I gazed at the sunset from the backseat in my car, my sister Kaylee in the passenger’s seat, and our Mom drove us to our dad’s. Tracing my thumb on the foggy window where I could see the ombre of the sunset, I followed the lines where the orange sky met the yellow and where the yellow sky met the pink while humming the lyrics of Aretha Franklin’s “You and Me.”

You, you send me Darling you send me I heard the song in a video and loved to listen to it ever since. The sunset was gone when we arrived at the apartment complex. I got out of the car.

“See you in the morning; love you!” my mom said after I leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. It was a Thursday night when my mom dropped my sister and me off at my dad’s apartment. Beautiful skinny lark trees disguise our green, small apartment complex. I had forgotten my keys that night to let us into the building and had to press the buzzer of our apartment number multiple times so Dad could let us in.

“Where are your keys?” in his stern, annoyed voice, he asked me when I walked through the door.

“I forgot them, and Kaylee has keys, too,” I say, matching his tone. Like-father-like daughter. Dad had house music playing on his desktop; he says it helps him to be diligent and productive. The tempo of the BPM is consistent and gets him going, so he kept it on after I told him I had to complete my English homework. He always makes sure I complete my homework. Therefore, I was the last to sit down at the dining table that night, rushing to finish it all. He made one of my sister and I’s favorites that night; he plated our servings of juicy jerk chicken and piled our plates with warm Rice-A-Roni and steamy fresh broccoli. We had both scarfed down our first serving of chicken and rushed to ask for seconds, drooling over the flavorful smell of the chicken lifting our noses. After my second serving, in urgency, I rinsed my dirty dishes, placed them in the dishwasher, and headed off to take a much-needed shower. I was desperate to wash off all the stress and commotion of the day to ease my body into the night.

Later, after scooping some cookies and cream ice cream into a mug, I joined my dad in the living room. I plopped on the couch, raised my eyebrows, and beamed with a zealous smile before I questioned my dad.
 
“Growing up — back when you were a DJ in high school — what were your favorite songs?” “I had multiple vinyls, hip-hop was emerging, and rhymes were bumpin’ back then,” he said. I had taken the remote to pull up YouTube on the TV to play our favorite rhymes and blues: “Just Be Good to Me” by The S.O.S. Band, “Tell It Like It Is” by Aaron Neville, and “Roxanne’s Revenge” by Roxanne Shante.

“That one, too. All of those — I used to sample those songs back in Queens,” he said, launching into a description of his turntables. I watched his dilated eyes, lost in memories of his youth. As we listened to these songs, the music ran into my eardrums. I bopped my head, spat out the rhymes at the speed of light, and sang passionately from the top of my lungs, acting as if I was heartbroken when my significant other left me. My dad’s hazel green eyes followed my limbs when he watched my disoriented dancing, barely containing his contagious laughter.

“Look, I got goose pimples hearing you sing these songs; you’re an old soul, Sidney Arie.” His posture was upright on the velvet red sofa, and he smiled humbly but broad enough to convey how proud he was.

“Play my favorite,” he chimes in while I sing Aaron Neville.

“And that would be?” I responded in curiosity, and I had a moment of denouement, knowing this night was coming to an end.

“‘What You Won’t Do For Love’ by Bobby Caldwell.”

I read the lines on my Dad’s face, and for
an instant, I could see his nostalgia as the saxophone rumbled. His eyes glistened in the light cast from the television screen, yet his smile only grew wider. With his voice cracking and a tear trickling down his left cheek, he said,

“Music was always so special to me, something of my own creativity I felt like only I could control. I’ve fallen stray from it. Sidney, I don’t remember when I lost my skill for music, but you brought it back to me.”

That night, in my bed, I was warmed by how it was a night I would cherish and remember forever, how my heart dilated hearing those words come out his mouth. I had learned through our relationship, the father-daughter relationship, that music is the bridge that connects hearts and souls.