It was safer to stay quiet.

My father turned off the tape recorder and my mother said, “Play that part again.”

YESTERDAY BY NANCY GILBERT 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 106

As a teenager I loved the song Yesterday by John Lennon. The slow beat, the deep tones, and the words seemed to sit in my soul.

My father bought a tape recorder to send cassettes instead of letters to our extended family. When I was alone one day I picked up the tape recorder and quietly sang, “Yesterday. All my troubles seemed so far away. Now it looks as though they’re here to stay. Oh, I believe in yesterday.”

Months after I left that brief piece of me on the tape, my father played it back. My parents heard me singing Yesterday. Perhaps part of me wanted them to hear it. Home was not a haven for me. I had learned it was safer to stay quiet, get out as often as possible and ride my bike.

My father turned off the tape recorder and my mother said, “Play that part again.”

“Which part?” my father asked.

“Go back. I want to hear that song,” my mother said.