I’ll always remember those halcyon days, those days when I was the center of his universe. How could I ever forget those crazy, relaxed, fun-filled evenings when we simply sat together, enjoying our quiet time? I was completely and without reservation his and his alone and I loved every minute of it. Of course I thought it would go on forever so intense was our love for each other. I believed with all of my heart that our love was special, unique, and that he would never even think of leaving me.

I should have known better. I should have known that nothing lasts forever and, in the end, our relationship was no different than any other. A day came when he just decided to move on, on to something newer, thinner, and more beautiful while I was relegated to has-been, to trash heap status.

I really can’t remember exactly when he decided to drop me and to experiment with something new. One evening he came home from work holding her in his arms, and he ignored me completely. He had actually brought her right into our house with him and they spent the evening together, listening to music, right there in front of me. It was as though I wasn’t even in the room and I must admit I didn't know how to deal with it. I sat there in mortified disbelief and near tears as he went to her, as he ran his hands over her and as he smiled that wonderful smile that was usually reserved for only me. Yes, I was heart-broken and I never felt more defeated and more alone.

Then, almost miraculously, the very next evening he came back to me. He ran his hands over me as he smiled that old smile that I loved so much and I thought, "Yes! He remembers and he loves me more than ever. He loves me more and he doesn't care about young, or thin or more beautiful. He loves me more because I'm…well…because I’m analog and that silly new play toy, that new sleek little CD player, is cold, analytical, emotionless digital. Of course he knows that digital will never sound as good as analog, as good as me!"

As I watched he went to the record cabinet and riffled through the albums. He pulled his favorite version of Beethoven’s Ninth from it's dust jacket and brought it to me, carefully holding it by the edges, careful not to smudge the grooves. I loved to watch him handle the records, my records, always so careful, always so loving. He sensuously opened my dust cover and placed the record on my turntable. I loved the way he was so gentle as he aligned the small hole in the center of the record and slipped it onto my turntable. He gently lifted my tone arm retainer, flicking the locking clip with his index finger that special way that he always does, that way that send shivers through my tone arm, and then he pushed my power button. Oh God, he pushed it like no one else could ever push it, so firmly and yet so gently. I was overwhelmed and my head was spinning as my turntable began rotating, slowly at first, ever so slowly, but then gaining speed, gaining speed, faster and faster, until I knew I was at that wonderful, erotic moment, that moment when I locked into a perfect, yes perfect, 33-1/3 RPM! He hadn’t forgotten…he never forgot...he took the diskwasher brush from it’s container, carefully placed three perfect little drops of diskwasher fluid onto the soft bristles and slowly brought it down to me. He hesitated for just a moment and then he gently stroked the record…my record…ever so softly, ever so softly, as I rotated in perfect synchronicity. My God, I wanted to scream with pleasure!

I anticipated his next move and trembled just before he placed his index finger lovingly under my tone arm, lifting it ever so softly and moving the stylus over the lead-in groove of my record. He lowered the stylus in that wonderful way that only he can and my stylus touched down on the record with exactly ½ gram of pressure just before that glorious music started. When the opening strains of the Ninth Symphony began I knew, I knew that he would never go back to that digital zombie of a CD player! He could never leave me and be satisfied with those little ones and zeros burned onto a stupid little shiny disk when he could listen to me in my entire analog splendor! He turned away from me and went to the preamplifier to increase the volume! That magnificent sound filled the room and it was as though Herbert Von Karajan was with us, leading the Berlin Philharmonic. I was all his and I never sounded so glorious!

But wait. What was he doing? He walked over to the sofa table and opening one of those little jewel cases, those cases where those silly little CDs are kept. He took a CD from that ridiculous little case and gently slid it into that stupid CD player's drawer. I watched, anxiously at first and then afraid, thinking, "Why would he do that? He knows that I’m here, gloriously playing one of his favorite records and he’s toying with that little digital tramp?" I watched as he started the CD player and, just as he was reaching for the input pre-amplifier switch, he tossed the jewel case down on the sofa right where I could see it. My God! No! I couldn’t believe it! It was exactly the same record that I was playing! The same recording, the very same recording of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony! Why? Why would he do that? I didn't understand but then it came to me and I knew! I knew what he was going to do! He was going to compare us! He was going to compare us to see who pleased him the most! How could he? How could he do that after all the years we’ve been together?

I watched in horror as he switched over to the CD player. The Ninth Symphony, that glorious sound, was now coming from the CD and I could only watch helplessly as he smiled, near ecstasy, at the clean sound, the complete lack of background hiss or ticks or pops. I had to do something! I wanted to cry out to him, to reassure him, to explain to him! My tape hiss, my surface ticks and pops, all of that recording noise, they weren't really my fault! They were all part of the recording process, part of the vinyl stamping process! Those sounds weren’t me! They were defects in the record! Don’t blame me! Why would he blame me?

Oh, but he did blame me. He listened to us both, switching back and forth time and time again, smiling at the CD player and frowning at me. It was then that I knew…I knew it was over. I was out and she...she was in.

Later that night, after sitting there listening to her and ignoring me for what seemed like an eternity he finally, mercifully, shut down the sound system. He put the CD away in that little jewel case; he patted the case affectionately and placed it lovingly in the storage rack. He turned to me, almost contemptuously, and with rough hands removed the record from my turntable. He locked the stylus in the retaining clip as though he was trying to break it and slammed my dust cover almost indifferently. I think at that moment we both knew that it was over. His hands, those soft caring hands, didn’t feel the same anymore. They no longer had that sensuous softness, that touch that I loved so much. He pushed my power button with his index finger and it felt like he was poking me in the eye. He ran his fingers over the CD player and walked away without looking back. I glanced at the new toy sitting there on the shelf, gleaming in stainless steel. She was small, trim, beautiful, and I…I swear...I saw the little tramp smirk.

Well, it’s been years since that horrible evening and now I’ve suffered my final humiliation. He's moved me around behind his big screen TV, back in the dark storage area behind his media room, where he’s used me exactly once in the past year. Sure I’m still wired into the system but a lot of good that does when I’m neglected for months on end. I sit here, alone in the dark, and can only listen as he plays with his next new toy, his "Toy of the Month", like that little DVD player out there in the other room. My consolation, for what it's worth, is that the little CD player is gone, completely outdated, obsolete and gone! I can take some solace in that I suppose. As I sit here in the dark, in the silence, I sometimes think it would be better to be put out of my misery. I lose touch with reality and wish he would just let me suffer the final indignity, the indignity suffered by so many others castoffs, just like me. The indignity of being auctioned off on eBay where we'd be bought and sold like so many prostitutes.

But I know he won’t do that. I know he still loves me! I just know it!  Someday…someday he’ll see that he’s been wrong all along. He’ll know that he’s been wrong and he’ll come back to me! I'm not blind! I can see! I know he still has all of those wonderful vinyl records we once played together and they're in wonderful condition. He wouldn’t keep them if he didn’t still care about me, would he? He’ll want to come back to them and he’ll want to come back to me! There's a chance! I can wait! I know my analog sound is better than their digital sound! Surely he’ll know that too someday! Please say that he’ll know that! He'll come back to me.... won’t he?