I
Once upon a time, a fourteen-year-old boy began gravitating away from country music in favor of Top 40.
The transition didn’t happen all at once. In the evenings, he started by listening to Baltimore’s Top 40 station, B-104. This is where he learned some of the best one-hit (sometimes two) wonders of the 80s. Baltimora’s “Tarzan Boy,” Falco’s “Rock Me Amadeus,” Starpoint’s “Object of My Desire,” Mr. Mister’s “Broken Wings,” and Mike and the Mechanics’ “Silent Running,” to name a very few.
A D.J. by the name of Kid Curry hosted the seven-to-nine evening show. An hour before the show concluded, he’d take calls for a segment called “Bed Check.” That’s when listeners would call up and tell Kid a joke, leave a message for someone, or just say something plain silly. Then, he’d play the best of the submissions at the show’s close. Afterward, he’d declare, “Come get me, mother! I’m through!”
Our hero began calling Bed Check with the idea of getting on the air. Some callers were regulars and had nicknames. He wanted one, too.
Often time this boy would watch cartoons and attempt to mimic the voices. Some were spot on, others, not so much. One character from the Transformers, a Stunticon (a Decepticon car) named Deadend he could mimic well. When our hero began calling for Bed Check, he’d call himself Deadend and use the cartoon character’s voice to tell jokes or make observations.
That boy was me, and that’s how the nickname Deadend came to be.
Amy was into it. If I had a nickname for Bed Check, she’d have to have one, too. She chose Ariel, as in Prospero and Ariel, from Shakespeare’s “The Tempest.” Yes, Amy was a theater girl and knew her Billy Shakes well. Amy and I often called for Bed Check and tried to leave messages for each other. Sometimes Kid Curry played along; other times, he didn’t.
Amy and I often did these things together when we had phone time. It’s how we had fun with each other.
II
I’d committed to working as lighting crew chief on South Carroll High School’s 1986 production of “Strangers in the Night.”
I felt as if I was finally part of something more significant in the social hierarchy of the high school. Technically, I was now part of the Stagelighters. The downside to the position of chief meant I was stuck backstage in front of the breaker box, flipping switches on cue via a wireless communication system. The director of the lighting crew was a relative. That didn’t equate to special treatment. If anything, it set the bar higher.
I’d committed to the technical job while still sending Joy the secret admirer notes. Now that Joy knew who I was and couldn’t have cared less, the allure wasn’t as strong as it once might’ve been to stand backstage for hours with little to do.
As the weekend of that production’s opening night drew closer, rehearsals became more frequent. When I began working on the project, there’d been no Amy. Now there was. Sometimes it meant giving up talking to her in the evenings to be at rehearsals. Amy was aware of my participation in the play and was hugely supportive. Amy, too, was a theater geek. So, when it came to participating in theater or choir, Amy was the head cheerleader.
Participating in a play means repeatedly rehearsing the same scenes and lines until the director’s satisfied with the performances. Having acted on stage and worked behind the scenes, I can unequivocally say the former is much more fun. Listening to and watching the actors do the same things over and over again as a stagehand is tiresome. It’s one reason I decided to act in the following spring production of “South Pacific.”
“Strangers in the Night” opened on May 16 for the first of two nights. I couldn’t say exactly how well the performance was as I didn’t see it. I heard it was good. I remember blowing one of my lighting cues, though. Bad Relative would signal via the headphone when to fade up or kill the lights. Rehearsals went without a hitch. But theater being theater, there’s always a ghost in the machine on opening night, and ours were the wireless headphones crackling with no rational explanation. I missed at least two cues. Once because I didn’t hear Bad Relative call to kill the lights, and the other, I misheard him to fade them up. Both times, I heard him pull off his headphones and chuck them to the table. Yet later, he told me he wasn’t upset. Yeah, sure. Liar.
Amy would tell me not to beat myself up over it since we’re human and humans make mistakes. If Bad Relative was upset over it, he should look in the mirror and ask that guy if he’s ever made a mistake.
Yeah, many. And many to come.
Sufficed to say, I became disenchanted very quickly as lighting chief. I did the second night sans fuck ups since the headphone glitch seemed to correct itself.
