Siamese Dream by Smashing Pumpkins

We used to listen to Siamese Dream in my car, driving alongside the beaches, driving all night. The CD would end and she’d press play again, and Cherub Rock would start, those octave power chords like diaphanous angel wings. She’d sing along. She was seventeen then. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Ever will see. Wisest person I’ve ever met. Her favorite song was Mayonnaise. I used to lie on her bed and watch her do her makeup, singing along as she painted the most vivid shade of red on her lips. I loved watching her get ready. But I couldn’t watch her undress. Just looked at the ceiling. I wasn’t a big fan of Soma. I always wanted to skip to Geek USA. It’s my favourite, I said. I liked it because it was manic and fucked up. At that time, I thought the more manic and fucked up the better. Happy to cast myself in a tragic role. I’d bang my head to the break down at the end of the song and her soft hands would reach for the wheel of the car. I broke up with her the day before Valentine’s Day. She begged me to see her, begged me not to do this now, on all days. When I stopped to pick her up she was waiting at the end of her driveway. She’d gotten ready to be driven around in my car. She floated across the road like an angel all in black. We drove around that night and listened to Siamese Dream, just like we always did. In between songs, she told me that she’d be strong for me. It was the last time we listened to that album together. It wasn’t the end for us. There was more dancing and more melody in our futures. But we never again listened to Siamese Dream. There was something about it that was too close to the nerves of the past. Billy’s voice on Spaceboy, like resting in the twilight after the sun has scorched the earth. That day on the beach, that first day, when we exchanged books, and saw that her favourite author, Donna Tartte, was friends with my favourite author, Bret Easton Ellis. We thought it was a sign. That fate had brought us together. And would keep us together. And we kissed with the cool breeze of the ocean washing over us. The first time I kissed a man was in an alleyway outside a club. He grabbed me and kissed me like he was eating out a passionfruit. The homeless guy collapsed against the dumpster started clapping and yelled ‘Go for it fellas!’ I stopped seeing the guy after a few weeks because he kept texting me things like ‘I didn’t wear underwear to work today.’ He said he’d never heard of Smashing Pumpkins.