The Black Tape

The shiny package, unwrapped in front of him, revealed one of the greatest possessions of an entire life. A premium audio cassette, ready to hold the finest analog sounds a teenager could have ever hoped for. The outer case was of an opaque dark shade. Just enough transparency to let a peak of the actual tape, made of a deep, shiny, black piano acrylic. A true work of art.

The Black Tape was his and ready for its journey. He loaded it to the recorder and, before pressing the “rec” button for the first time, began to flicker through all the vinyl discs that once touched his heart. He listened to them, one by one. Old and new. Classic and cheesy. It didn’t matter. When the first song accelerated his beats, he knew it was time to get started.

Tears, smiles, pains, hopes, disappointments, from a tune to another, emotions were magnetized, one by one. Although his music taste wasn’t the best at the time — might not be that good yet — the feelings were genuine, solid. As a teenage boy, he had a lot more hormones than neurons. Still, even with his somewhat romantic nature, every melody he saved on that tape was his voice. His mind was there. His soul — he had one at the time — was there. That tape was the most honest expression of himself.

The Black Tape was not about the music. It had to do with love, from one boy to one girl. From one heart to another. It was a passionate letter. With no copies. A single child of a chest exploding with sounds of eternity.

The making of the Black Tape took several days. All the songs that mattered to him were there. It was perfectly timed, in a way that no blanks would be left. Sides A and B were cut just right, with the last track ending exactly where it should. No white noise. Just music. Juts words. Just feelings.

The Black Tape soon found its destiny. The hands of the Girl. The ears of the Princess. The heart of the Queen. From his hands to hers. From his heart to her mind. The Black Tape. With the songs they once listened together. With the music they shared in their most beautiful, important moments.

The cassette was played countless times, and every time it did, the Queen was reminded of the boy. For every song, a memory, a sentiment.

But time has no mercy. Day after day, the Black Tape started being forgotten. Played less and less. Until, one day, it didn’t play at all. And the next day. And the next. For months, the Black Tape was there, forgotten inside of a box, inside of a house. Waiting for some attention. Begging for a breath of nostalgia that never came.

And then, without explanation, the Black Tape was gone. It vanished from the face of the Earth, leaving nothing, but the sound of grief.