Modern Lore 7.4: A song that motivates you
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A few years after her diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis, Aunt Debbie's legs started to lose their motor functions. She took agonizing steps with her upper body heavily pressed on a wheeled walker, outpaced by my heavyset grandpa, who himself slowly lumbered into his condo with labored breathing. Debbie often brought up that her neighbor, another woman with M.S. at least twenty years her senior, only used a cane and could still swim laps in the Triumvera pool. On weekdays, Debbie and grandpa had a caretaker, but after Sunday brunch, my dad would bring me over to help around the house. I folded Debbie's pink pajamas, wrote checks to the Columbia House Record Club, and learned the secret to their white carpet, a weekly dose of Resolve, which landed like asbestos white magic before disappearing into the fibers. Four hours of work earned me twenty dollars, and the National Honor Society wouldn't let me count it as community service.
I would look through Debbie's CD collection, strange hits selected from the Columbia House catalogue, with a slant towards psychedelic rock. In here I found a common bond between my Aunt and I, a secret love for Pearl Jam, and I would complete the chores with Jeremy blasting and my grandpa yelling from the bedroom to turn down the music. Debbie normally was the one to file a noise complaint, but she allowed it to permeate the condo, reliving those grunge days in Redondo Beach she when she could trace the coast on rollerblades, her calves strong and slim.
circa 2006