On Air
When I was nine I had a crush on the most beautiful boy in my class. He had big blue eyes and fair, fair skin and cool spikey hair and I wanted to marry him. Unfortunately for me, he was what I categorized a Class “A” boy, and I was only a Class “B” girl and going steady in elementary school is a rigid caste system to say the least. The ace up my sleeve was the girl who lived next door, a classmate and friend of mine and a certifiable Class “A” girl. What I figured was that if I hung around her enough – which was no problem because I genuinely liked the girl; she was way more fun than me – then she’d naturally elevate my popularity food chain status and the beautiful boy would fall in love with me forever and ever amen. Of course going steady at age nine simply meant two kids standing awkwardly next to each other at recess while the girl attempted batting her eyelashes for the first time, and the guy attempted shuffling his feet in an aww-shucks manner, and both of the children looked fearfully to their friends for judgment or acceptance, and their friends just kept on playing kissing tag or Red Rover or British bulldog whilst trying to remain blissfully unaware that OH MY GOD A BOY IS STANDING NEXT TO A GIRL OVER THERE!
One day the girl next door convinced me that it would be cool to call into the local radio station and see if we could request a love song on the all-request hour Eight O’Clock Rock. She had a sweetie and she knew I had a crush on the beautiful boy, so we could make a dedication. She picked the song and at seven o’clock sharp I picked up the phone and started dialing to see if I could get on the air.
The DJ picked up the line on my first attempt. It was that easy! I couldn’t believe it. I was prepared to have to dial the whole hour through. I giggled and squirmed in my seat as he asked me for the dedication. “Can you play Broken Wings by Mister Mister and dedicate it to Stephen from Karen and to Jamie from a Secret Admirer?” I was so wily! The beautiful boy would never figure out my “Secret Admirer” handle!
And then the DJ engaged me in a bit of conversation about why I wanted to hide my identity, where I went to school and what grade I was in. I dodged his questions to the best of my young ability and flushed pink at the thought of being found out by the beautiful boy. That would be the most horrifying of horrors – oh the public humiliation of exposed unrequited puppy love! I begged the DJ not to hang me from the proverbial flagpole and he laughed kindly and said okay, he’d play my song for me. I breathed a sigh of relief and let my guards down. Before I hung up the phone, the DJ asked me “I’m sorry, what’d you say your name was again?”
“Jennifer.”
Waaaaiiit a minute, I’ve… -- been… -- TRICKED!
I squealed like a little girl and slammed down the phone.
And then? Panic! Hate! Stupid DJ! How could he do that? How could he ruin me? I was ruined! RUINED! I could never show my face on the playground. Everyone would laugh at me. I ran to the couch, sobbing, grabbed a blanket and hid under it. My mom came over to ask me what was wrong. I choked out some response about having to go into witness protection and get awful plastic surgery so that no one would recognize me. And then, my mom laughed at me: the same entertained little chuckle the DJ had laughed at me while I squealed torturously. And she patted my head lovingly and told me maybe they wouldn’t air it on the radio anyway.
Only I had no such luck. The squealing secret admirer (aka Jennifer) kicked off the most-listened to hour of radio in Belleville. And I spent the next day at school feeling as if I was twisting in the wind, avoiding eye contact, and running out of the school the moment the bell rang. Oh the horror of it all! There is nothing more embarrassing than a vulnerability parade.
Jamie never did fall in love with me and marry me. But a day or so later, Stephen did ask me why I was so embarrassed. When I told him about my enduring love and the radio city disaster, he said that sooner or later everybody would forget about it. And eventually, after they’d had an indulging little chuckle about it, everybody did.
Everybody except Mister Mister and his broken wings. I still have to change the station when I hear it come on the radio.
One day the girl next door convinced me that it would be cool to call into the local radio station and see if we could request a love song on the all-request hour Eight O’Clock Rock. She had a sweetie and she knew I had a crush on the beautiful boy, so we could make a dedication. She picked the song and at seven o’clock sharp I picked up the phone and started dialing to see if I could get on the air.
The DJ picked up the line on my first attempt. It was that easy! I couldn’t believe it. I was prepared to have to dial the whole hour through. I giggled and squirmed in my seat as he asked me for the dedication. “Can you play Broken Wings by Mister Mister and dedicate it to Stephen from Karen and to Jamie from a Secret Admirer?” I was so wily! The beautiful boy would never figure out my “Secret Admirer” handle!
And then the DJ engaged me in a bit of conversation about why I wanted to hide my identity, where I went to school and what grade I was in. I dodged his questions to the best of my young ability and flushed pink at the thought of being found out by the beautiful boy. That would be the most horrifying of horrors – oh the public humiliation of exposed unrequited puppy love! I begged the DJ not to hang me from the proverbial flagpole and he laughed kindly and said okay, he’d play my song for me. I breathed a sigh of relief and let my guards down. Before I hung up the phone, the DJ asked me “I’m sorry, what’d you say your name was again?”
“Jennifer.”
Waaaaiiit a minute, I’ve… -- been… -- TRICKED!
I squealed like a little girl and slammed down the phone.
And then? Panic! Hate! Stupid DJ! How could he do that? How could he ruin me? I was ruined! RUINED! I could never show my face on the playground. Everyone would laugh at me. I ran to the couch, sobbing, grabbed a blanket and hid under it. My mom came over to ask me what was wrong. I choked out some response about having to go into witness protection and get awful plastic surgery so that no one would recognize me. And then, my mom laughed at me: the same entertained little chuckle the DJ had laughed at me while I squealed torturously. And she patted my head lovingly and told me maybe they wouldn’t air it on the radio anyway.
Only I had no such luck. The squealing secret admirer (aka Jennifer) kicked off the most-listened to hour of radio in Belleville. And I spent the next day at school feeling as if I was twisting in the wind, avoiding eye contact, and running out of the school the moment the bell rang. Oh the horror of it all! There is nothing more embarrassing than a vulnerability parade.
Jamie never did fall in love with me and marry me. But a day or so later, Stephen did ask me why I was so embarrassed. When I told him about my enduring love and the radio city disaster, he said that sooner or later everybody would forget about it. And eventually, after they’d had an indulging little chuckle about it, everybody did.
Everybody except Mister Mister and his broken wings. I still have to change the station when I hear it come on the radio.
posted by nerdifer at 11:26 a.m.
1 Comments:
Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. I love this... :)
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