The Perfect Song
Pressing Play as an Act of Love
Credit: Photo 243
I love driving mostly because I love controlling the aux. Before I had my own car that I unreasonably decided on because it had a USB port, I whipped around in my Grandma Gwen’s 2006 Mercury Mariner. It had a six-disc CD changer I loaded up with a chunk of albums I fell in love with. Or fell in love to. When you’re a college freshman, what’s the difference really?
During my freshman year, I vividly remember rolling through Elon University’s campus blaring Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange, Drake’s Take Care, Justin Timberlake’s The 20/20 Experience, Curren$y’s Pilot Talk II, and The Avett Brothers’ The Carpenter. I also had a bunch of music from my church’s worship band reserved primarily for Sunday mornings.
Sometimes I’d have my homies in the car. Sometimes it would be a girl I had a crush on. And other times it was all of us. I always had something queued up. Your friendly campus car DJ trying to remember yet again which CD slot Channel Orange is in.
The last time I remember burning CDs is while I was at home the summer before my sophomore year. While I would buy albums from time to time, I was broke and there were still a few torrent sites holding on by a thread. I also still had a few blank CDs hanging around from my high school rap career. Because I only had six disc slots in my car and limited space in my CD wallet, I knew I could only bring a few discs back to campus without having to expand to the deluxe wallet. I couldn’t be out here riding around with a deluxe wallet.
After much deliberation, I decided on Kendrick Lamar’s good kid, m.A.A.d city, Kanye West’s Yeezus, Young the Giant’s self-titled album, Tyler, the Creator’s Wolf, J. Cole’s Born Sinner, Chance the Rapper’s Acid Rap, and Mac Miller’s Watching Movies with the Sound Off.
These were albums I knew the homies would love riding around to—a lot of them already in our Spotify rotations. Still to this day, I haven’t experienced anything quite like riding through the middle of campus with Taylor & J.T., windows down, yelling the refrain to “m.A.A.d city.” Shit felt like freedom.
Sophomore year brought with it both familiarity and excitement. While campus hadn’t changed all that much, and I’m not sure if I had either, there was a new class of students under us—and a whole new class of girls who were only a year younger. Between listens of “Power Trip” and “IFHY,” the homies and I would talk about our new crushes and which Instagram follows we hoped would bloom into relationships.
When Elizabeth and I first started texting over winter break, it was like a glorified game of 20 Questions in an attempt to get to know each other removed from the awkwardness of having to try to get to know each other in person. I asked Elizabeth what kind of music she listened to, who her favorite artists were—and I excitedly texted the homies when she name-dropped Chance the Rapper and A$AP Ferg. We talked about our mutual love for The Avett Brothers and all the different concerts we’d been to. Elizabeth had interned at a concert venue and got to see Juicy J live. Music isn’t everything, but you don’t just stop texting a girl who rocks with Juicy J.
We texted throughout the break, even FaceTiming on a few occasions. There was one particular FaceTime call where Elizabeth’s mom introduced me to buckeyes—breaking down the difference between the nut and the chocolate-covered, peanut butter balls present at every Ohio State tailgate.
I came back to Elon excited to see if the connection Elizabeth and I had built over winter break was real, but Elizabeth’s journey back to campus was nothing short of a nightmare, delaying her return by a few days. Of course we texted throughout—Elizabeth keeping me posted on her whereabouts, and me with my fingers crossed hoping she’d get back to campus soon.
When Elizabeth finally sent me an ETA, I couldn’t resist. I immediately asked if she wanted to hang out. In retrospect, I’m shocked she said yes. I would pick her up that night after a full day of hellacious travel. I didn’t have much of a plan other than I wanted to be with her, to know what it’d be like to hear her laugh in person. During winter break, we had talked about going to the pet store together to play with cats. It looked like the pet store would still be open when I picked her up, so I figured we could do that and go from there.
When I got word Elizabeth was at her dorm and ready to go, I hopped in my car all bundled up and headed over to pick her up. This would be my first time having Elizabeth in my car, and I wanted to make sure I was playing something she liked when she stepped inside, so I switched the CD changer over to Acid Rap. I can’t remember if “Good Ass Intro” or “Cocoa Butter Kisses” was playing when she got in, but I knew she liked it, and I knew I liked her. For Valentine’s Day a few months later, Elizabeth made me a burnt CD with our favorite songs on it and included “Cocoa Butter Kisses.” I don’t need to tell you it immediately entered the rotation.
As the years have gone on, countless pickups have gifted me with the opportunity to try and queue up the perfect song—something that makes Elizabeth smile, laugh, or roll her eyes. Even now as we live together, I try to drive whenever I can so I can curate the vibe.
With Elizabeth traveling more these days, I’ve come to appreciate airport pickups because they take me back to picking Elizabeth up from her dorm and trying to greet her with something spot on. It’s not always even about queuing up the ideal song. Sometimes a song comes on I know Elizabeth will love and I skip back to the beginning just so it feels fresh when she gets in the car. And I guess it’s fresh to me too because everything changes when you’re hearing something with someone you love.
Playing the perfect song, or curating the perfect mix, is more about who I want to do it for and, maybe more importantly, why I desire to create this moment with them at all. It says something about the love I have for them, how much I care for them—that regardless of what happens next, at least we got to experience this together.
For our first dance song, Elizabeth suggested “Grows Old” by Thirdstory.
As we celebrated our first wedding anniversary this past weekend, I played “Grows Old” while driving to Trader Joe’s to pick up some flowers.
Riding by myself, I belted along with the bridge:
Say you’ll love me,
Say you’ll hold me,
Through the stormy weather,
We’ll be together always
I’m learning love is also letting go of control. It’s letting myself be loved. Maybe the perfect song doesn’t have to be one I picked but one that’s picked for me. One that meets us both where we are and makes us smile, laugh, or roll our eyes.
For as long as we’re here, I want to give up the aux every now and then and find new songs to fall in love with, to fall in love to.
What’s the difference really?
