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// Vinyl, on Letting Go 
// Story: Dream On: Vinyl and Tavi's Private Weblog 
// by Koiyuki 
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	You know, Ms. Strings and Things, when I wanted to throw down in the park that night, I didn't expect you'd be that good at it, much less good enough to pull that Judo Throw from outta left field. Could not move a muscle as you walked away and told me to get stuffed. Personally, I figured you'd need a day or two to cool off, and we'd just squash the beef, like always. Every time you stonewalled my calls, texts and emails, though, I got a little closer to thinking, "Man...I bucked this up beyond repair" and considering if it was really over. All those years, all those memories, were they really about to go up in smoke because of that brawl?

Neon saw how much it ate at me right when I came into the studio a few days later, catching how spaced out I was, and hearing how downbeat my new stuff was growing to be. Straight up, he told me, "You can't make them rump shakers if your mind ain't in the rump shaking zone," and sent me home for the day to work it out. The next day, we talked shop over some pumpkin spice iced coffee at his lady's pad, his lady asking me if I ever considered song writing. Of course, since she was a singer-songwriter, herself, it's natural she'd suggest what's probably got her through a buncha rough stuff in her life, even if I haven't sang or written one lyric since I played that crappy guitar tune in the elementary school talent show.

Gotta admit, though, when Neon said he'd be out taking care of biz, and left me with his lady, I felt mega awkward. Neon and I were basically mirror images of each other, which is why we continue to jive when we hit the studio and make that sweet EDM music together. His lady, in contrast, was this raven haired, bobcut little waif in a pastel pink, kimono-lookin' top. I mean, those white Bellbottoms with red flower petals spiraling down the legs practically screamed she wasn't the kind of down and dirty folks Neon likes to hang with. Really, who wears Bellbottoms anymore besides those irritating hipsters? Didn't those go out of style before my mom was born? Anyways, the moment my gaze caught her big ol' almond-esque icy blues, I knew without a doubt that I had no idea what to say, with her content to just sit there and flash me that million bit smile. 

"So my guy says you got some Japonican in you," she mentioned after taking a bite of her fresh baked peanut butter cookie. "Nipponika-go o shaberu?" I knew that she asked if I spoke any Japonican, (mostly thanks to the excellent books and such my mom got for me on learning Japonican) so I was able to answer, 
"Chotto heta da kedo sa, ee, shaberu ne"
(I'm kinda crappy with it, but yeah, I speak it)

I could tell from her smirk that she dug me to some extent, saying "Well what do you know, you don't totally sound like some cartoon copying yutz" and introducing herself as Takamine. From what I remember, she's from the same place in Japonica as my mom, and is famous countrywide for both being a total sweetheart (in the public eye, anyways) and having a singing voice with the touch of an angel and the punch of a mack truck. Heard that much when we were chilling in the living room, and busted out a tune on her guitar. Was as much of a sucker punch to me as her being a total party animal.

I should've expected as much from anyone tough enough to be Neon Light's main squeeze, but I was totally caught off guard by just how hardy a party animal Takamine showed herself to be. The more we chilled together, the more I saw her throwing down shots like they were water, throwing that smack talk around like she was born to do it, and throwing down with anyone who thought they could buck with her, and get away with it. I remember training with her at this boxing focused gym she clued me into(Wild Card is the name, if you ever wanna check out out), when we got to the squared circle to practice combinations, this 'roid rage looking dude standing in there, and scaring off anyone who got close. She stared a hole into him, and laid this down: If you ain't getting out, then it's time to turn your lights out. He laughed loud enough for the whole gym to hear, and offered her the first shot, sticking his chin out, and likely waiting for her to fail miserably before mopping the floor with her. Before I could even blink, she cold clocked him with a crisp, clean left hook, and made him taste the canvas, carrying him out on her shoulders, and dumping him outside the ring as she said, "Alright, Ms. Crapstep, get in there, it's your turn"

As you can probably tell, she was, in her own words, "the most straight up bitch you'll ever meet, and proud of it" In time, though, she showed the kind of intuition any psychologist would kill to have about how to tell what folks were thinking. Every word I said, every change in tone my words had, every motion my body made told her volumes on what I was going through in each moment. Shoot, there were times when she figured out what was eating at me, and did exactly what I needed in that moment after I said approximately jack squat to her. Didn't matter if it was over iced coffee and cinnamon buns at the local coffee horse or if was she blitzed out of her brain at the bar, just by hearing me blabber on about the stupid little crap we did together, she knew how hung up I was on you, and knew that I was desperate to get you back. One night, after her 5th shot of Applejack Daniels at the bar, she slammed down the glass, and said, "That desperation is what will continue to drive away those you consider close" Didn't know it then, but hearing those words out would the first step I'd take on a months long journey to figuring out who I really was.


