Deep Cuts

by Holly Brickley

“I have no talent, just opinions about people who do.”

I personally like to pretend the phrase “deep cut” has a totally different meaning, one that has nothing to do with anyone else’s opinion. How deep does it cut? How close to the bone? How long do you feel it?

“I think songs gave me a window into a magical life,” I said. “Something bigger, or whatever, waiting out there. And I felt like the only way to get there was through the songs. Like the songs, if I listened hard enough, would show me how to get it right.”

“Hey Ya!” was the first time I learned that I liked to dance; I wasn’t sure if I was any good, but I liked how it felt.

How awful, to get old. As if it wasn’t bad enough being young. At least our knees responded to our commands.

Forgiveness, forgiveness: I hadn’t thought of it for myself. The idea seemed so insane I almost laughed. Forgive myself? That crazy bitch?

Honestly, how many different ways is it even possible for the same two people to break each other’s hearts?”

She wants to be the only one. She wants him as her deep cut, a B-side unearthed from a rarities bin, proof of her own specialness because she’s the one who discovered it, because she doesn’t know how to sing her own damn song.