You were an idiot. You could ask anyone – they’d say the same thing; you were an idiot. Big beaming letters – smack in the middle your forehead.
Even your English teacher said you suffered from “unreal expectations”.
You didn’t pay attention. You stared off into space – stared out of windows – scribbled in your notebook – paced floors.
And the crazy part – it was completely over someone you never met – never said two words to – never shared the same class with.
You just decided – a while ago – somewhere around 10th grade – this was love – it was her and life would be amazing. It was twelfth when it finally got to the tipping point.
You were in love – not the fun part, the weird/makes-no-sense part.
Never actually said two words to her – never met her. Didn’t even know what her voice sounded like.
First time you met – actually, first time you saw her was at lunch – two benches away. Laughing and chomping on a bag of Laura Scudders.
You started to stare – couldn’t stop. She noticed – she started staring back – sparks. Bell rang – lunch over. Now-or-never chance.
You picked never. Brain scrambled – brain got busy – brain out to get you.
Only got worse the more you thought about it. Happened that way – your whole life. Miss a chance, think more than a minute about it – next opportunity your tongue turns into a Buick and you can’t utter so much as a grunt for all the shaking you do. Every brain cell goes on vacation and doesn’t leave so much as a note and a wrong number.
So you spend the better part of eleventh grade practicing. Standing in front of your bedroom mirror – pretending she’s standing in front of you – thinking of words to say – that magic one liner that makes all the dreams come true.
And you think you’ve got it down and then you see her during passing period – return of the Sweat Gland. Back to sleepless nights. Gods own fuckup.
By twelfth grade you finally get the nerve. She’s working at the library. It’s a sign.
You’re determined to get to the Front Desk and start a conversation while trying to be cool and nonchalant.
You’ve got the cool and nonchalant part down but you aren’t ready for the touchy-feely going between her and the guy who got there before you.
You can tell – she giggles a lot – thinks everything he says is funny. You have it on high-spirited authority he’s a jerk. You see him all the time – uses one-liners you couldn’t catch flies with. Smarmy, smug and you want to put his head on a spike.
They toss love-eyes back and forth, you want to throw up – she ignores you – not even an eyeshot sideways. Nothing.
After what feels like an hour standing like a tackling dummy she glances over and asks if you need anything. Cold – ice-cold – frozen-cold – like you never existed cold – like you’re interrupting her bliss cold.
Turn around – walk away – leave. Two years getting up nerve – ten seconds, it gets shot down. Love with your name on it lies bleeding all over the reference section.
You are destined never to fall in love in this life – you are destined never to experience even a half-assed kiss. It just ain’t your life.
You keep telling yourself that as you trudge home, defeated – as you collapse on your bed and turn on the radio – as you wonder why you’re an idiot.
Comfort – solace – soothing words of Humble Harve to get you through another disaster of life.
How did you ever make it through 1967?
Not easy, but helping you take your mind off things is an hour’s worth of Humble Harve from KHJ on February 3, 1967.
