A song is a key for locked memory boxes. A song can transport you back through time, giving you a chance to relive moments and ideas that occurred back when you first heard that song. A song is not just a song; it is also a story.

Black Sabbath – “War Pigs”

When I was in high school I ran over a family of racoons. I borrowed my Mum’s car and drove it 40 minutes in the very early hours of the morning to borrow my boyfriend for the weekend. I was driving too quickly, I’ll admit it, but I can also admit it is so easy to push a little harder with your feet when the beat is just right. I had yet to encounter a soul on the road and my adolescent mind didn’t seem to consider anything but driving as quickly as possible into the arms of my love.

It was a long stretch of highway in the country and I recall not knowing how to turn on my brights. I listened to music at a much louder volume then and similarly, when I went to shows I certainly didn’t wear earplugs. Damn, youth is swell. Anyway, I liked it real heavy, then. Then, it was the combination of abusing my Mum’s car, the jam penetrating her speakers, the urgency in knowing a make-out will happen almost immediately, and the darkness that consumed my mind at the time that led to the horrific slaying of a family of 5 racoons. I can only assume it was a family. I can assume there were 5 because on my way back I saw their broken bodies splayed across the asphalt, as if to form a crosswalk for the dead. I remember how they felt beneath my tires. I remember the words I heard at the time:

“Generals gathered in their masses, Just like witches at black masses, Evil minds that plot destruction, Sorcerers of death’s construction…”

… actually, it went more like this:

“generals gathered in their masses” OH MY GOD

“just like witches at black masses” HOLY SHIT

“evil minds that plot destruction” I CAN’T BREATHE

“sorcerers of death’s destruction” I JUST COMMITTED MURDER

Nail in the coffin: I had just become vegetarian two days prior. I was on a quest to save the animal kingdom, one PETA video at a time. I was sixteen and searching. I was a good person (I still am a good person). I had a holy heart, but I didn’t know what to do with it.

I remember pulling over to the side of the road to catch my breath. I remember dreaming of the poor creatures, assuming they were crossing the road to visit their aunt. I wondered if they were on a family vacation or maybe attempting to visit the Chicken on the other side.

I blacked out a bit.

When I came to, there was a car behind me. Its brights reflected in my rear-view and I grew certain it was God coming to put an end to my measly life for slaying something(s) so precious. I don’t even think I believed in God, but at this point I couldn’t breathe. The car began to blink in a series of Morse code-like illuminations and a dark figure stepped out of its container. I know nothing about cars except how to get from point A to point B (and really sometimes I wonder who is doing THAT – driving is so subconscious when you’re sixteen) but the car was blue, like mine, and the man was a big brooding thing with muscles that could crush my sweetening teenage soul into smartie-sized pieces. I grew very, very scared. I started to panic. I had my first panic attack. I forgot how to drive. I forgot how to work an automobile at all. I attempted to start the damn thing but it was already running. This scared me more- that grinding sound of re-ignition as if to tell me: YOU LOSE, IDIOT! The man was approaching and I was reminded of that ghost story I was so good at telling then:

- girl is stranded on deserted highway… falls asleep… hears tapping the whole night, murderer on the loose… turns out the tapping was a dead man hung from the tree above her… blood everywhere… she gets blamed as the culprit… yeah yeah yeah… you get it, scary shit when you are a kid -

I fumbled around in the glove box. I am not sure why. I played what I thought was the scariest music I had, as loudly as I could handle, as if to warn him: I am tougher than my size allows, you Ape! Sabbath didn’t scare him, and in hindsight, he probably dug it. He knew I was a young thing. He knew I had budding breasts and a bouncy ass and he knew I was a pushover in my youth and a little bit of a mousey thing too. He kept walking closer, swinging his keys. He walked too slowly- like those messed up Jason movies. I couldn’t get my arms to move the car, my legs unable to press on the gas- I was pretty paralysed. I closed my eyes and thought of puppies… and the kids I babysat… and the nicer things of nice… and then the dead racoons came to mind and all I could think of was blood and how I wanted to pass out right then and there, with those racoons and not with this man. I thought of these things instead of starting the car, and in that moment the man tapped on my half-open window asking if I was in trouble. I was kind and said no. He talked a little about Ozzy as I fumbled with the ignition. A cell phone would have been so handy 10 years ago, I think, now. Just as he unzipped his pants some kind of Spirit came through me and I was filled with the power to finally start the car 0 to 70 in a blink. I ran over something again. I hoped it was his foot. In actuality, I hit a carcass on my way out. I said sorry infinitely. I felt awful for the family crossing the street but I was so worried he would chase me that I think I drove faster than humanly possible. I was an angel.

When I got to my boyfriend’s house I was sweating and as white as a sheet. I didn’t tell him what happened. For some reason, my youth convinced me it wasn’t a big deal. We drove back towards my house and he thought I was just nervous to kiss him. To this day, when I hear that song, which is still one of my favourites, I think of my ex-boyfriends confident face, and I change the title of the song to “War Raccoons”.

- Brooke Manning aka Loom