Manchester Orchestra - Colly Strings (2006)

I used to listen to Manchester Orchestra's first three albums on repeat all the time when I was in high school. I learned and sang a bunch of their songs on guitar.

I was also volunteering on the rehab floor of a hospital at the time, hoping to find a career path to choose as college applications came nearer. There was a patient, we'll call her Susan. Susan was around 65 years old with lighter skin and short white hair coming out of the side of a helmet she wore nearly 24/7. She never talked. She seldom made eye contact. She looked quite healthy for her age, not over nor under weight.

Part of my duties as a volunteer was bringing dinner to the patients in the common dining area where patients would sit at round tables and talk to volunteers, and sometimes each other. Susan always had a volunteer or other staff member bring her into the commons by wheelchair and help her eat. She had difficulty with coordination because of her brain injury.

When patients were done eating, most would go to their room to get ready for bed, but a couple would stay and chat with volunteers (old people love to share their stories). During this time, when the patients were done with therapy for the day, fed, and getting ready for bed, I would hop on the piano in the corner and try to transcribe songs that I knew on guitar to piano, since I didn't have a piano at home. Susan was always rolled back to her room soon after eating, which was quite early since she never fully finished her plate. But one night, she made it to dinner a little late because she was getting a shower around the start of dinner time. I was playing a little bit of piano and had finally gotten down how to play "Everything To Nothing" by Manchester Orchestra on the piano as I had on guitar. So, for the first time, she was in the room when I was playing piano. A staff member was trying to feed her, but I was told that she just seemed fascinated by the piano and wouldn't turn her head to take a bite. She made some uncoordinated movements with her hands on the wheels of her wheelchair, and the staff member brought her next to the piano. I played (not very well), and she stared at the keys with big blue eyes. I only played for a few more minutes since we had to get the remaining patients back to bed, including Susan.

The next night, the doctor, who everybody appropriately nicknamed Dr. Smiley, came to see how Susan was doing. Her family also came for the first time in a while (atleast that I had seen). Toward the end of my shift, I came into the room to refill her water and saw underneath her helmet for the first time, where she had a large dent. While I was in the room, I was hearing a little bit of her story. She had tripped and fallen down some stairs. She landed on her head and suffered a traumatic brain injury that left her mute and dependent on others. I also heard that before her fall, she was a piano teacher.

I left that hospital with an indescribable weight of...just, pure emotion. I drove home that night in the rain with my windshield wipers on, playing "Leave It Alone" on my iPod nano. Toward the end of the song, I finally let myself cry. I almost never cried. I finally realized that all these "patients" in the hospital are just like me, just like my friends, just like my family members, just like my girlfriend. I had never actually seen or heard about one of my own family members in the hospital, besides the ones working in them. I'll never forget Susan. She showed me how lucky I was to have my health, how lucky I was that my loved ones had their health, and how quickly that health can be taken away.

That was over 8 years ago. I decided soon after that to become a physical therapist. Now, I'm finally graduating as a Doctor of Physical Therapy in under a year.

Damn. Thanks for taking me on a road down memory lane.