Chester Bennington, lead singer of Linkin Park, killed himself today.

Emmanuel Ramos
Jul 21, 2017 · 5 min read

Last week, my friend Eric and I bought tickets to see Blink 182 and Linkin Park co-headline a show in Hershey, PA. It’s a five hour drive to Hershey, and we were so wrapped up in the excitement that we quickly decided a road trip was in order. Two days, we’d decided, mostly because I’m busy the following Tuesday, but we’d take two days to experience everything the road had to offer. It would be a boys’ trip for the ages.

Chester Bennington, lead singer of Linkin Park, killed himself today. He was 41 years old, and leaves behind six children. Eric texted me as soon as he heard the news. I read whatever I could about it and then got a text from my friend Kevin.

I felt bad, and I’m sad that real people have to deal with the fallout from all of this: he will leave sad friends and children, not to mention many fans across the world. My friend Ashlee, who I know from college, was a huge fan of Linkin Park. I thought about how sad this must have made her, so I texted her when I had a moment.

The truth is, I don’t know what I wanted to say to her, or what I could make of the situation myself. I’d always liked Linkin Park, but I wasn’t super emotionally attached to them. Either way, I was also (selfishly) thinking about what would happen with these concert tickets and the wild boys’ trip to Hershey.

I first heard Linkin Park on the heels of their first top 40 hit, “In the End.” It was 2001, and I was in the seventh grade, and Linkin Park was always on the radio. It was a soundtrack to the life we were living those days. Skipping class, talking shit, playing Yu-Gi-Oh, and listening to Linkin Park. To the mainstream, their sound was a direct retaliation to the choreographed pop everyone was used to hearing on the radio and seeing on TRL, but to us, Linkin Park was the gritty realization of the angst and hormones we felt.

Only I didn’t listen to Linkin Park. And I didn’t listen to Jay-Z like my cousins did, and I didn’t listen to the Backstreet Boys and NSYNC like my sister. In those days, I secretly listened to the clean, safe sound of New York’s WQEW 1560 AM — Radio Disney. I loved the Disney Remix of Lou Bega’s Mambo Number 5 that was in heavy rotation, I loved the afternoon program that was broadcast from a tree house, and I loved the classics they’d play like Chubby Checker’s “The Twist” and Smash Mouth’s “All Star.” And honestly, I didn’t even know that I was supposed to be embarrassed by it.

That year, my English teacher, Ms. Douglass, gave me and all my friends assigned seats. She’d decided that we were too distracted and too disruptive to sit near each other, so she blessed me with a seat next to Jennifer Avila, the girl I secretly had a crush on. She was a sweet, white Ecuadorian from the hood, and she was tough. She matched our trash talk, she was smart, and she wore the same dope track suits Missy Elliot was rockin’ in her music videos. Somehow, the desks aligned in such a way that Jennifer and I shared a table for two by the window. Right away, I knew seventh grade was going to be good. But I was quiet, shy, and terrible at talking to girls, so Jennifer and I never actually talked to each other, and rarely even interacted. As far as she knew, I was a kid that would act up in my other classes, but would fall into good behavior for Ms. Douglass’ English class.

One day, when we were supposed to be doing class work but were socializing instead, it finally happened. Jennifer turned to me, curious only because she was kind, and asked, “What kind of music do you listen to?” This was my shot to finally impress her, to be cool, to start a conversation we’d finish later by passing notes, and nothing was better than passing notes with a girl.

But I froze. How could I admit, to this cute girl that’s finally talking to me, that I listen to Radio Disney in my free time? Sometimes I would listen to my sister’s NOW That’s What I Call Music CD’s but I couldn’t even think of any of the music I enjoyed on that mix. Finally, I let out a soft, embarrassed, “I don’t listen to music.” And her head shot back and her eyes grew wide, “What?!” she asked, “What about the radio?”

And faced with half of the title I was attempting to hide, I blurted “I don’t listen to the radio.” And her eyes grew even wider, like I had two heads and no ears. At this point, even the kids at the table behind us and kids at the table in front of us were listening to this interaction. After she took a moment to gather herself, she asked, “but what about Linkin Park? All boys like Linkin Park.” And there was my opening — an opportunity to salvage this conversation by saying I liked Linkin Park, and at least being one of the boys.

But I wasn’t one of the boys, and I admitted, “I don’t listen to Linkin Park.”

I don’t know what I was thinking! I actually loved “In the End,” and she even fucking told me it was a safe bet! I felt like an idiot that day, and I still feel embarrassed by the whole thing fifteen years later.

Last week, when Eric and I decided to go see Blink 182 and Linkin Park, all I could think about was the nostalgia Linkin Park arose. After releasing their sophomore album in 2003, Meteora, and a dope mashup album with Jay-Z in 2004, Collision Course, Linkin Park was always on the radio throughout high school. Adolescence was a time when everything we listened to felt meaningful, and like many other bands, their music felt so much more intense, more dramatic and cathartic than any other time I’ve ever listened to music.

Sandra Cisneros, in her short story “Eleven,” wrote, “the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one.” As I grew up, I stopped listening to Linkin Park altogether, but today, when the news of Chester Bennington hit the notifications on my smartphone, I felt twelve again, and thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen, and every other age that’s hidden under there.

Thank you, Chester Bennington and Linkin Park, for the beautiful music, and the beautiful memories.

Emmanuel Ramos

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I teach, I eat snacks, I like to laugh. Let's be friends!

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