The Banjo Stole My Soul

There is no magic left in this world, it was taken with his hands and I watched him as he sucked away everything I’d ever cared for. He took my depths and added them to his own. I can neither love nor hate, my capacity has been taken and I know it somehow ended up in those old gray eyes.

When I saw him first, I was eight and he was impossibly old: forty two. I was in the basement of the library alongside eight other children who had absolutely nowhere to be on a summer morning. The other adult seemed more interested than we were, he held a very good poker face.

He sang old folk standards and terrible new children’s songs. Surely, we were not to high brow for this but we were uninterested. As he butchered and censored Greenback Dollar, something went wrong in me. Little by little, I realized I wanted nothing. As I was poor, I thought it a boon. I waved goodbye to my cares as his strangely tedious songs took them from me. Being young and apathetic, I was recognized as cool.

I coasted through elementary and junior high. With good looks and no personality people tended to mold me in their mind into something. My long black product laden locks made me goth. My lanky taut body made me an athlete. My limpid green eyes made me a poet. It was the best I could hope for, because I had little hope.

In high school, the absence of my emotion became more apparent with the teen dramas available on so many networks. As I watched Chloe mourn the death of her sister, I remembered that my father had died a year ago and I never said a word. I realized that this might have been peculiar. It occurred to me that a man with a banjo may have stolen my soul and I was displeased.

I couldn’t muster any more emotion than displeasure about anything. I recognized this as a problem as society frowns on those that can’t really frown. It would be quite hard to live without cares and I knew I wasn’t to be bother with anything so difficult. My plan was to drive until I found him; sadly apathy does not make one rational, only uncaring.

As I entered Boomland in it’s Missouri location (being a Canadian, I am unaware if it is a franchise or not), I was struck by something I hadn’t felt in years. That is to say I was struck by feeling. It was mostly numb but it was enough for me to put down the hamburger which I realized was pretty middling and unappetizing. Right there, I screamed like a baby being slapped it in the ass. I hadn’t felt in so long.

I realized that I had myself my own emotional divining rod. I drove and drove until I started to feel numb and adjusted accordingly towards my feeling. Looking back, I should be thankful that the man never took an airplane. No, I found my soul stealer to be a bus rider as my emotions correlated with a 5:00 am from Kansas City to Denver.

at the Denver bus station, it hit me that my mother was probably worried sick about me. I knew I was getting close to him. Through this new found guilt, I persevered onwards with the bull headed stupidness afforded a teenager. In a stadium, I found that he had switched to interesting and catchy rock n’ roll. He was rocking with my emotions and I was getting none of the credit. The crowd was cheering on his stolen anger.

For the first time, I was outraged, then ecstatic at the fact that I could be outraged. It was like breathing pure oxygen. I was loopy and high off these new emotions. I realized I had to stay with him. I’ve been a roadie ever since.

Anyways, My name is Carl and I’m addicted to a musician.

I’m not quite sure if I belong with NarcAnon honestly.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: From a distance a bright star then as it moved closer a ball of light.. as it passed close over me a very bright orb .. approximate size standard airplane.NO SOUND!!! |

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