Out With the Old

I still remember the day that I was unwrapped to be met with such delight and enthusiasm.

It was on Christmas morning in 2007, and I, being one of the smallest looking gifts in your stocking, was one of the last to be opened. Then, when it was my time, you ripped open the beautifully wrapped gift packaging with all the finesse a 14-year-old girl could muster when opening presents. You always did love music, so I guess the brash ripping was worth it.

Since you always carried music with you, your parents finally scrambled enough money to buy you me; the iPod Nano, 3^rd Generation to be specific. The tech-savvy youth of today might not know it, but I was the ‘in’ thing once, beloved by a generation of music-obsessed kids who previously had to lug around a handful of CDs with them every time they were on a trip. That’s why I was so ‘cool’ once. I was like a pocket music library that you could take everywhere.

And boy did we go everywhere together. Within moments of being in your hands, you immediately filled me with your entire personality. It was the era of dance/techno music, but not for you. You were a mishmash of everything from beloved musical numbers to trendy pop/punk bands. At the time, it was hard to figure out who you would grow up to become, having such an eclectic taste that bordered on neurotic, but I would come to realize each song had its own meaning on your emotional state at the time.

I remember being by your side almost every day at school. When Panic! at the Disco finally came out with their second album, ‘Pretty. Odd.’ you and your friends would take turns passing me around to listen to each song, before dissecting on how its whimsical, Beatles-eque sound differed from the theatricality of their first album.

I could tell just from how little the album was played after then, that it wasn’t something that personified who you were at the time. I wonder if your musical taste has evolved since then? Do you often listen to that album on new technology, thinking that you overlooked it as a teenager who was hiding themselves behind a love of lyrical metaphors and dramatics?

When you needed to find a way to connect with your peers, I was there. When you wanted to impress the cool girl, Jade, you downloaded all her favorite songs that were so different to what everyone else was listening. She wasn’t interested in the standard girlie pop music that you secretly listened to when no-one was watching. She was all Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin.

For a time, these were your favorite bands, all because they were hers. I can’t count the number of times I played “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” for the both of you, huddled together in class with an earphone each.

Even when drummer boy, or Jake as it turned out his name was, decided not to go to prom with you, I comforted you to the sounds of Evanescence. I didn’t judge because you were sad, and it turned out that dark music was a balm for angsty, heartbroken teenagers.

I could do everything for you. I would drown out the noise in busy, bustling airports, I helped you to focus when you were studying for exams and, most important in a teenage girl’s life, I blocked out the concern of her parents on car rides when she felt moody and angry at the world.

You know what they say. It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. But you carried me through all of it.

Now I just lie at the bottom of, what I believe, is a spare drawer, filled with other discarded items. At first, I didn’t notice you losing interest, not until I began to show my age. Through no fault of my own, but by your own consistent use and overexertion of my abilities, I began to experience some exhaustion. As with all old things nearing their use-by date, my buttons began to become stiff and my memory overloaded. Nevertheless, you pressed down harder and jiggled me around until I become blurry.

On one occasion, you even threw me aside in a huff when my volume button broke. Not going to lie, that one did hurt just a little.

Bit by bit, my presence with you became less and less. I hear my kind are no longer made, rendered obsolete by the birth of a new generation of smart technology. I’ll still never understand why carrying your music on your phone is any different to what I could do, yet you treat that sleek gadget with way more care than you did me.

As I lay here beneath a mound of unwanted junk, I wonder if this is how your CD player felt when I came into your life. Obsolete, unwanted and no longer useful. Is this how we are to be treated? Tossed aside and discarded to somewhere we can never be seen again. Though, since I remain out of the garbage or boxes, I am hopeful I will serve some future purpose.

Like now, as I hear voices in your old room, before a jostle of movement and a blinding of light hits me for the first time in ages. I think, “is this it?”

The light shifts and I am met with your face. I can’t say how many years it has been, but the longer hair, sharper jawline and slight crinkles around your eyes tells me you are no longer the little girl who listened to Fall Out Boy on repeat.

“You still have this old iPod?”

Another face comes into view. It’s someone I do not recognize. A friend, or even a sister, perhaps. Yet, it’s only you who I am focused on. Do you remember me? Do you remember the joy brought to your life? Will you find a way to fix me?

"It doesn't even work anymore, and I can play music on my phone nowadays. I don't need this piece of old junk anymore"