You’re drowning in a sea of stupid.

You forgot how idiotic school was when you were lying on the beach – classes – clubs – other people. A whole unpleasant world you forgot about for three months. Dockweiler Beach – Jets flying out of LAX, right above your head. Everybody going someplace. You imagined Tahiti. Never been there. Just the name . . .

First day back at school and it’s hit you – ton of bricks – a world of silly and you’re stuck in it – it’s forever. You want to go to sleep. Science Class. Miss Shapiro – horn-rimmed glasses and reptilian gaze – even she doesn’t want to be here. She’s paid to be – you’re not. That’s not fair. You should be paid to die of boredom.

Big, outstretched panorama of nothing. Even lunch makes you question life.

You have friends – you huddle together at lunch – smoke and stare off into space. You wonder what sex is like. Girls look through you on the way to the bus. Dandruff gets more attention than you do. They’re all out of your paygrade – you don’t have a car – your allowance wouldn’t support a flea circus. You contemplate your life as a ghost.

Mind wanders – somewhere around the Fourth of July. Fireworks – Santa Monica Pier – Alex from Montreal. She’d never been to L.A. before – read about it in books. Instant attraction – soul mate – trouble – finished each others sentences – turned you on to Export A’s – said words you never knew existed – lips like only in the movies.

With her parents – taking the college tour – UCLA or USC. Only here for a week. Might live in L.A. – your heart was racing, breaking the speed record. She’s older than you though. Maybe a year? She doesn’t need to know you’r not seventeen yet. A lot can happen in a week.

You’re in love – she’s in like – you’ll settle for anything. Parents are pleasant – they smile like they’ve smelled something they aren’t sure about.

The day she leaves it’s shattered pieces of heart all over the boarding gate at Air Canada. She cries – you cry. You never cried over a girl before – feels good and strange at the same time. You toss promises around like confetti.

Stay until the plane taxis down the runway – sleeve of your shirt soaked in tears and snot.

Spend the next two months sitting by the phone and hovering over the mailbox. Nothing.

Realize it was never going to be anything – just a fling – just a vacation. All those shitty songs about Summer love and September weepy – they were right.

Life goes back to lifey and you’re in school – it’s September – new semester – miserable.

Another day over – wander back home – go to your room – turn the radio on – lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

Life sucks. The Smiths – your anthem.

Falling into the music, you almost miss the phone ringing.

Here’s 45 minutes worth of KROQ from September 1, 1986 to remind you.