"Midnight...Not a Sound on the Pavement..."

As a child, I grew enamored of show tunes.  One of my favorites was “Memory” from the musical Cats.  I have never seen Cats though.  When I read that the topic for the GBE Group this week was “Midnight,” I thought of that song.  I could hear the plaintive melody in my head of a woman lamenting the coming of the dawn.  I could feel the loneliness emanating from that song.  It’s a feeling I know well.

I have always loved to sing.  I sing for joy and in sorrow.  I sing to praise and to mourn.  It has always been a way I could express myself when all other methods failed.  I could lay claim to emotions I could not name but I could understand in another’s expression of them. 

As an adult, I am more reserved about when and how I sing.  However, I often smile when I look at my daughter’s lack of inhibition of where and when she sings.  I love watching her when she does not even realize she is singing. 

I recall a time I sang “Memory.”  I was babysitting for the two children of a couple who were friends with my parents.  They all went out for the evening.  I remember watching my mother get ready.  From a very young age, I loved watching my mother get dressed up.  She had this fancy blue and black dress I always wished I could wear - much like how Liv wishes she could wear my “cocktail style” black sleeveless and strapless dress. 

My parents and their friends were late getting back.  I remember being out of sorts.  The children had long been in bed.  I put on a sweater, went out onto the back deck of their home and took in the cool night air of late fall.  Though we lived in a big city, this house was in a rather remote part.  It was high on a hill and there were no neighboring houses within sight.  The view of the stars was simply amazing.

I just started to sing.  I belted out “Memory.”  I belted out several songs I had heard in church.  I also belted out several pop songs from the late 80’s.  I sat on that deck and sang until I could sing no more.  I sang until I felt like I had emptied myself out and given all that was icky and stressful inside to something greater than myself – even if only for one night.  I sang songs that expressed emotions I just did not know how to name or describe.

I look at the lyrics to the song “Memory” now and I don’t wonder why it appealed to me even when I could not have fully understood all of the meanings with the life experience of a 13 year old.  The juxtaposition of day and night representing happiness and sadness is backwards.  The morning is described as having a “stale cold smell” rather than having an air of renewal. 

The singer talks about how she can smile at the memory of the old days where she was beautiful.  She then describes the features of the night, like streetlamps, as being vaguely ominous.  She says “And soon it will be morning.”  It seems the word “morning” could actually be replaced with the word “mourning” here.  She misses a life she once had.

The darkness and the night envelope the singer.  Being in the dark is her escape from the pain that the day now brings.  She remembers her good times – or “her time in the sun.”  She yearns for times like that again and resolves to make fresh starts.  “Daylight.  I must wait for the sunrise.  I must think of a new life.  And I mustn’t give in.”  But she inevitably gives in because it is easier to mourn in the dark than attempt to live for the light.  One can wrap dark around like a comfortable blanket, but it is harder to “turn [your] face to the dawn.”  It’s harder to grow than to be led.

I still have a lot of that thirteen year old girl’s fears and anxieties in me.  Today – I understand them better.  It is easier for me to wrap myself in the solitude of the night.  I enjoy being awake while the world is asleep and vice versa.  It is easier for me to not ask others to see me, or worse, to expect that they won’t even if I do ask. 

Sometimes, loneliness is just easier.  Not being lonely brings with it the risk of loss.  With being lonely, there is less risk of loss.  I have always been able to handle the loneliness.  I can’t handle any more loss in my life. 

But, without risking loss, I miss out on the opportunities for joy. 

I need to see a few less midnights and few more dawns.