***


Of all the things I learned from her, the most radical had to be what she called altruistic selfishness. While Neon was getting our stuff set up in the studio, she talked about how we're taught to find our happiness in other folks and how we make them feel, explaining that "Yeah, it's good to do stuff for them, on a practical level, but in thinking we can only feel good when they do, it also gives them the power to make us feel however they want us to, and take away everything we think is important by just not showing up or giving a crap" It took awhile for it to click, with nothing really sinking in until a few days later, when, during a traffic jam, I heard some Bach on the taxi cab's radio. The second I realized it was the song you practiced when we hung together, I thought back on why I got so pissed in the first place, remembering every time I looked for your face in the crowd at my shows, and never being able to find it. Little by little,  it dawned on me that what pissed me off most was how you showing up would be what'd make me happy, the thing that would really make my parties a party, the thing that I didn't think you wanted to happen(which I imagine you thought of me when I no showed)

The day it came full circle was when Takamine took me to a local bodega, and bought me a soda in one of those old school glass bottles, the kind you usually need a bottle opener for. She leaned against that waist high brick wall while I struggled with-and ultimately failed at muscling it open, me grunting like a gorilla, and Takamine chuckling behind a smirk. As I huffed and puffed in that stanky hot weather, I saw her glance at a square-ish metal pole sticking out of the ground, and went over to try and jimmy the cap off on the edge(try being the operative word). After I screamed "Open, you piece of crap!" she walked beside me, took the bottle from my death grip, and set it at an angle on the edge, telling me to, "Watch closely, yeah? 'cause doing this wrong will lead to a busted bottle and possible glass frags in the eye" 

With a few quick thumps, the bottle was open, with her taking a swig before grabbing a fresh bottle of pop, and telling me to try again. I did everything she did to open it, setting it how she had it, giving it a few solid thumps, and watching as, to my unexpected delight, the top popped right off! I knew she caught that open mouthed smile I had, because while I was still feeling myself, she asked, "So, how good does it feel to know you can give yourself that kind of joy? Certainly has be better than depending on someone else to give it to you, right?" I couldn't deny that I felt more in control, but I wasn't fully sold until we ran into a bum with a "Please help" sign, and she, with no half stepping or prodding, gave him her drink. 

It was super confusing seeing someone who made a big deal about personal pleasure being important give away what gave her pleasure; when I brought up as much, she smiled and asked, "Don't you feel better for longer, though, knowing that what you did made someone's day better? That you did something excellent for someone else? That you have the power to make someone a little happier?" As those words danced around in my noggin, I reached into my pocket, and gave that bum the spare bits I had from last night's late night burger run. That bum's toothless smile told me everything I needed to know about altruistic selfishness, and stuck with me as Takamine and I swapped stories about the crap we went through. 

For sure, her songs were powerful stuff but, the stuff she said inspired then just blew my mind. Each time I heard about her leaving home while she was still in high school, the way her boyfriends, family and friends treated her like dirt, and how songwriting gave her the voice she never had, I saw just how much of an old soul she was, even though she was basically my age. She mostly spoke about it in her native tongue, but from what she taught me, I picked up a crucial skill in understanding both the language and other people: reading the mood.  If I'm not mistaken, that means reading what's implied by what someone says and does, remembering the history going into it, and learning what their body says when they say nothing at all, on top of simply shutting up and letting them talk. Over time, this lead to me not only me better understanding her, but also clarifying what I knew about you and realizing that because of how took each other granted and didn't have each other's backs when we were in the spotlight, some sort of ugliness was bound to happen.


***


When Takamine popped over at my place one weekend, she was super curious at how much of your crap I had laying around, considering I hadn't heard a peep from you since I met her. While we played some 3s on the PC I hooked up to the boob tube, we talked about the time I spent with you, and how all that stuff was connected to it, including the iPlayer in my work space. She looked right at it, fresh off of getting bodied, and said, "Since she's not in your life anymore, maybe it's time you, you know, let go of some of it" Before she even got up, I stepped in front of her, stared dead at her, and, knowing what my hunch was telling me, told her, "Lay one finger on that thing, and we will scrap. Do you wanna scrap?" 

