The Chorus

Untitled | Ethan Broadbent |

“The Chorus” by Siham Busera

I opened the door, pulling delicately on the rusty handle that was barely hanging on like the last leaf before winter, and sat in the passenger seat. It smelled like long car trips to Virginia every other week. I looked around for what I came into the car for. It was under the arm rest. I picked up the basket of cassettes and put it on my cold lap. Each cassette looked the same, but each one held a different memory inside. “The black rectangles” my sister would call them. 

I started the car to a humming sound. I tried to turn on the heat but cold air came out. My numb hands picked up one of the tapes. I put it in the deck and pressed the play button. It was stiff and took some effort to press. The song started like it always did. The drums came first followed by the guy’s voice. I could see five-year-old me sitting in the back waiting for the chorus. 

“I don’t like this part. Go to the middle part,” I complained, kicking my feet at his chair. 

My dad’s laugh filled the entire car like a choir group singing in an empty stairwell. 

“Halia, stop doing that,” my mom scolded. 

I zoned back to the harsh reality. My feet were cold and my nose was bright red. The first song ended and the next played, taking a few seconds in between. I breathed into the air to see my white breath dance around me. The next song was my mom's favorite. 

“Turn it up more!” she told my dad. She sang along with the singer, almost missing every single note.  

Back then, it would have made me uncomfortable, but now? Now, I could feel her words hug me like a thick blanket.My hands no longer felt numb and my lap felt like warm bread was sitting on them. My feet were soaking in warm water and my breath melted like ice cream on a hot summer day. The song came near an end. 

I closed my eyes to savor the last seconds of warmth. The last beat played, and I was back in the Arctic. I placed my hands on the cassettes. I randomly picked another tape. I pressed the eject button and put in the one in my hand. 

My dad opened the driver's seat and sat in the car. 

“Aren’t you cold? Mom’s going to get mad at you.” 

“I forgot to get my jacket,” I told him.

 “Hurry up and get it if you want to come with me to the guy’s house.” 

“What guy?”

 “The one that wants to buy the car.” 

“Oh yeah.” 

I went inside and grabbed my jacket and walked slowly to the car, each step slower than the last. The drive to the buyer’s house was sadly quick. My dad parked in front of his house and unlatched his seatbelt. 

“Dad, wait.” 

“What?” he asked. 

“One more song,” I replied pressing on the stiff play button. 

My dad sat back and he closed his eyes as if reminiscing about the past. He opened his eyes and looked at me. “Do you want me to skip the chorus?” 

“No.”