It was her favourite record. It was my favourite record to hear her sing along to. Her voice so angelic it could be heard by the stars, and they would consider it a blessing. Now I hate that album. Watching the needle kiss the vinyl feels like a stab to my heart. But my ears will always be entranced by that first track: “Dreamer”. Is that what I am? A dreamer hoping to see his love once again? I know I can’t, but through this first track I can catch a glimpse of her.
It always starts with the piano. The smooth jazz instrumental followed by her footsteps. Every step and every twirl were chosen with beautiful intent. To be one with the music. As soon as the vocals touch my eardrum, I can see her. A faded image of my darling dancing in an empty room with nothing but a dresser, a poster, and that bewitching record player. The only thing that is unclear is her.
Her dark silky hair. Her delicate hands. The details blur. Her big round eyes the colour of cocoa beans—or maybe not quite. Her skin, touched by the southern sun. I can’t put the pieces of the puzzle together. Why am I stuck?
“Move the needle.”
I do as I’m told, and the song starts over. There she is. Waiting for me to find her. My hand reaches for hers, hoping to feel her love once again.
And just like that, the song is over.
Jibreel Khan lives in Gatineau with his mother. He’s an aspiring filmmaker who also indulges in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in his free time.