"It would be fun," she answered with that signature obnoxious chuckle, "but it would also be pointless. The fact you're getting this heated about my even thinking about it shows you still care deeply. I'd even say that what you feel for this person is based in something deeper, something meaningful, something real. If that's the case, then there's only one thing you can do to prove that to me, to her and to yourself." With my cell in hand, she brought up your contact info, and said, "Set her free" From our other chats, I knew she meant forgiving them for everything they’ve done, realizing that they’re their own people with their own lives, and giving them permission in your own heart to walk away. In practical terms, that meant cutting off all possible ways to contact them, like she did with everyone who did her dirty when she was young. I remember that after she set them free, she found herself able to move on from what happened, and grow much stronger in who she was. I also remember her saying “it was one of the hardest things I ever did,” especially towards a mom who once beat her so bad, she didn't remember where she was when she woke up the next day. 

All that time away from you allowed me to find the strength I needed to forgive all that crap and be happy that you’re doing you in the best possible way. ‘Cause of all that, I found out me to take it from her, hit delete, and, with my hands shaking, confirmed that I wanted it gone. After I did, I looked up at Takamine, and glimpsed the weirdest smile from her. Her eyebrows were relaxed, her eyes were half closed, and her mouth was closed, but showing that slightest rise in the corners. It was so at ease, like she knew I became someone different, someone wiser, someone that just threw away the baggage they were carrying all this time(a feeling she's no doubt went through more than once). That much I guessed when she took a sip of her lemonade, then asked, "Itai ja no?(It hurts, don't it)?"

Can't say it didn't. In deleting your number, I was pretty much acknowledging that not only were you gone, but also were never, ever gonna come back. Had to sit down for a bit to let it sink in, Takamine sitting right by me on that comfy red couch, fresh off of what she knew was the hardest choice I ever made. Knowing her, she was probably waiting for what eventually came out of my mouth: "Saa, mou owari da ne?(So, it's really over, isn't it?)"  Her soft nod started the waterworks, and they wouldn't stop until I was well into snot nose mode. Thankfully, there was a box of fancy tissues nearby, which Takamine made sure to keep coming as I blew through each one. While I did, I looked around the room at all the stuff from our time together, and felt a strange warmth spread throughout my body. When I asked her what this was, she chuckled and said, "Saishuppatsu no ippo no ja(It's the first step of a fresh new start)"

That fresh new start became clear to everyone I knew, including Takamine, Neon, and my folks. My mom, especially, was shocked at how different I was when we met up with Takamine for a trip to Kakegawa, that ginormous city in Nipponika they both come from. During our flight, she saw how relaxed my gaze had become, and, her mother tongue, said, "I know that look. That look is one only known to those who've seen their own truth, who've found their own center, who've realized who they truly are. Your eyes...they've seen these things, haven't they?" The only thing I could do was nod and smile, with the two of us discussing what happened that night in the park, and everything I went through afterwards during the 18 hours we were in the air. Not long after we touched down and got through customs, my mom looked at me for a bit, then, in that super busy airport baggage claim, hugged me the same way she did when I entered a contest for young DJs back in high school, and lost in the grand finals. While Takamine waited for our luggage to get dumped on the carousel, she smiled at my mom, and said, “You raised a strong young woman, ma’am. I know she’s ready to take on whatever or whoever comes next” Wouldn’t be until I got back that I learned just what my next big challenge would be, this time in form of an e-mail from Lily Blossom.

***

I remember meeting with her during one of our get togethers at the park, and getting this super frosty vibe from her. She wasn’t rude or any of that junk, but the more I talked to her and learned what she was about, the more I felt like she was a riddle wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma(See? I DO pay attention when you talk about historical stuff!). It wasn’t until I started talking to Takamine that I started to grasp at some of the concepts she brought up, like what it means to find what we need within instead of without, how each of us is connected by the common bonds all us share, and most importantly, how we can supply our own light when the one guiding us through the darkness of life goes poof-you know, that metaphysical stuff we never really got until we were well outta high school. That last one was weighing heavy on my thoughts when I got home and fired up the iPlayer, finding a message from her entitled “Concert tomorrow tonight?” 

