Every year like clockwork, September meant School.
And then the ritual. Standing in line – signing up for classes – always behind that one person you could never stand.
Spotting the new kids – you can tell them a mile away.
Nervous – always in the wrong line. Some look like they’ve been given a life-sentence without the possibility of parole. Some are scanning the gymnasium for possible prospects.
Overdressed, sweating a lot – L.A. gets an end of Summer blast of heat.
The idea of sitting in a classroom, baking doesn’t appeal. You wish L.A. Schools would pop for air-conditioners in classrooms. No – they’d rather we suffered. To learn something you have to be miserable.
Last time you were in line it was at Hot Dog On A Stick at the Boardwalk. Staring at the girls from Beverly High, girls you were never going to meet because they have radar and can tell you’re broke – all the time. And you don’t look like you drive anything. And they are probably a year older than you – but you wish you could say something – be clever – be cool. But you can’t stop staring at their tits, and that would kill it for you right there. They looked like great kissers and were probably better at handing you stink-eye than anyone. Chunky and self-assured – they probably had boyfriends anyway.
You aren’t clever – you aren’t cool. A wad of Zinc Oxide, plastered on your nose like a poor excuse. Your mom kept harping at you about Skin Cancer and you’re reminded the next door neighbor who actually had skin cancer walks around with a hole in her head where a nose used to be. She said wearing a bandage all the time made her sick. She stopped wearing it and now it makes us sick. A hole the color of hamburger and a terrible personality to go along with it.
You finally decide your last period had to be gym. You could always ditch and leave early. One more hour of Sun. Come Winter you’ll be holding on to those things like well-meant promises.
And the rain. Usually one good rainstorm around November – if you’re lucky it’ll happen during Thanksgiving so you won’t be turned into a sponge, sloshing to school because you lost your umbrella and your dad is too cheap to get you another one.
Your turn. Take a seat at the table, across from the counselor who is exhausted and overwhelmed with forms and cards and Welcome pamphlets for the new kids.
You did your homework. You have your list of classes and when you want them all ready. You start to hand it to her.
You don’t exist – she blurts out the classes you’re going to take and when you’re going to take them. She even has your elective classes planned.
Band? Fourth Period. Beginning Latin? Where do you get to speak that? Are you getting a job at The Vatican?
Mixed in concrete. Form stamped – next!
Your luck – gym is First Period. Eat breakfast – get to school. Run laps and yack up everything you ate an hour earlier. Bitchin idea. At least you can wait till you get to school to shower. That’s ten extra minutes of sleep right there. The trade-offs.
You meet up with your friends and compare notes. You all have First Period gym. Misery loves company. That’s at least something. You start to head across the street to the bus stop to smoke and figure out a plan for the weekend.
Walking down the front steps you catch someone out of the corner of your eye. Sitting on the concrete steps – head in hands – sobbing. She left the mob inside, rushing for classes and wasn’t happy with the results.
Feeling that irresistible urge to play Knight In Shining Armor, you motion to your friends you’ll meet them across the street, while you attempt your best impression of Mr. Fixit.
You stand over her and ask how she is. No response – still weeping. You crouch next to her and ask if she’s okay – she stops weeping and shakes her head “no”. One response – so far – so good. Take a deep breath and ask if she wants to talk about it. Magic combination.
She picks up her head, wipes her eyes with her sleeve and proceeds to tell you how miserable she is. She was going to Beverly until the school found out her mom used a fake address to get her enrolled. Busted. She landed in a school where she didn’t know anybody – had no friends – they had dumped her when they found out she didn’t live in a cool neighborhood. She would like to die.
The next words to come flying out of your mouth you had no idea where they came from. You offered to be her friend – it’s not really a bad place – you’ll introduce her to people. She’ll know everybody by the end of the week. You promise.
She began to crack a smile, followed by an eye lock that had “new boyfriend” written all over it.
She looked familiar – you knew that face. Couldn’t put a finger on it. But it was a nice face – wasn’t trying to be anybody else and was truly sincere. A first for you. Even though they were red and puffy, she had brown eyes you could tell had a lot of stories behind them. You were too busy to be nervous and excited to think of possibilities. Mister Fixit was working.
You helped her up and told her you were meeting your friends and having a cigarette across the street if she wanted to come.
In less than five minutes she became family. Smoked Marlboro Menthols and forgot about being miserable minutes earlier.
It occurred to you where you knew her from – the beach – the boardwalk – with her former friends at Hot Dog On A Stick – pretending you didn’t exist, and very good at handing you stink-eye.
Funny how people change when they’re alone and freaked out. Maybe this was who she really was, maybe she was desperate. Maybe she was trying to impress her friends. The only thing; serious eye contact when you spoke to each other. Grabbing your arm and hanging on. You couldn’t make that up.
You didn’t have time to react – time to do your “guy thing” – it all happened so fast. You sounded like you knew what you were talking about.
It started out as a normal day with dread stamped in block letters – it ended in a place you hadn’t been yet – nicest place on earth.
You were thinking about all that as you lay in bed, staring at the fluorescent stars on the ceiling, too wired to sleep. Wondering if she was still awake. Maybe you should call – maybe.
Life was amazing when you least expected it. Made you wonder what the future was going to be about.
But . . . you didn’t know her name. Didn’t ask.
Here’s a half-hour’s worth of KHJ and The Real Don Steele from September 23, 1969
