The chemo lab is oddly relaxing. Two rows of chamois-colored recliners, a bustle of nurses, and several whirring pumps. If you stretch your imagination, the whirring noise of the pumps can masquerade as ocean waves.
Today, there are five occupied chairs. I’m in the last one, hooked up to one of the whirring pumps, across from two girls discussing hair loss. One girl has lost all her hair, down to her eyelashes, and this morning, wears a rhinestone-enhanced Harley-Davidson bandanna to cover her head. The girl across from me has her hair, but participated in a conversation about the possibility of wigs being available at no cost from the American Cancer Society.
I, myself, did not participate. I got my two wigs — one deep purple, one periwinkle, from Tiffany De Michele, on Etsy. I haven’t had much occasion to wear them, but my hair is decidedly thinner, and the texture coarse and frizzy. I am curious as to whether I will lose it all, but not really vested in the result: I have a deep purple wig, so I can cope with hair loss.
Because my mind is idle here in the chemo lab, my thoughts are wandering over to what has become my new favorite song. It came out in December of 2009, but I just heard it for the first time a week or two ago. It’s called “Many of Horror,” and is by a band called Biffy Clyro. They are big in the UK, and other parts of the world, and have already played Wembley, but obscure here in the US. All this, by way of explaining that my obscure, new favorite song is neither new nor obscure.
I cannot link to it at the moment, but you can look it up on YouTube if you’re curious.
You say I love you, boy
I know you lie
I trust you all the same
I don’t know why
The opening lines, sung in a little more than a whisper, drew me in, and suddenly, I had a new favorite song, a song that perfectly expressed my feelings about my relationship — former relationship — with the Captain, in full-blown teen angst.
But when my back is turned
My bruises shine
Our broken fairy tale
So hard to hide
Harriet (Spy notes, there’s a link to the right) said it reminded her of certain Peter Gabriel songs, and I agree. Were I trying to win the Captain, “Many of Horror” is the song I would choose to blast through a boombox held high above my head, as I stood outside his window in the early hours.
Our future is for
Many of horror.
What? I don’t know what that means, but those lines come with a great swell of music, and I find myself not caring about its ungrammatical nature. What’s our future for? Many of horror! Yeah, it’s pretty emo, but it beats putting on black jeans and bumming out to the Smiths.
You said love is letting us go
Guess what our future is for.
Many of horror.
I am Lloyd Dobler with his boombox. I am Little Pete from The Adventires of Pete and Pete, instantly in love with a song and madly tracking it down until he can play it himself on the electric guitar.
I dreamt last night of blue hyacinths, my favorite flower. I am determined to surround myself only with people and things that support and nourish me. Despite what the song says, my future is not for many of horror.
In other news, I ordered Stephen Colbert’s new, Jack White-produced 45 last night. Waiting for it to arrive reminds me of being a child, and eagerly awaiting the mailman’s visit, hoping he would bring my reward for sending in box tops, or soup can labels. It is a familiar feeling, but in this case, misguided: I do not own a record player.
No matter. I will eagerly await the arrival of the 45. Maybe listen to “Many of Horror” a few more times. I like having something to look forward to.