When I read it, I saw your butler sent her an invitation to a solo concert you were playing at, asking if she’d like to come along with a plus one to see you do your thing. Said her brother wasn’t into that scene, so she was wondering if I’d like to go with her, offering to treat me to some grub afterwards. It wasn’t my scene, either, and I was really thinking about saying no, but I thought back on what Takamine said about how we can set others free from our lives, and junk, and figured ‘Why not?’ It’d be a good chance to try out that dress my mom for me on our trip, and a good chance to do what I should’ve done years ago, even if I thought it was gonna be for the first time and the last.

The next day, your butler came by to get up all primped and ready for the big night, taking us to this super high end salon, teaching us about the code of conduct, and generally easing us into that high flying lifestyle, with me sporting the neatest pixie cut I’ve had in years as we took our seats. Seeing you up there was probably one of the most captivating experiences I’ve had yet, especially after I saw your eyes light up like a Hearth’s Warming Eve tree and heard you work that cello like an old pro, my smile growing ever bigger as the night went on, and people started clapping for your performance. By the time we had to go, I was certain that no matter what happened next, I was gonna go ahead with no regrets, which is probably why I told him to pass the word on about my next performance at Shelter. I was fully ready for you to be gone from my life for good, so when Lily Blossom told me about how the Manehatten Orchestra called in for an audition the day I was set to spin, I just laughed it off and acted like you weren’t even coming...minus the violin your butler instructed me to bring along(dude is super intimidating for his age). 

He must've remembered that jam session you and I had together- you know, the one that produced that wicked sounding song either neither of us were smart enough to record and put an album, and thought that would be the thing that brought us back together. From what Lily Blossom told me, he really noticed both when I wasn't around and how hard that hit you, even in your determination to keep me outta your world for good. That much, paired with both that big audition and you being as compatible with club life as cats are to water, lead me to believe you were never, ever  gonna show up at Shelter. For some reason, though, when I got to the spot, I told the person in charge of security to escort you to my dressing room and let in whoever's with you, if you showed up. As I practiced my set for the night, the only thing I could think was, "I don't even know why brought that thing along, when she hasn't even looked my texts in the past few months."

Sure enough, the music was pumping, the tightly packed mass of stylish clubbers hit the dance floor, and lights sprayed across the club, with you being nowhere in sight, according to folks I asked there. At that point, I was at peace with you being gone from my life, and accepted that our paths would likely never again cross, waiting in my dressing room to be called up for my set while I sorted through my stack of vinyls. Later on, though, I learned from the person you took as your plus one, the super chill and down for whatever Midnight Blaze, that the both of you actually did show up, and were stuck outside in that super long line to get in the door, with you practically freezing your fanny off in that black bodycon dress you chose, after studying the dress code for Shelter. Apparently, with that bodycon dress, high ponytail and 6 inch spike heels you had on, you looked so different from what I told security, that they didn't believe you were Octavia, and repeatedly refused to let you in, especially after you pulled out the classic "Do you know who I am!?" line on 'em. I thought it was pretty hilarious that you squared up in those 6 inch heels, and were ready to brawl your way past the bouncer; thankfully, though, the head security dude got there in time to diffuse the situation, and confirm who you were asking you something only you would know(which, if memory serves, was what was the first thing we ever ate together). Before I knew it, the head security dude called me up, and told me you being escorted right to my dressing room.

A thousand thoughts raced as I sat on that black leather-and kinda ratty couch. What would I say to someone I haven't heard a peep from in months? What would I do after all that time I learned to live without you? How the buck could I even face you after what happened that night in the park? The door knob rattled, the hinges creaked, and when the door swung open enough for me to see you, I knew what had to be said. "Dang, girl, you looking mighty good in that dress. Can I get your number?" The silence hung thick as you gingerly walked towards me, your laser gaze piercing through my shades. Outta nowhere, you slapped me on the forehead, and chuckled as you snapped up that violin laying on the table in front of me. 

"You are such a pillock," those were the first words you said to me in months, the second being, "I don't suppose you know how I'm to fit into all this, do you?" while you were getting your violin skills tuned up, and I was giving you the rundown. I was amazed at how fast you were picking everything up for your secondary instrument, and opened wondered how you were able to do it, to which you said, "By deciding what matters more to me, and going after it with all I've got, even when that means something else that means the world to me must slip past, and speed forever into the realm of what ifs" Before I could ask what that meant, there was a knock on the door, the club boss calling out "15 minutes to show time, Scratch, time to get it in gear!" With a gentle smile, you turned toward me, and said, "Well, c'mon, Vi, we don't want to disappoint our public, now, do we?" 