III
I didn’t know there’d be a cast party after the last performance.
Everyone involved was invited as Stagelighters was a team effort. It sounded fun, although I was slightly apprehensive because Joy and Paul would be there, and we’d be in a social situation outside of school.
I could only speak to Amy briefly before Mom drove me to school for the last show. I didn’t know then there’d be a cast party, and I wouldn’t be able to use our stealthy trick to sneak in a post-bedtime call. Those were Amy’s idea. Her parents, more Big Irv than Debbie, didn’t want Amy on the phone past 9 p.m. on school nights and 10 p.m. on weekends. When rehearsals began, and I had to give up my 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. window, Amy devised a clever system to get around her parents’ phone curfew. Her phone had a ‘silent’ switch on the side which would deactivate the electronic ring. However, when the ringer would’ve activated, the phone made a single click sound instead of the electronic warble of a generic 80s phone. When the ring would’ve ended, the phone would make another clicking noise. Amy said if she kept her phone close to her pillow, she’d hear the clicks, pick up, and talk for a few minutes in a whisper.
Going to the cast party, which Bad Relative damn near insisted I attend, meant I couldn’t call Amy. I tried calling her from the school lobby pay phones, but she didn’t answer. Frustrated, I left with Bad Relative, who drove to one of the cast members’ house.
It wasn’t a party, by its strictest definition. The cast and crew squeezed into the basement, which was cordoned off in sections with hanging bedsheets. It felt like someone’s makeshift bedroom. There was no drinking and debauchery, which seemed to me to be the hallmark of a typical party. I guess it’s just how the theater kids rolled.
Bad Relative advised me when I began high school, “Freshman should be seen and not heard.” That night, I remained just that. He would check in on me from time to time, but was too busy schmoozing the cast. Something that would get him into deep trouble in years to follow.
I pretty much sat on a sofa by myself with a red plastic cup of soda until Bad Relative was ready to leave. To my surprise, a girl named Dawn, who played the part of Sylvia Lee, approached and sat beside me.
I knew of her much like most of the cast. In passing. She was a junior and one of the more attractive members of the Stagelighters, and believe me, not all of them were. The thing that always stuck out to me about Dawn was while she was very clearly a theater personality, she was the polar opposite of Joy. Joy was the classic spotlight hog. She had the “Hey, look at me, aren’t I pretty and wonderful” personality. Dawn was more self-aware and to the point. No drama (if such a thing is possible with an actress). She was charming, well-spoken, and had an intriguing personality. But I was with Amy and deeply invested in her. Plus, Dawn was a few years older. I learned my lesson with Joy. That factor was an automatic no-go.
I think Dawn approached me at the cast party because I was this sad-looking little freshman sitting alone, staring at the floor. In other words, I think she felt sorry for me. Dawn was so kind, though, making that effort. She introduced herself as if I didn’t know who she was. I did the same. We made small talk for a little while, mainly about Stagelighter-based things. Eventually, she asked why I was sitting alone, away from the other cast members. I said in so many words the lighting director, whom I was related to, basically forced me to come, and I really didn’t know anyone outside of what we did on stage. Like most seasoned theater kids, she suggested I audition next year and force myself to be in the spotlight. People would notice then. Plus, the Stagelighter kids weren’t so bad and wouldn’t bite if I went over and talked to them. I nodded but didn’t say much more.
Dawn smiled, kissed me on the cheek, and said she’d see me later.
What…the fuck?
Did a girl at least two years older than me just kiss me on the side of my face?? Why?? Is that considered cheating because I let it happen? Shit!
Now I really wanted to leave. How was I going to tell Amy? Would she understand? Yes, I talked to Dawn briefly, but that’s okay, right? I didn’t flirt with her. I didn’t make any advances.
I was feeling guilty. I’m not even sure why. Inside, I felt like I had somehow betrayed Amy, which was totally unacceptable.
Eventually, Bad Relative took me home. I was all twisted and worked up inside, worried about how Amy would react. I knew I should fess up, apologize, and beg forgiveness. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. All I really wanted that night was to be back in my bedroom, talking to her.
