Through the Black Noise

This isn’t an apology, nor is it a declaration of a happy ending. It’s a story about finding yourself in the passion of others. A feeling I hope that I too can inspire in others around me.

Drew Jelinek and Kaleidoscope stand outside Black Nosie Records // photo by Sebastian Strauss

by Drew Jelinek

In September of 2020, I was given the keys to the first place I could call my own. A studio apartment nestled above what was at the time the Mt. Baker Media House. Don’t ask me what they did, because even after having a few conversations with them I still didn’t know. From what I could figure after a few nights living there, they professionally drank beer and played ping pong until 3 a.m.

The first few months of living on Holly and Bay street was like the beginning stages of dating someone you know you’re going to fall deeply in love with. It was all the better since I was sharing the experience with the partner who introduced me to that feeling a year prior.

For the first time in my life, I was stable, had a job I didn’t hate at JJ’s In and Out, a partner who inspired me, and was going to school for something that I was passionate about.

Two months later, my partner got me an early Christmas gift; a tri-colored corgi named Kaleidoscope, or Kaleid (pronounced klyde), who quickly built up a reputation around town for hanging out of our window. The three of us shared our first Thanksgiving together as a family in that studio apartment. It was also our last Thanksgiving together as a family.

Shortly after Thanksgiving I got a call from the local small practice that I got my medication from. They told me they would be transitioning away from general practice and exclusively be working with women and that I needed to find a new provider. Deep in the thaws of going to school remotely, working five days-a-week and the healthcare system being overwhelmed by COVID-19, my dream began to feel like a nightmare.

My routines for school and work fell apart. What started with one or two missed deadlines or forgetting about a shift at work snowballed into skipping class and finding the empty end of a bottle of vodka every week. The only thing that kept me going was knowing that I had more time to spend with my partner and puppy.

Not having the medication that I had taken for almost a decade started to take its toll.

I didn’t recognize my own mind. I kept it sedated with whatever I could find. I became angry, bitter and totally lost. Only a few weeks into the quarter I had to drop my classes and picked up a second job to pay the difference that financial aid provided for my rent.

I had lost all interest in the projects I was working on and found every opportunity I could to fight with my partner, who had no idea the depth of the pain I was in.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the full truth. How could I when the last major relationship ended with her telling me, “You’re just too much.”

By the end of March, I was living in a fever dream. My partner and I undoubtedly still loved each other, but I could tell my bitterness and anger was hurting her and driving her away. She started spending more time at home, and I started to spend more time resenting her, to no one’s fault but my own.

Around the same time, the Mount Baker Media House was taking down their sign and before I knew it, they were gone. The media house was now replaced by a new business, Black Noise Records. It was Kaleid who welcomed them first from his perch in the window.

Later that first night, while taking Kaleid out, I was able to meet the owner Nico and his girlfriend, both of whom were brimming with excitement and pride. Upon seeing them for the first time, I felt a tinge of shame, which I internalized and tried to drink away later that night.

Black Noise Record’s sign // photo by Sebastian Strauss

I’d like to think of myself as someone who doesn’t compare themselves to others. Seeing Nico, someone who at my age was thriving, building their dreams up and happily sharing it with their partner, a voice in my head shamed me.

“That could be you,” it whispered.

I continued to feel that shame, and it clung on to me as a musk I couldn’t seem to wash away. From then on my interactions with Nico mainly revolved around how Kaleid was doing, which later became a regular crutch when meeting new people.

Black Noise quickly built up a nice reputation around town. I was seeing posts on sites like Reddit, Facebook and Instagram, buzzing with excitement about Black Noise and how great their experiences were so far. In no time at all, I went from telling people I lived above Camber Coffee to Black Noise records, and people knew where I was talking about.

It wasn’t long after that I paid the ultimate price for my actions, and I pushed my partner away for good. With one grand final freak out, I told her she didn’t care about me and I left all of her stuff on her front porch. In turn, she reluctantly left the rest of her feelings for me behind.

Just like that, our short-lived family was no more. I’d like to tell you what those next few weeks were like, but, through the mania and day drinking, the only thing I remember was getting let go from JJ’s for missing too many shifts.

Like I had done for weeks, one morning I woke around noon. Rays of sunshine flickered through the tree branches wavering over my face. And, like most days similar to this day, I found myself paralyzed in bed, too numb to move and overcome with sheer and total sadness. Not angry, not defensive, but vulnerable.

Here I would feel most myself. But, unlike most of those other days, I didn’t spend hours thinking about the cold empty space next to me.

On this day, my mind honed in on another energy for the first time, energy I had blocked out spitefully until that moment. That energy manifested in a soft, unintelligible hum that, if I chose to listen to, could be felt swirling beneath my world.

The more I listened, the more I noticed that the hum of Black Noise wasn’t self-contained. The hum was dancing with the rays that awoke me, and it has been with me the whole time. A noise I didn’t need to use to fuel my shame, but instead could use to feel inspired.

Nico wasn’t just selling records and tapes, he was selling his own passion. Through the love of vinyl, Nico was providing the people of Bellingham a space that promotes finding yourself through music.

Drew Jelinek and Nico Sanchez, the owner of Black Noise Records stand outside the shop // photo by Sebastian Strauss

That day, like most days, I woke up crying. But unlike most days, I was crying because for the first time in a long time, I felt my own passion ignited. I remember sitting up, looking at Kaleid with a smile.

“I think it’s time for us to move.”

Although I was far from having my last remorseful cry for breakfast, I’ve started to have my fair share of good mornings. And although I’ve since moved, I can still hear the Black Noise wherever I go.