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Midnight Twists

The other day I put on a record, all by myself. A piano and jazz collection that I had found sitting silently in my town’s thrift store; forgotten by those who had brought it to their home. It’s a small one, an extended play, nothing fancy. But when I carefully took the vinyl out of its case and put it on the turntable a little silk paper fell out. Pink, delicate, and folded haphazardly. I sat, silent, for a little bit trying to unfold this paper, careful not to rip the intricate design it had. As I sat with it, I came to realize what it was. One of those decorative things they put on fruits to make them prettier. Isn’t that wonderful?

Oh and of course I then put the vinyl on, nervously lining the needle to the outside of the engravings, calculating every move I did so that when the needle was placed down it would slide in beautifully. I wonder if my grandparents felt the same nervousness when they put on their records. Did they also quadruple check the needle? Did they sift through their collection for minutes trying to find that one album? I’m looking again at the pink silk paper, and it’s almost as if I can see the image in my head, a kid younger than me putting the paper inside one of the sleeves, promising themselves that they’ll take it out next time. Then they forget, and so the paper stays, for lord knows how long until I picked it up at the thrift store and excitedly bought it. Oh, what a treat this record will be for me I thought, as I slid it into my shelf.

Listening to the record as I fiddled with the paper, I can not help but feel as though holding this fragile creation I am looking upon the handprints made by Neanderthals saying “We were here!! Remember us!” Yes, yes kid who forgot. I will! I will remember your mark on this little world of ours, on this vinyl you and I both chose from interest. You will not be forgotten in this little stream of time.