Patron Saint of Secular Music Smugglers
That time I had a special mission to get rid of my possessed Sublime CD
I have some adventures from my twisted childhood in evangelical culture, such as my "Growing Up Evangelical: That Time I Let My Dad Think I Was Looking at Porn Because the Alternative Was Worse." (That still gives me the “warm and fuzzies.”) I think I may have originally posted this piece, which I promised in my last post, on Medium back in the day. Reading over it now, I feel like I’m flipping through a teen girl’s diary. So fucking dramatic.
As the patron saint of secular music smugglers, I sneaked CDs into the house that I either quietly bought or borrowed from friends. I was pretty excited to bring my Sublime CD home to jam out to some ska-punk tunes when my parents weren't home.
I had it on a severe rotation for at least a week when I started hearing voices, more like murmurings in between tracks or after I had the CD playing. It continued especially at night. A heaviness infiltrated my room. I became super spooked, slept with a light on, and avoided mirrors because, you know, mirrors.
(Now did I really hear voices? I don't know, but my family attended a Pentecostal church where "speaking in tongues" was the norm. One time the pastor made everyone stay way past lunchtime because no one could interpret a string of babble, so mere mumbles or whispers easily freaked me out.)
I was talking to my best friend about it. Our families went to the same church, and even though she also brought in contraband music and participated in other unapproved activities, she knew what I already felt deep within: "It's evil spirits; you're letting them into your home."
We resented our parents, serving as strict gatekeepers, and yes, we mocked them for their outrageous Christian behaviors. (For one or two Christmases, my parents decided against getting a tree because of its pagan origins.) But we held onto the faith when we had that test we forgot to study for or when the local cops did that fake car crash scenario to educate us on the dangers of drunk driving. Then during other seasons, we loosened our grip for a taste of teenage rebellion. Like sneaking into the theater to watch Cruel Intentions. Though I have my issues with organized religion as a former pastor's wife today, I'm grateful for every thread of belief that kept me intact and whole, even at times of the most delicate connection.
One afternoon, I decided to miss the bus and walk home on the train tracks. (Obviously, I learned nothing from Unsolved Mysteries.) On that 20-minute walk home, I kept what my friend said in mind and knew I had to get the CD out of the house ASAP. My self-proclaimed pagan neighbor popped into my consciousness.
This kid was like two years older than me and also rode my bus. He was one of those goth types that really annoyed me. Super predictable: obsessed with The Nightmare Before Christmas, wore black, not athletic, pretended he didn't want friends, and thought hell would be a cool place to spend eternity.
*Yawn.*
I rolled my eyes when he went on these spiels in the back of the bus that affirmed the stereotype. I just wanted to shake him and yell, "Surprise me! Talk about volunteering, an affinity for Bob Ross paintings, or wear gray!" (I was never in the running for "World's Best Missionary.")
I decided I would dispose of the CD, jewel case and all, in goth boy's family's trash. Let the evil sit there in comfort, I devised. (Like I said, not "World's Best Missionary." I also didn't want the chance of my parents finding it in our trash and hearing a lecture about the evil of santeria, voodoo, and tattoos.)
As I approached my front door, I was drenched in perspiration due to south Georgia humidity and an expedited, holy calling.
My younger sister reprimanded me about how long she had to wait on the hot porch for me as I unlocked the front door to let her and my brother in. Her voice trailed off as I hopped upstairs to retrieve the equivalent of Frodo's ring before Gollum tackled me to the ground.
Hiding the CD case under my shirt, I exited through the sliding glass door. This was an important task requiring more coverage, so I headed down to the dirt alley between the creek and our back fence. This was much better than the street. Before I headed off, I took out the case, opened it, and dutifully cracked the shiny disc with my bare hands, honored for the chance to bleed like my Savior.
Take that, Satan.
For extra measure, I threw the jewel case down and stepped on it with my heel. The beautiful sound of cracking plastic gave me a burst of energy to fulfill my mission. I picked it up and huffed down the alley.
Goth boy's house was maybe five houses down from mine. Puffs of dust blossomed from my speed-walking. I lost trust in my slick hands and pressed my fingertips into the plastic, elongating the cracks. Giddiness erupted and finally set into a grimace as I carefully approached the gates of hell.
Spotting their trash receptacle, I surveyed the yard and rushed the green bin. Lifting the heavier than expected lid, I tossed the jewel case on top of the existing mounds of trash. I debated pushing it deeper into the trash, but I glimpsed a shiny black ball in their yard that glimmered in the hot sun. My mind went straight to the assumption I may be on camera or the black orb was some sort of entryway into Dante's Inferno. (Later, I learned this ball was just a gazing ball. A garden decoration.)
Though I was supposed to be incognito, I sprinted down the alley back to my house like a delusional idiot.
Walking into the kitchen from the sliding glass door, I was transformed: once a mere teen girl, now a warrior back home from her crusade. Our humble home, cleansed of evil. My parents were lucky (I mean, blessed) to have me as their daughter. I grabbed a snack from the pantry, plopped myself on the couch, and caught my breath as I switched the channel to MTV.
---
A few weeks later, I was at my best friend's house. We were on the floor listening to music and talking about random people from school. Just two girls painting our nails with glitter polish from Claire's. We giggled and ate snacks. Life was good.
As I looked through her CD collection, I froze.
That damn Sublime album sat comfortably in a clear pocket in her CD binder.
What. The. Fuck.
It found me.
I can't remember if I asked her about it, but I know we listened to it.
Whatever. It just seemed safer at her house.
The fun way you tell this story had me smiling and laughing. #Relatable