The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping,
I dream’t I held you in my arms.
When I awoke, though, I was mistaken,
And I hung my head, and cried.
Dearest Rachel –
I have always hated the song “You Are My Sunshine,” for reasons that should be obvious from the very first verse (no, not the fact that the verse doesn’t actually rhyme! Well… that too, maybe). Whether it was sung by my grandmother when I was a child, by you at one point or another throughout our relationship, or by the two friends in one of your favorite chick flicks (and now that I think of it, there were precious few of those you called “yours”) Beaches. There has never been a time when I could think of it as a cheerful song, despite its upbeat melody.
Sure, it starts with that perky chorus that is a declaration of undying love, even need, for the subject of the poem – the word ‘only’ as a descriptor in the very first line, while indicating faithfulness on the part of the singer, is a red flag right from the start. And to be sure, my lived experience includes nothing but people who have been faithful to their “only sunshines” all their lives – be it either set of grandparents, my folks, my sister and her husband, and the two of us – so I really see no reason for the plea not to take that sunshine away like others might. But more than the concern embedded in it from that very first line that the object of the singer’s ardor might walk away is the dread inexorability of the other reason why their sunshine might be taken away.
And with that in mind, I cannot for the life of me understand why this song ever became popular. It is this oppressive reminder that, no matter how much you love someone (and they love you), how faithful you are to them (and again, vice versa), one of you will inevitably be taken away from the other, as surely as night follows day. And implicit in that reference to one’s “only sunshine,” there’s the despairing thought that the night that will come from that point will basically be eternal – to put it in terms that I might use throughout the course of these letters, there is no “Megumi.” Without one’s “sunshine,” one’s life is gray, and will always be gray, if not straight-up dark. How hopeless is that, honey?
I don’t know if I heard it in your voice last night, to be honest, but I did hear it in my head as I woke up this morning, which suggests it must have been in my dreams last night somehow or other. And, as I’ve already made clear, I despise the song enough without having to deal with my own sunshine having been taken away lo these nearly four years ago. I don’t need or want these sort of reminders; I give enough of them to myself every time I write you, as it is.
***
It’s possible, too, that I’m just that much more conscious of the lack of sunlight, as I’d added months to the spring and summer of this year by going to places where either our winter is their summer, or the concept of winter (and the darkness that both accompanies and precipitates it) are alien concepts entirely. Oh, they experience nightfall, but as most of the destinations were large cities, true darkness isn’t anything they have to deal with (indeed, it could be argued that Tokyo at night – at least in certain areas – is crazier busier than during the day); it’s not the darkness and silence of the tomb.
So having been removed by a few additional months from that darkness and silence myself, to deal with the waning days and waxing nights as we cross the equinox has hit me harder than I expected. That it should prompt this particular earworm is a little strange, perhaps, but I can’t argue against it being depressingly on the nose, even as I trudge my now-customary way to the gym in the morning, with the toenail of a moon my only witness.
***
Of course, as I let my mind go relatively blank in the clamor of the gym, it occurred to me what the remedy is for a distasteful earworm; while you preferred to listen to it all the way through to exorcise it (mostly because the reason you would get something stuck in your head was because you couldn’t remember how a given song ended. Not so for me; which I’m pretty sure there are more verses to this song, the chorus and the first stanza are quite enough for me to know I want it out of my head), I generally try to replace them with another earworm. To be fair, sometimes that results in a frying-pan-and-fire situation, but that’s the chance you take; when you’re in the throes of a hated song, sometimes any port in a storm will have to do.
I found myself settling on a song you would be equally familiar with, or more so; “Tomorrow,” from the musical about Little Orphan Annie (who I think I recall you empathizing with, and play-acting as, during your childhood – it must have something to do with being an only child). In some ways, it’s the very antithesis of “Sunshine,” as it relies on no one else to provide hope; just the fact that, no matter how bad things are, they will eventually brighten up, as surely as day follows night. Even clouds and storms hold no fear for the singer, as they will part for the sun at some point in the near future. And she’s certainly not wrong, as the story plays out.
But then, there’s that final line, about how the beloved tomorrow is “always a day away.” I might be overthinking this, but that still means it hasn’t arrived yet – and possibly never will. It’s hopeful, but there’s no guarantee (even though she’s willing to “bet [her] bottom dollar” on it). Sure, if things don’t pan out, there’s still tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow after that until they do, but there’s always that next tomorrow that’s still another day, another sleep (that you may not wake up from) away, and so on into eternity.
Perhaps tomorrow, for me, and you, is eternity, when the sun (and, if you’ll pardon the pun, the Son) will come out. But that day is however many days away, and won’t likely be on this side of the veil, honey. And I’m not sure what to do with the actual tomorrows I still have to endure in between then and now. I don’t want to spend them with my head hung and crying, but it does still feel darker and quieter than I wish it would be.
For now, though, all I can do is to ask you to keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it until then.
Letters to Rachel 