Claire de lune by Claude Debussy softly plays through my earbuds as I unfold a blanket, watching as the fabric floats up and softly sinks to the ground. I take a seat in my favorite chair which over time has molded to cradle my body comfortably. The book I have set next to me on a stool, which serves as a side table, is full of colorful tabs marking all the parts of the book that I loved. The pages are worn and the spine is developing a crack, marring the art that decorates it. The soft piano notes of the melody slowly rise in volume reaching a stunning crescendo before they slowly fall back down to a soft mezzo piano. The music matches the scene making it feel planned out and perfectly organized. Almost like someone has perfected the moment with magic.

A kettle filled with water heats on the stove as I dance around my kitchen by myself. Killer Queen by Queen is blaring from a speaker. The kettle begins to scream a high-pitched note cutting through the chorus of the song. I smile to myself as I reach for my favorite cup and pour hot water into it. I add my favorite herbal tea and cover it with a potholder, trapping the steam and allowing it to brew. I carry my cup upstairs as the song finishes with one final lingering note. Another memory to add to the mental scrapbook in my head.

The Christmas lights reflect off of the glitter that has somehow made its way all over the floor, the funny thing about glitter is that it always finds its way somewhere where you don’t want it to be. The dinner chair I’m sitting on provides a perfect view of all the decorations hanging around my living room. My dad presses the eject button on our CD player which is currently full of Christmas music. He adds one more CD and adjusts the volume, he then goes back to draping more decorations over the backdoor. The song that was selected plays quietly on a guitar accompanied by chimes. The unique twang of John Denver’s voice begins to sing of the comfort of winter and the beauty of nature. The name of the song is Aspenglow sung by John Denver, this song weaves itself with my memories of the moment making it inseparable. When I listen to it later memories of that moment return with each note.

A familiar harmonica melody plays through my earbuds and Billy Joel sings a familiar story about a young man playing the piano at a bar. I glance at my phone recognizing the melody. Piano Man by Billy Joel it says. I smile to myself as I slip on my sneakers and grab my dance bag. I sing the lyrics to my dad, horribly out of tune, but I don’t care my smile makes my cheeks hurt.

It’s dark outside and street lights flash by creating patterns in my lap as my mom and I drive home. The Room Where It Happens from the musical Hamilton plays through the stereo system, being my favorite song from the play I know every line. As my mom drives, I sing and act out every single line. My mom smiles to herself. I smile too as the street lights continue to pass by and the song continues to play.

I tune my violin, playing the strings to make sure each one rings with the correct tone. I bring my bow to the strings and begin to play Violin Partita No.2 in D minor, BVW 1004: I. Allemande by Johann Sebastian Bach. The first two notes I play resonate as I continue to play the piece. I adjust my posture and begin to sway with the music, as I read the music I think about the scene I am painting with my bow. 

Music can be interpreted differently by everyone who listens to it, for some it can be sad or connected to their favorite memory, for others it may make them hopeful and excited for what is yet to come. I don’t believe in magic but there is no denying that music has the ability to connect people, preserve memories and bewitch your spirit into feeling as if you are doing everything right.