The music stopped because of another scandal. Drugs or embezzlement or something that some might not even consider scandalous at all. Years before, the place was in its heyday. I remember the day it became the "it place" to be again, as always, marked by the day they changed the music in The Jukebox.

I remember the text distinctly. "Let's go to The Jukebox," a friend said. We were good enough friends to stay in touch but not good enough for regular meet-ups. We talked about old times, as if high school 10 years before was old. We exchanged numbers and recited the conversation as you're supposed to. "We should get together for a drink sometime," she said. "Absolutely," I replied, thinking it would never happen. But then came the text: They changed the music in The Jukebox. The same music popular when we were in high school. We went. We drank. We danced. We relived memories that were good now that high school and all its angst was over.

The Jukebox. It was a big place that had been several clubs. Bay Beach Club, which drew the cops and the women who wanted them. Divas and Dudes of Disco for the teens of the 1970s. Rock of All Ages that had wanted to appeal to a multi-generational crowd. The building itself was painted bright pink on the outside. It had silver walls with mirrors scattered about on the inside. The doorway, a giant arch, was dead center. It was that giant arch that earned the building its nickname. No matter what the name of the club was, everyone in town called it The Jukebox. "The Jukebox" was easier than trying to remember its name since new owners changed the name and music each time.

When the music changed that time, it started a chain of events that forever changed me. That music lasted two years, four months, and some odd days, but it changed me forever. You can still drive by it. It stands as we left it. Bright pink, albeit

a bit faded and dirty from 10 years of wind, rain, and other elements, and 40 seasons' worth of temperature changes.

Back then, we did grow close. Or close again. We became the kind of friends that you think will never leave you. But the more we said it was never going to change, the more I knew, in my heart, that it would. Maybe that is why I wasted precious time that I could have used for other things. I guess deep down I knew I'd have the time later. And even though I knew it was coming, it hurt nonetheless when it did.

Some of us went to college. Some joined the military. Some got married right out of high school. Others went right to work. For that bit of time, we had all made our way back to our hometown...life after college, after marriage, after serving the country, or after divorce--for the friend whose marriage right after high school just didn't work out. Everyone seemed surprised. As if we couldn't fathom that the cheerleader/quarterback who won the "Best Couple" at the senior banquet wouldn't last.

We all reconverged that night at The Jukebox. We built a circle of nearly 30-something friends. We reconnected and recemented our ties. Other people joined us occasionally. We added someone's cousin, another's brother, and a co-worker or two, and we met every Thursday night for two years, four months, and some odd days.

As I look back now, I remember isolated events as little pictures forever engraved in my mind. A smile. A group of just the girls huddled together talking about something that was meaningful at the time though the words have faded in my memory. The clink of beer bottles or wine glasses. Other nights are simply a blur, a huge wall of static that reminds me of the public television channels with mostly gray static with specks of blue, red, and green. I can see myself dressed in my signature color, pink. But I can't tell what made my last night different from the rest. Maybe it

wasn't since I always wore some shade of pink. I try now to focus on those sweet memories, but even if bad memories are fewer, they weigh so much more on the mind.

"One night with one drink to catch up" at The Jukebox turned into so much more. Fewer smiles and more alcohol. Fewer chats and more bickering. Less getting together and more breaking up. Rekindled old affairs, new affairs, or extra-marital affairs. Group dynamics changing because of each affair. Some people giving too much, others taking too much. Broken bank accounts, lost jobs, broken hearts, lost souls. It just got to be too...much.

If you string all the nights together with the tangled webs, I don't know where one ended and another began. I don't even remember the last time I walked out. Because I didn't know it would be the last time. I sometimes think I should have paid more attention. Other times I'm glad I don't remember.

But, I actually left before they changed the music in The Jukebox. Even though the music hadn't changed yet, something else had. I got a text about one of the girls leaving her husband for a Navy SEAL who had just returned from service and was at The Jukebox. The group would change again. I guess she would stay and her husband...her soon-to-be-ex-husband...would be out. I wasn't sure what I wanted, but I somehow knew I wasn't going to find it inside The Jukebox. When there is a tangled web, no matter who is weaving, sometimes you get stuck. The web had become too intricate, some people I didn't even know and some I thought I had known. But they changed, or I changed, or maybe no one changed because maybe I never really knew them like I thought I did.

So I walked out that night and realized soon after that I was done. I never ventured back into The Jukebox. I didn't miss that much. The crowd dwindled over time. That iteration of The Jukebox realized it was done and some new owner came in

and changed the music to something hip hop. He changed the name to something far more hip than I ever was.

My crowd got together every once in a while, but I never went. Whatever it had been was gone. There was some glue that held all the needy together. Sometimes I felt like I had been the glue. But the needy had had enough and wasn't so needy anymore. Or thought they weren't. Or maybe it was I that didn't need them anymore. Maybe I wanted something simpler, something happier, something else. Things changed. People married. People divorced. Someone was offered the job of a lifetime out of town. Another offered a promotion. And on and on. It altered an existence that wouldn't be the same without the parts. It's like a doll I treasured when I was a kid. The little speaker that sat in her head stopped working. She mostly looked the same, but she simply had nothing to say. Even though we looked essentially the same, we didn't have much to say either. We had a lot we probably should have talked about, but instead we said nothing at all.

Even now, I don't know what I would have said. I don't even know what I would say if I saw any of the old crowd now. Would we act like our parents? "The weather is nice for November, isn't it?" Would we try to make it more and ask how the other was doing? Or personalize it by asking about spouses and kids? Would we eventually say "Have you seen so and so from the old crowd?" Would any of us ever ask if it was worth it? Were the memories worth it?

Today I can't account for anyone in the group. For a while, I'd occasionally bump into someone, but I finally changed my old hangouts to escape the memories. My heart hurt and my mind was tired from all the racing. On the rare occasion that my path forces me past The Jukebox, I stare straight ahead and feel nothing. Sometimes though, I'll glance at it. I'll feel a tiny pull in my chest and I'll wince.

Rumor has it that a high-powered developer is buying The Jukebox. No one seems to know if it will be converted into business units, living quarters, or morph into some new club or reincarnate an old one. That was a year ago. The Jukebox still sits empty and no music has reverberated inside its walls since the hip hop phase ended. Which is fine with me. The memories are loud enough.