This morning on the commute to work, my favorite “alternative rock” radio station played REM’s “The One I Love.” I turned it up and was singing aloud when a memory hit me:
December 1995 or January 1996, big snowstorm. Dom, his friend MJ, myself and my boyfriend at the time (who shall remain nameless, as I’ve finally learned my lesson about naming people in blogs or poetry) drove to Bethlehem, PA, an 84 mile trip one way, to see Bush in concert. As the encore, they played a cover of “The One I Love,” during which time my boyfriend wrapped his arms around me from behind and sang into my ear. Even at 16, I knew the song wasn’t a love song. He didn’t. I should have dumped him on the spot.
I’ve learned to now choose only people who understand subtext in lyrics and literature.