Every so often, Memorial Drive hits a speed-bump.
You do miss those days.
You really do.
Because . . .
At the time you couldn’t wait.
Could’t wait for the day to be over – couldn’t wait for the line to get short – couldn’t wait for the weekend – could’t wait until you could actually buy a case of Corona and nobody would think twice.
Couldn’t wait until you stopped being carded.
Couldn’t wait until nobody noticed. Could’t wait until everybody just assumed.
Couldn’t wait to get somewhere, even if you didn’t know what that somewhere was.
Classes took forever – answers crawled by.
Could’t wait for people who didn’t know you to understand you.
But then . . .
Took forever to fall in love.
Took a second to be over.
Said mellow – craved chaos.
Loved loud – craved whispers.
Hated the truth –
Terrified of lies.
Hated being ignored.
Terrified of being noticed.
But you could judge for centuries.
Afraid of losing.
Terrified of losing out.
Afraid you were a ghost.
Terrified you really were.
Couldn’t wait for your hair to grow.
Terrified it would fall out.
Couldn’t wait until she noticed you.
Terrified she would.
Hated being alive.
Hated the thought of being dead.
Now it’s . . .
Kicking yourself for missing out.
Relieved you dodged a bullet
Wondering where the time went.
Pissed that you wasted time.
Happy you didn’t get picked
Pissed you didn’t
Hated your radio
Missed the Disc Jockeys
Had a life
Had regrets
Had a life anyway.
It’s how that works.
And here’s 90 minutes worth of Johnny Williams at KHJ just as it sounded on May 19, 1971
