. Everyone knew that song. The turtle felt old, though she knew this boy was only a year younger than her. Surely the generation gap didn't split so cleanly between those born in 1986 and 1987?

"Are you absolutely sure you haven't heard this before? Like, positive?" The turtle refused to believe the boy's assertions that it was completely new to him. But the boy confirmed - the song was completely new to him. And though he'd never admit it to the suddenly emotionally unstable turtle, he personally couldn't see why this song could've ever been so highly lauded anyway. But the 90s were a strange time, he had always thought.

"Chels! Can you come here? I need you!!" the turtle cried, hoping she could blame this boy's significant deficit in music education on the obvious fact that he was a boy, and so might not know love and heartbreak songs like any girl naturally would. "Chels, you know this song, right??" The dulcet, synthesized opening notes of the song lulled out the speakers, and Chels' head tilted, in deep desire to recognize a tune she felt sure she'd know, as the turtle imploringly told her she would. A minute later, after the turtle suggested she wait for the chorus (slight desperation in her voice), Chels asked if there was a chorus to this song, and the turtle threw her hands up in the air. That WAS the chorus! She had missed it, and she didn't know the song. And this time, it could not be blamed on her gender. Perhaps it really did make a difference being born in 1987?

The boy pinched the turtle a little tighter, to keep the turtle from accidentally jumping out of his hands and plummeting to the very hard carpeted floor below. He made sure he had a good hold of her, as she squirmed and writhed between his thumb and forefinger, agonizing over her coworkers' seemingly naive and unfulfilling upbringing.

The turtle was, quite simply, dumbfounded.

Mouth slight agape from running out of words to express her shock, she thought through every movie soundtrack she could think of, every tv show she knew, every anything where this song might have been used. If she could give them something to work with, maybe they'd come around, and they all could be happy, playing this heart-wrenching song on repeat all afternoon.

Slightly defeated, she acknowledged it hadn't necessarily been connected to anything, really. It was a classic, but if you hadn't grown up watching MTV and VH1, perhaps you could've reasonably missed it. If you never listened to the radio, it might be understandable how you could've passed your life never hearing this song before. If you only stepped out into society at Christmas, when holiday songs rule the world and the airwaves, there's a chance you could've missed out on a key moment in popular culture. If you grew up under a rock, it would -----

But wait, that was the turtle's natural habitat - living under a rock! And yet she knew this song! She ate watched the music video on tv as she ate breakfast in the mornings, enraptured by the extreme close-up of the singer's face - silent tears streaming down the singer's cheeks near the end. She blasted it from her boombox in her bedroom, embracing all the emotions of heartbreak life experience hadn't taught her yet. She belted the words, like it was her job to sing the crap out of the song every time it came on.

For the fifth time that afternoon, she murmured, to no one in particular, "it's just...iconic."

Which left her with only one thought: she worked with some tragically musically-deprived young adults. Mere toddlers in musical experience and appreciation.

Emotionally exhausted, the turtle sent a quick note to her sister, explaining the situation. She needed consolation, understanding, a companion in shocked outrage. And her sister quickly offered that. Words of confusion and mortification came quickly. Followed by the same justifications on behalf of these coworkers that the turtle had recently come up with. And then a dejected recognition that some people just don't have the same musical repertoire that these turtles believed everyone should.

Acceptance was bitter, but cleansing. Sometimes a turtle has to roll with the punches, and she was determined to still appreciate her friends, despite their glaring shortcomings.

The turtle settled herself down, listened to her song one more time - privately, allowing herself a personal moment to breathe the music deeply into her soul without distraction - and then moved on to the next order of business.

About an hour later, another coworker - older and wiser than the others - came by, and the turtle, with one last, less impassioned appeal, asked him if he knew 'the song." He smiled and nodded, saying it was a great song, and the turtle smiled, so glad to be validated as the other boy shook his head at her. The turtle graciously thanked her new favorite coworker, who suddenly, with eyes closed, belted:

"NOTHING COMPARES TO UUUUUUUU!!"

The turtle threw her hands up in hallelujah and laughed, tears of happiness threatening to completely ruin the moment.

***

This story was based on actual events.


Writer's Acknowledgements:

My sister, Abby, had sent a picture to my email the other day, with a writing challenge connected to it. The challenge noted that this tiny turtle was giving a speech - to whom? Saying what? I was intrigued by the question, and both Abby and I couldn't deny the adorableness of this little guy.

So I accepted the challenge, taking the next couple of days to think about my subject and audience. I might be a decent speech writer. I don't have much practice at it, but I think my previous attempts at speeches have been alright. I tend to get sentimental and perhaps sway toward cheesy inspirational comments, but all in all, I'd say I could write a speech just fine.

But all I could think of was to riff off of "My Fellow Americans" or something, and I just couldn't do it - it seemed too obvious. Too cliche. To "meh." And nothing else was really coming to mind.

But then a memory of an afternoon at work from a week or so ago came to mind, and all I wanted to do was write a {very} short story. Based on my life experiences. So I did. Hope that's okay, Abby.

I decided part of the theme, which was perhaps not obvious, but was there, was to use the 5 stages of grief, kind of. If you dig deep enough, you can see all 5 stages, according to the theory that we go through these 5 stages. Perhaps we don't really experience them, but it's so ingrained in us to think we do, that it seemed like a good theme to incorporate. I dunno, maybe it's more obvious to the reader than I think. I started to think about acknowledging it later in the story, so it might show up more near the end. Anyway, I won't force you to read this in a certain way - just enjoy the story. Nobody's making you write a thesis paper on it anyway {yet}.

When all is said and done, I'd like to acknowledge Abby for allowing me the opportunity to share this personal experience in narrative, fictional form, and for introducing me to my new favorite turtle friend. I hope you smile at little Squirt as much as I do :).


THE END.