What music makes us remember.

I have had four substantive romantic relationships.

(1) Ben. We met in 1997, our freshman year at Emerson College. He was from Indiana. His parents were Republicans. He was tall and dressed exclusively in Abercrombie & Fitch. He was the antithesis of who anyone would expect me to end up with. Relationship duration: a year-and-a-half. Last contact: May 2001.

(2) David. We met in Boston at the beginning of 2002. He was far too old for me. A forensic psychologist who lacked self-awareness. Relationship duration: two-and-a-half years. Last contact: Several months ago.

(3) Mike. We met in a very surreal fashion on March 11, 2005. Absolutely insane, and by far, the most fun person I've ever dated (if that's what you can call what we were doing). Tall, bald, tattooed. The black sheep of his family and very anti-authority. Relationship duration: somewhere between 6 months and a year, depending on who you ask. Last contact: This afternoon.

(4) Joe. April 2006. Long-haired, birkenstock-wearing, non-meat-eating do-gooder type. We matched on an intellectual level. Of all four, he treated me the best. He was also punctual and understood how to use a semicolon. Relationship duration: nine months. Last contact: This afternoon.

As you can see, I keep in touch with all of them except for Ben, who I last saw six years ago. He's out west somewhere, chasing his dream of being the next David Lynch. While I harbor no animosity for him, I have no fondness for him, either.

I've been making a mix on iTunes tonight of hippie music. Joni Mitchell, Carol King, Janis Joplin, et al. I came across one song, and amazingly, for about five seconds, I was in love with Ben all over again. Why? They say that scent is the sense most closely linked to memory. But for me, it's music. It's always been amazing to me what certain songs will make us remember, and the times a certain song can make us relive, even if only for a moment.