When it was time for me to hit the decks, I was stunned at how wild the crowd went after hearing you play during your parts on Genocide. During our freestyle session, even the wallflowers got their booties on the floor, some of them slam dancing, and one doing the Cabbage Patch into a sick looking pop 'n' lock routine while I mixed and remixed that violin sample I took on the spot. By the time got to that song we never recorded, I swear they were moving and grooving as one, each of them totally feeling what we put out there, and cheering their heads off when you took your bow(along with someone throwing their pink and white polka dot panties at us, for some reason). It was the most fun I had in ages, and you looked like you were completely in your element. Can't say the same about the next morning, though.

When I got up super late in the day, you were just sitting at the edge of my bed, your head hung low, and your shoulders slumping. From what Takamine taught me, I knew you were down in the dumps about something, your super reddened eyes confirming what I feared. Between sniffles, I heard you get out “I’m such a pillock, aren’t I? Last night could’ve been what we had all these months, but I...I refused to hear you out, and refused to let you back in my life. All that time lost because I would not budge, all those nights I spent alone, all the hurt I put you through, and for what? Some petty sense of revenge? Some satisfaction that you knew the pain I knew? I don’t deserve your friendship, your forgiveness, or you” In that moment, everything I learned from Takamine about her time as a Saddled Buddhist started to come together, and when I saw the pleading sadness in your eyes, I knew what I had to do next. 

Without even thinking about it, I held you close, and let you cry your eyes out, just the way folks did for me when I hit rock bottom. Each “I’m sorry” you let out cut me deeper and deeper, and brought me back to when I felt the same way, like I bucked things up beyond repair. The hurt ran deep into my soul; that scumbag feeling felt chained to my ankle, making it hard to see myself as anything else; the only place I felt I could go was where I was, with all the crap I did to you. After you let me go, all of that told me you needed to see what Takamine had to say, just like I had to hear it, in order to learn how to shed that stuff, and move on. All that on my mind, I whipped by out my iPlayer, and brought out the message she sent late that one night:



Look, Vinyl, you wake each morning to a new you - how can that new you ever know that it will be friends with any other person, who has also awoken new each day?

By saying you don’t deserve someone else's friendship or forgiveness, you’ve already zeroed in on what you gotta do. You gotta earn that friendship and earn that forgiveness.

And the way that’s done is by earning that friendship and earning that forgiveness.

There ain’t no trying, only doing. If the world of friendship and forgiveness is the world that you wanna live in, live in that world. Be a friend. Be worthy of forgiveness.

Regret’s gotta be left in the dust. What’s done is done, and as trite as that sounds, you’ve gotta decide the point where you’ll live the life you wanna live.

If you wanna live that life today, then live that life today.

It certainly ain’t easy, and it ain’t supposed to be. It’s meant to be your "practice".

Every morning, decide that you will live as someone worthy of friendship and forgiveness. And if it’s too tough for ya, then focus on being worthy of them in small chunks. First, for 10 minutes. Then for 30. Then for a whole hour. Then two hours. Then six. In time, the whole day becomes your practice.

Every morning, resolve to expand your practice.

Every morning.

Not every other morning. Not every other week.

Every. Single. Morning.

It won't always work. To be perfectly honest, you’ll faceplant often 

But you’ll faceplant at being worthy of friendship and forgiveness, rather than nail being unworthy.

And that is a better way to live.

So live it, girl!




I can still remember that soft smile on your face when you looked up from the phone and asked, “She’s a real bellend, isn’t she?” In that moment of shared laughter, I think we both knew that we couldn’t be the friends we were before. Looking in your eyes, I had no doubts that we would be what we are now, something closer than just friends, something stronger than just friends, something that Takamine likes to call Nakama. It’s been a couple years since then, and I didn’t wanna put this up until I knew I got out everything I wanted to get out, so I could say this proper:

Thanks for letting me be your Nakama, Ms. Strings and Things. Although that time apart sucked majorly, I think it was something we needed, so both of us could live on and be strong on our own. Looking back, I think it’s made us even better friends, and each day I wanna be the best Nakama I can be towards you, even if I can’t be there in the flesh. With folks like you in life, I know my day’s that much brighter, that much more fun, that much more fulfilling. I know I still haven’t forgotten that commitment to living as someone worthy of friendship and forgiveness, and no matter what happens next, I wanna share the journey of life with you for as long as I can, even if it’s only long enough to convince you that Chocolate Bacon is the best thing ever(you can’t deny the truth!)