My First Record

A Story by Nick T

A whistle. A crack. A pop. The needle glides across the record with mesmerizing grace. Gently bobbing up and down. A figure skater sliding across the ice. A surfer channeling the power of a wave to propel him to his inevitable destination. The music’s pure, natural, tangible. The man is singing in my room, no, he’s been dead for 30 years. It touches something deep, something ancient, something I cannot put in words. I feel safe, calm, moved nearly to tears. A whine. A crackle. The imperfections are like background noise, like rain pattering on my front porch. I’m in a cabin deep within the woods, he’s fiddling with his guitar, creating the melody for the first time. No, I’m still at home, where did I go? The silence startles me. Time to flip it over…