Once upon a time, long before I’d discovered cleavage or cynicism, or the fickleness of love, I had a song.

I grew up in rural America where nature’s soundtrack came with lyrics. And on summer evenings, the Meadowlark sang,

Heather’s a pretty little girl!

I know this because my mother sang along.

Sharp and shrill, my song could be heard on repeat, chirping from every tree and telephone wire in Meadowlark Estates as it followed us along on our walks at dusk.

Heather’s a pretty little girl!

After dinner one evening, Summer and I sat on the concrete steps in front of my house eating popsicles and listening to our mothers plan the much-anticipated annual backpacking trip. Sticky popsicle juice ran down our wrists, the sun dipped in the sky and I heard my song come on somewhere in the alfalfa field across the street.

Summer grinned as her mother Teri looked up from the lawn and sang,

Summer’s a pretty little girl!

Nearly twenty years later, while watching one of the many musicians I’d become involved with, a girlfriend would lean over to me and whisper, “Which one of these songs is about you?” I would plant a smile on my face, square my shoulders and answer, “None,” as though it would be ridiculous to think otherwise.

But once upon a time, before pride would force me to cry a few quick tears over my disappointment in the bathroom stall of a seedy bar, and before it occurred to me envy Cecilia or Uptown Christie Brinkley, or the object of some silly drummer’s ballad, I threw a rather public fit.

I sent my Popsicle flying to the grass and was in turn sent to my room to 'adjust my attitude.' Staring at my Holly Hobbie wallpaper, listening to my song being sung by the meadowlark who couldn’t make up his mind, I eventually decided I could share my song with Summer.

But only because I had to if I wanted out of my room.

I never did fully accept that every pretty little girl had the same song. Though I did concede that being less special was, overall, a bit better than sulking alone in your room, staring at the walls.