“When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful” I sang softly to myself. But apparently not softly enough.
My sister, who I share a bedroom with, asked, “What are you doing now? Singing your trash music? You know Carol will get annoyed and make Dad mad if she finds out you’re still listening to that stuff.”
“I am not singing ‘trash music’!” I yelled.
“Well, what were you singing?” she asked.
“Nothing.” I sighed, admitting defeat. That was the last, but not first, time I sang that song around her, or the rest of my family for that matter. But it wasn’t nothing. It is basically my life. Not that my life is horrible now. Mostly, it’s fine. Maybe blame my faulty memory, but all the memories I have from when I was little were good. Wonderful. And this isn’t sarcastic.
Since 8th grade, I’ve been going to a boarding school. Right now I’m just finishing up summer break, and then I’ll go back. I’ve begged for years to not be sent away. But I took an immediate, and rather strong dislike of Carol when I first met her, during a flower inner health and happiness workshop Dad took me and my sister to during 7th grade. My dad claimed it wasn’t that he valued Carol over me, it was just that he could send me away for over half the year and still have and love me, and that wouldn’t quite work with Carol. So I cried and screamed and begged and pleaded and blackmailed and bribed, but nothing worked. So, I get to be in another state than my family for long periods of time! Fun! (That is sarcastic.)
That was when The Logical Song became my favorite. I was online, listening to Song Dora, half listening, until I heard the line, “But then they sent me away, to teach me how to be sensible, logical, oh, responsible, practical”. It seemed to reflect my recent life. They had sent me away to separate me from Carol, but when I came back that summer, they had seemed to expect me to have acted by their definitions of the above words. They were very disappointed.
Meanwhile my oh so respectful sister gets to stay home. She hates Carol too, at least she does around me, but not with the same violent, vengeful, blood-churning passion that I do. She didn’t yell at Carol, prank her, try to murder her (That was a false allegation. I was merely trying to cut her hair. But she and Dad overreacted. I spent months with some kind of therapist.), or use her wind chimes as pinatas. I offered her in, but she turned me down. Does she not see the same evil, invading demon I do?
This was when my sister found out about my new favorite song, in the genre we had long known Carol, and by extension, Dad, thought was garbage. I was trying to convince her to join in some of my endeavors, and quoted this lyric to her. “Won’t you sign up your name, we’d like to feel you’re acceptable, respectable, presentable, a vegetable. This is what Carol is trying to do to us. Trying to get us on her side.” I don’t know what I’m going to do about Carol. I think about it all the time. When I’m at school, lying in bed, and there’s no one else awake to hear me, I sing softly to myself, “There are times, when all the world’s asleep, the questions run too deep, for such a simple mind.”