I never recovered. Music was distilled and crystallized emotion. As I matured, my taste in music became slightly more discerning and I gave my love less lightly. I grew to love Motown, learned to idolize the Beatles and found great joy in the popular music of my generation. There were undoubtedly many infatuations I've forgotten but I still cherish the rare moments of instant conviction. Such an instance occurred, again in a car, again on a bridge, as I rode with friends into Chicopee Falls. The fluty introductory notes of a Mellotron unfolded from the car radio, a shuffling drum intro stumbled out and an earnest voice sang:
"Let me take you down 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields Nothing is real And nothing to get hung about. Strawberry Fields forever . . ."
A complex melancholy surged and caught as a lump in my throat. I had no idea what Strawberry Fields meant but I was ready to go. Surely this was the most profound resonance with my soul that I had ever felt! I loved John as deeply for that song as I had ever imagined that I could love a girl. | ||
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