When I was ten, my family moved to Owatonna, Minnesota. We joined a Baptist church and my brother and I enrolled at the church’s private school, and that fall I began sixth grade seated behind a dark-haired boy named Sean, because his last name came before mine alphabetically. Although I never called Sean a close friend, those larger-than-life growing-up years he became to me like a sibling in a large family. We both, along with most of our classmates, remained together in that class until fourteen of us graduated from high school.

Sean was always making me laugh. First, because I’m easily amused, especially by the random and the strange, and second, because he was so genuinely funny – in a random and strange way. A little like living with a Far Side comic strip. There are two special words I will always associate with Sean. The first is jocularity because he would, now and then for no apparent reason, crow that word like a rooster, getting a verbal running start and then lifting off – “Joc-joc-joc-jocuLARity!!” And the second is gyrate, because he did, and was famous in the school for it (when teachers weren’t looking that is). Hands clasped behind head, hips swirling in decidedly un-Baptist fashion, easygoing grin lighting up his devilish good looks.

I say devilish good looks, and as Sean was famous for gyrations, I was famous for boy-craziness – but I never felt that way about Sean. He just felt like family I guess. In junior high he’d tie my shoelaces together or sneak up and steal the book I was reading; once or twice he pulled my chair away before I sat down. That’s the kind of ‘ship we had, and as we grew up the teasing smoothed out into a little private joke that he just inexplicably started one day and only targeted on me – a smiley face he named Mr. Chubbs. He would draw Mr. Chubbs on my paper or notebook or the chalkboard when I wasn’t looking. I would pretend to be terribly annoyed every time Mr. Chubbs mysteriously showed up.

After high school graduation we went to different colleges and mostly lost touch, but then five years later I married Nathan, who grew up in Owatonna too and whose mother happened to be close friends with Sean’s mother, and I discovered that in Sean’s life outside of school, Nathan and his brother and Sean and his brother had all grown up together as friends. So Sean came to our wedding, and made me a card, a delayed punchline of sorts – of course it was Mr. Chubbs.

Over the years after that I’d hear random bits about Sean from Nathan’s brother who stayed in touch with him – he was painting, and traveling the world, and he settled in South Korea as a teacher. When I joined Facebook I found him there and requested to be his friend, but got no response. I learned later that he had thirteen Facebook friends.

Last month Nathan’s mother said that Sean would be coming to Minnesota to visit in a few weeks. I was looking forward to a chance to reconnect with him.

And then he died, by suicide.

I knew Sean as fun, and funny, and popular and attractive. But for most – arguably all – of that time, he was a child. When I last saw him he was barely into his twenties. I never really knew him as an adult. My brain wants a reason for this tragedy, and imagines that the expectations and potentially soul-crushing nature of adulthood were ultimately too much for him. But I can’t, and need not, know. I treasure his memory and found peace in singing to him this week.

On my first day of sixth grade
I was looking at the back of his head
Alphabetically it was always me after him
And all those years no one else would come between us
I think he was an old soul, a lover of Pink Floyd and M*A*S*H
“Jocularity” he’d shriek wildly out of the blue
So many strange delightful moments passed between us

Sean, rest in peace
Sean, rest in peace

We were never that close but we grew up together
In a little class in a private school in a small town
Fourteen children figuring things out between us
The last time I saw him he gave me a smiley face
And I’ve kept it safe, brought it every place I’ve called home
And all these years nothing else has passed between us

Sean, rest in peace
Sean, rest in peace

If you or someone you know is in crisis, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), or text HELLO to 741741.

For Week 44 #songaweek2021 I actually followed the prompt. I spent a good part of my songwriting afternoon working on a different song that just wasn’t coming together. Then I decided to set it aside and just try the prompt (“buy me a pink balloon”) and this song was written and recorded in about an hour.

Nothing earth-shattering, nice to have a light easy new song. Nathan has since come up with a nice electric guitar part so we’ll probably add this one to our performance repertoire.

If you are going to the fair
Buy me a pink balloon
If it gets dark out while you’re there
bring me back the moon

I’m not the girl you hoped you’d meet
But you still think I’m sweet
Why don’t you come and see me soon
And bring me a pink balloon

If you are feeling sad and blue
You can call me up
Maybe I’ll bring a pink balloon
And that’ll cheer you up

You’re not the man I dreamed I’d find
But you’re still on my mind
I might just go and see you soon
And bring you a pink balloon

Also, for further listening enjoyment, here is another song-a-week-er’s take on the theme, which I found really poignant and sweet.

You wouldn’t know it from these song lyrics, but I have been in a good mood on this beautiful day all day today. Maybe that’s the best way to write sad songs. Not that this is necessarily a sad song. I’m not really sure. I sat at the piano and came up with this chord progression and rhythm and really liked it because I was hoping to write an upbeat song and this felt like the right musical direction for that.

Ah but then the lyrics, which tumbled out while I mostly watched (or that’s what it felt like). They were even darker at first and I honestly wrestled with whether I should allow such a song to exist. Initially, the last little chorus went like this – “I’m dying, dying, living alone / Goodbye, I’m leaving, there’s nobody home.” (I know!!)

I’m truly mystified when a song like this writes itself so effortlessly. I wonder, is my subconscious trying to tell me something? Is this song speaking someone else’s pain and it’s important for me to give voice to that? Because I truly was not feeling this way today, nor have I been in quite a while.

In my writing process I often record a voice memo of each iteration of the song, then play it back to myself so I can experience it as a listener. It was in the playback that I felt confident that my first version of that last chorus was just too maudlin/sentimental/melodramatic.

And so we ended up here, and I still don’t feel like I know much about this song’s meaning, cerebrally. I certainly can feel that it gives out vibes of loneliness and vulnerability and maybe even hope and tenderness. Might come back to this one in the future after it’s had some time to settle. I always enjoy hearing how a song hits someone else, so feel free to tell me in the comments.

I tried to call you but nobody answered and that’s how it’s been for a while
So I went out walking and looking for somebody else who could lend me a smile

But no one, no one, no one was there
There was no one, no one, no one around

I wanted to tell you that I’m fairly certain that everything’s falling apart
The walls are all cracked and there’s holes in the curtains so they just can’t keep out the dark

And no one, no one, no one is here
Here is no one, not a soul to be found

No one just wants to be alone
And live their life in nobody’s home

Funny, I didn’t post my song for week 37 of #songaweek2021 on my blog, but that one is called “No One. But You” because the prompt for that week was “no one but you” and I thought I’d be clever with it. Now I have another “No One” song that I like better but of course it’s not so light and bouncy. Here’s “No One. But You,” just for the record (at least until I have to remove it to make space for newer songs on my free Soundcloud account ;):