Charlie is 13. His room is a throwback, a treasure chest of vinyl records and black light posters. He has an 8 track machine. There are dragons, skulls, and Kiss. There are saved Yoohoo and root beer bottles. Artifacts and symbols from a pop culture that adolescence identifies by and through.

I saved my Yoohoo bottles too, and a Mr. Pibb can from a family trip to the Grand Canyon. Why do we save Yoohoo bottles? Or some beer can we didn’t even drink? Mementos perhaps. Like objects on an altar, meaning and strength are derived. Of course, Charlie had the Cobain and Hendrix and Tupac posters as well, but when he asked if I would like to sit down and listen to his Olivia Newton-John 8 track, I realized a moment of ordained release and healing had presented itself.

From the song, ‘Magic’, off of Magic - The Very Best of Olivia Newton-John:

“You have to believe we are magic / Nothin’ can stand in our way
You have to believe we are magic / Don’t let your aim ever stray
And if all your hopes survive / Your destiny will arrive
I’ll bring all your dreams alive / For you”

Then Charlie put on his vinyl Houses of the Holy. We listened, and didn’t talk. There’s something therapeutic to the physicality of vinyl. Maybe it was just the Yoohoo, but damn, Jimmy Page never sounded better.

I left Charlie’s room a better person. He, like a soothsayer, nodded in acknowledgement.

Thank you, Master Charlie. I believe we are magic. Thank you for the slow ride to the good side.