I can’t remember if the drive back from the Sarasota Medieval Festival was the first time I had heard Oasis. But I do remember sitting in the back seat of Mrs. Idelson’s car, staring down at my wax hand mold, hardened into the shape of a peace sign and crumbling at the base. And “Wonderwall” was playing.
I can’t remember if “1979” by The Smashing Pumpkins reminded me of my babysitter because she was born in 1979, or if she reminded me of the song because I had just listened to it on a cassette tape in her car. But I do remember staring up at the telephone lines as we rolled down the street towards my neighborhood, filing through all her other tapes in a large bin. “Kids in America” was written in green pen on one.
I can’t remember sneaking into Romeo + Juliet, or if we chickened out at the last minute. But I do remember buying The Cardigans’ First Band on the Moon album the day after I saw it, and bringing it into art class, we were making paper mache that week, and one boy named Jerry asked to sit next to me. “The only guy for me is Leonardo Dicaprio,” I responded.
I can’t remember why we called each other names on the basketball court at P.E. or stopped being friends, but I do remember singing “Killing Me Softly” by The Fugees in drama class before everything fell to pieces, while we sat in the entrance to the theater, on that cold floor, in Airwalks, plaid skirts and baby tees, in the land before time, as pre-teens, when we had grown up on backyard birthday parties, swimming pools, and jelly shoes, just before we all grew up, and I left.