Phoebe Bridgers is a name that you may think of when you think about gut wrenching songs with extremely deep and meaningful lyrics. When you click the word “play” in the middle of the Apple Music page, you’ll start by hearing a sound that you may hear when your mom lets the pasta in the pot overcook, Smoke Signals. Out of genuine and morbid fear, you might run out to your new car and flee. In the car during your panicked state of mind, you might experience a bit of Motion Sickness.
As you begin to feel better, your eyes widen when you see an abundance of people lost in their own sadness. After some close examination, you realize that you are passing by a Funeral. You’re an overthinker, and you think to yourself “Is this someone I’ve met before?’’ After mentally eliminating some possibilities, you finally find a link to the obituary. You scan it. It takes you to a long page filled with words. Screams of pure terror escape from your mouth. You know who it is, Demi Moore, your high school boyfriend who left you for the cheerleader.
Yearning, you drive for countless hours on end until you pass by a familiar Scott Street. As you sit on the now very warm seat in your car, you tumble down a rabbit hole of thoughts, wondering how many people you’vepassed who might be killers. Obviously you’dhope not that many, but then you remember a random statistic you came across while doom-scrolling through Instagram: “The average person will cross paths with 16 murderers in their lifetime.” This unsettling thought makes it hard to focus because one of those 16 could be driving right next to you or working at the gas station you’re pulling into.
Fear and anxiety flood your body. You’ve been driving into the night for so long that when you look at a street sign, you realize you’re in Georgia. How did I get here? Why am I here? A voice in your head whispers, Chelsea. Visit Chelsea. She is your old friend from grade school, remember? You go with your gut and drive to her house. As soon as she sees you,she remembers you. You both sit down at her kitchen table, catching up until halfway through the conversation when she asks, “What would you rather have—mac and cheese or pizza?” You say you’d rather have mac and cheese.
You recall one thing about Chelsea: she loves listening to music while doing anything. She hits shuffle on her playlist and a song by the name of You Missed My Heart begins to play from her phone. You and Chelsea get up and dance, just like you did your junior prom, until you both lose track of the pasta on the stove. Suddenly, you’re hearing Smoke Signals all over again.
