Brian Wilson

A song by Barenaked Ladies reminds me of a life I never had.

It starts and I remember him. I remember when we were young--that summer between high school and college. For me, anyway, it was supposed to be that summer. It turned into a year and I eventually found my way. For him, it was never just a summer.

We were in his parents' basement, waiting for the rest of the guys to show up and he was teaching me the guitar chords. I was embarrassed because I just couldn't figure it out. I was laughing at myself, at my inability to change from one chord to another and my inability to stop biting my fingernails. He was laughing too and he strummed for me while I tried to move between C and A Minor.

I was proud, though, when he looked at me, and said, "I never really understand you."

He didn't understand how I was both right- and left-handed or how I managed to talk my parents out of everything. I gave the guitar back to him and pulled my knees up to my chin, watching his thoughts. I felt so much then. The guitar thing was endearing and I adored it.

"Just to check out the late-night record shop ..." he trailed off. He was talented. He used words like "shop" and "record" in his songs. And he was there, with me, living.

It was life. We played a lot that summer--in six states, and I went with them calling the bars ahead of time, finding what coffee shops we could. Neither of us could drink it black but we'd try anyway, just to beat the other to it.

In the fall we recorded in a cheap studio and I heard the song for the first time in its entirety. I had that draft from the early summer evening and found it later. He had changed the words a little.

I didn't realize the change til a year or two later when I was going through old memories.

"Call it impulsive, call it compulsive, call it insane, but when I'm surrounded, I just can't stop."