Nighty Night from Nighty Night by Jeff T Byrd

In 1971, my dad was drafted into the army. An ardent pacifist, he requested and was eventually granted conscientious objector status. He was sent to Panama, where he worked as a field chemist conducting water tests around the canal zone. He made several cassette tapes, audio letters he sent home to his parents. One of them was recorded on the beach as an army transport plane flew overhead.

My mom’s favorite movie is “The Sound of Music.” There’s a tape of her singing the songs to me as a baby while she’s giving me a bath.

Texas is known for its epic summer thunderstorms. My dad would spend hours on the front porch, under the protection of the awning, clutching the cable release, trying to trigger the shutter of his camera to open at the precise moment a giant bolt of lightning tore across the sky.

It’s 2000 and I’m working in Seattle at the Champ Arcade, an adult video store and peepshow across from the Pike Street Market downtown. A neon sign flashes above the entrance: “LIVE GIRLS.” Daisy, Tasha and Sasha sometimes make tape recordings of their shows.

A couple of years later, I’m working at the Paris Theater, a cinema on the edge of Central Park in New York City. Vanessa, my coworker, is sitting on the high chair in the tiny box office. She’s wearing a black beret. I’m standing in the box office doorway, also in a black beret. She sees the tape recorder in my hand and asks why I’ve brought it. “I always have this,” I reply.

Irish cassette label.
Time Fades Away. Hell Awaits.
Kein Zurück für dich.