Different Circles

The song began to play. Chase instantly liked it. Unlike her parents, sister, and brother, who listened to nothing but country music (Uncle Jake was trying to arrange a visit from Obie II, who they all worshiped), Chase loved alternative rock, thought it was the best friggin’ music ever invented, and had a keen appreciation for the jangling guitars and emotionally tragic lyrics that often went with the genre. She had no musical training of any kind, had never picked up an instrument in her life, but she had a love for music that transcended the average fifteen-year-old (or even the average forty-year-old) by a light year or two. As she listened now, she was drawn to the changing tempo and alternating distortion levels of the guitars between the verses and the choruses, the rhythmic backbeat that alternated along with the tempo, the lyrics, which she had no trouble at all interpreting even though it was a first listen, but most of all, the smoky, sexy sound of the lead singer’s voice as he sang out those lyrics.

The song came to an end and Ironic, by Alanis Morrisette began to play. Chase made a sour face as she heard it and was grateful when Uncle Jake turned the radio down to nearly sub-audible level.

“What did you think?” Jake asked, again, not with simple politeness, but seemingly with genuine interest.

“I liked it,” she told him. “It caught my attention right away. The guitar was good and the lyrics were totally bitchin’.” She flushed a little, forgetting for a moment that she was talking to an adult and not one of her peers. “Uh ... sorry, I mean cool.”

Uncle Jake chuckled. “I’m unoffended,” he told her.

“I really dig a song where I know what the singer is singing about,” she said.

Uncle Jake’s eyebrows went up a bit. “And you understood what he was singing about?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “Duh,” she said dramatically. “He’s talking about someone coming to his house and doing his girlfriend when he’s not home. How can you interpret that as anything else?”

Uncle Jake looked surprised and then smiled at her warmly (making her feel a little funny in the stomach). “That is, in fact, what he’s singing about,” he said. “You seem very astute at picking up lyrical meanings.”

She shrugged. It didn’t seem like that big a deal to her. “I love his voice too. Is he good looking? Please tell me he’s good looking ... and single.”

“Phil is a pretty good-looking guy,” Uncle Jake said. “And he is single.”

“Wow,” she said, already starting to fantasize about him.

“He’s also quite gay. He used to be Laura’s roommate when she and I first met.”

Her hopes came crashing down. This was tempered, however, by the shocking revelation that Uncle Jake had just laid on her. “Aunt Laura used to live with a gay guy?” she asked.

“For several years,” Jake said. “Until she moved in with me after we got together as a couple. They were really close friends. Still are, as a matter of fact. Phil walked Laura down the aisle in place of your grandfather at our wedding.”

“No shit?” she said, forgetting again that she was talking to an adult.

Uncle Jake did not even blink an eye. “No shit,” he assured her.

They talked more about the V-tach song as they continued the drive and Uncle Jake promised to give her a copy of the CD as long as she promised not to give any copies of it to her friends prior to its actual release. She promised not to. He then pointed to the radio. “I noticed a little wince on your face when Alanis started to sing,” he said. “You’re not a fan of Ironic?”

“No,” she said, making the sour face again. “Not only have they played that friggin’ song to death—I mean, they play it at least once a friggin’ hour on the alt-rock station we get out of SLC—but the lyrics are just dumb.”

“Really?” he said, that keen interest showing in his face again. “Why do you think so?”

“Because most of that shi— ... uh ... stuff that she’s singing about is not ironic. If you’re going to sing about things that are ironic, you should make sure they actually are ironic.”

“Explain,” Uncle Jake requested.

She explained something she had tried to describe to her dumb-ass friends who loved that stupid-ass song on multiple occasions. “Having it rain the day you get married is not friggin’ ironic. It’s a bummer, yes, but not irony. Not taking someone’s good advice is not ironic either. It’s stupidity or ignorance. And having a dude who is afraid to fly die in an airplane crash is also not ironic. It just means he was right to be friggin’ afraid. A fly in your friggin’ glass of wine? That’s not ironic, it’s friggin’ gross! And meeting some hot dude and then finding out he’s married? How is that shi-- ... uh ... stuff ironic? It isn’t! It’s just another bummer!”

Uncle Jake was laughing now, but not in a mean way. “Chase,” he told her, reaching over and patting her on the shoulder, “you are completely correct and years beyond your age in musical sophistication.”

She blushed again, both at his words and his touch. “You think so?” she asked.