In retrospect, it was the best two weeks of your life.
At the time, it was the worst two weeks of your life.
Didn’t start that way, but it ended with little pieces of you, splattered on the walls, falling to the floor.
Broken heart – scrambled brain – that bottle of Boone’s Farm you never want to see again.
They write songs about stuff like that – they make movies, sappy movies you wouldn’t be caught dead watching.
But you got nailed by one. You couldn’t believe your luck at first. Thought she was way out of your ballpark.
She actually liked you – she said so. Love got tossed around in there somewhere – you believed every word.
Saw the future – it was beautiful. Spent the night – all was good with the world. Life, for once made sense. Not going to forget her touch – how did skin get like that?
Didn’t sleep – spent the night getting lost in the air she breathed. Picturing a million nights – picturing no end in sight.
And then morning showed up, bringing sparrows with it along with a look, it’s the look that has nothing good attached to it.
Got the “you’re really a nice guy and I love you a lot, but . . . .” speech. Didn’t go well with coffee. All her parents had was Instant. Parents gone for the weekend. Celebrating. Anniversary. One you’re never going to have with her. You hate instant coffee.
You just got started – there was a whole life ahead.
She didn’t see it that way. Said she felt guilty about the guy she broke up with. Hoped you would understand.
No – you didn’t understand. What guy?
The guy pacing back and forth in front of her house – at seven in the morning – on a Sunday. You know that guy – know him from fifth period English. He was an idiot.
She doesn’t want a scene – could you slip out the back door and leave by the alley?
You felt your head explode – first you go from best night in the world to a soap opera. All you want to do is crawl under something and hide; from life.
You’re too stunned to do anything but leave – best thing you can do is limp your shattered brain, broken heart and your Buick to Dockweiler Beach to look at waves.
Look at waves – chain smoke and listen to the radio. It’s the best you can do – all you can do.
Last cigarette – ashtray overflowing – waves look the same – heart still broken but it’s noon.
Maybe you just dreamed everything. Sleeve of your shirt caked with snot and tears.
You’ll just have to ride this one out – at least you have your radio.
There’s that.
And here is twenty-five minutes worth of The Obscene Steven Clean from KPPC as it was aired on October 7, 1970.
