Our attention slowly shifts from the end of our field trip to the song, and soon the car has transformed into a chorusing, slightly off key rendition of “Apologize,” with the mother even joining in at times.įor the longest time, I didn’t have a very personal connection with music. I listen intently, picking at the strains of golden cello that weave in and out of the piece, jumping a little bit as I am prodded back to life by my friend, who chuckles at me as she realizes I’m mouthing the lyrics to myself. ![]() I’m silent within seconds, stunned by the beauty of the piece. ![]() She finally settles on channel 98.7, leaning back as smooth pop rock swells to fill the slightly sweaty interior of the car. My friends and I sit in the backseat of our parent chaperone’s car, fervently discussing our favorite exhibits while the unassuming mother looks on, fiddling quietly with the radio knobs of the slightly dusted dashboard. I am a wee fourth grader, exhausted after a day long field trip filled with scorching sun and caged animals. My first experience with “Apologize” was just outside the smelly gates of the Detroit Zoo.
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