You know them. The memories that send a jolt of energy right to your chest. They cause a reaction so adrenaline-filled that you know you’ll be awake for at least another 2 hours, agonising over them.
One came to me last night.
I was on the bus going to school and a friend was unironically talking about how the Shrek soundtrack was an underrated masterpiece. I knew there was a Rufus Wainwright cover of Hallelujah on the soundtrack. I’d heard the original and liked it, but all other details evaded me. There was someone cool sitting behind us and I wanted him to know I was knowledgable about music so I went for it despite the fuzziness of my memory surrounding the fact.
‘You know that song was a cover, don’t you? That lad Lynyrd Skynyrd did the original,’
‘Who the feck is Lynyrd Skynyrd?’ my pal asked.
‘Can’t believe you don’t know him! That black fella who sings sort of bluesy folk rock songs.’
As soon as the sentence fell from my lips I knew I’d fucked up. I was too specific. Rule number one when spoofing is to stay vague.
To this day I wonder did the cool person behind me hear me? Did anyone hear me? Do they remember? Do they think ‘jesus do you remember that absolute eejit who thought Leonard Cohen was a blues singer called Lynyrd Skynyrd’, or suddenly recall ‘that big dope who thought Lynyrd Skynrd was a person, and that they sang Hallelujah’.
But only at night, right when I’m at the cusp of unconsciousness.