It was far too late in the night to call Amy. I didn’t sleep well that night and was awake long before Casey Kasem’s American Top 40 began, meaning I had nothing to do. And even if I did, I was far too worked up to focus on anything. I lay in bed, stared out the backyard window, and listened to the radio.
IV
Sundays were tricky for calling Amy.
Sometimes, Big Irv took his family to synagogue, sometimes not. I still considered religion a colossal waste of time, although I didn’t share that with her. Amy didn’t seem to take her faith seriously, at least not then. The topic was never one of serious discussion, if at all.
Other times, her family would spend the day at the JCC (Jewish Community Center) in downtown Reisterstown. I knew little about that place except that it had a massive pool where Amy and her siblings swam often. That Sunday, when I twisted myself up in needless knots, was a JCC day. Amy didn’t call until well after three in the afternoon.
We talked briefly, as Big Irv had other plans for his family that day. It wasn’t enough time in my mind to tell her what had happened the previous night. She informed me in her cheerful and bubbly way that she’d call later that night when they returned. I wished her well for the day and waited.
V
One of my older cousins, Veronica, lived in Eldersburg.
We often visited her because she and Mom were close. Veronica (everyone else called her Ronni) told me I could come to her if I ever had a problem, and she’d not rat me out to my parents. Mom did the same for her when she was my age and wanted to return the favor.
I called her that afternoon and laid out my current conundrum.
Veronica had an often-used reply to me when I would say something amusing. In an almost deadpan way, she’d say, “Oh, my God, you’re so funny.”
That was the reaction she gave me upon telling her I was all twisted up in knots over Dawn kissing my cheek and how to tell Amy about it.
Apparently, I was being silly, and she didn’t mean that in a mean way. It was nothing to be worried about. So some girl kissed me on the cheek to be friendly. Whoop-de-fucking-do. Long conversation short, I shouldn’t worry about it and probably not even mention it. Even if I thought Amy would react badly, there’d be no point in upsetting her. It wasn’t cheating; I did nothing wrong. Let it go.
Against my better judgment, I took Veronica’s advice.
I wish I hadn’t.
I tried to let it go. I really did. Maybe I pushed it down for a little while, but like every other anxiety in my life, the pressure building up would soon pop the cork.
VI
The date for our annual family reunion at Piney Run Park was set for the first weekend in June.
Amy and I were pretty sure we’d get a twofer for June as there were plans in motion for her to finally visit Woodbine, which would be a first. And boy, how did I excitedly try to plan that day? I’d asked her what her favorite foods were and her favorite soda. Turns out it was Apple Slice. Who knew?
Slice, a short-lived soda offered by PepsiCo, lasted two years before disappearing forever into the mists of time. Slice came in four flavors; the original Lemon Lime (which became Sierra Mist), Apple, Cherry Cola (which became Wild Cherry Pepsi), and Mandarin Orange. They were good, too.
One of the things Amy really wanted to do was go through my record collection and play music. Often times when we’d talk on the phone, I’d have the radio on in the background. B-104, one of the local Top 40 stations. We were discovering new music together, and for me, I was discovering music from previous years in the 80s still getting airplay.
A-Ha’s “Take on Me” was one I really liked a lot. The video was also visually stimulating. We didn’t have cable T.V. yet, so the Friday Night Videos program on NBC was the best we could do.
The songs from Wham! Also caught my interest. George Michael had a fantastic voice (see what I did there? Fantastic? The name of their first album? Psh! Whatever!). He also had the best 80s hair on a guy I’d ever seen. I always wished my hair was thick enough to emulate it, and I tried. Boy, did I try. And fail. There’s a small hole in the ozone layer to prove it.
And sometimes Madonna’s “Crazy for You” would play, and we’d stop any conversation in its tracks. Sighs and “I miss you, Ariel,” and “I miss you too, Deadend” would usually follow. We’d not said “I love you” yet, or even kissed.
That would soon change.
VII
One evening in late May, Amy and I were talking and listening to music when the song “That’s What Friends Are For” by Elton John, Stevie Wonder, Gladys Knight, and Dionne Warwick played.
Amy stopped talking suddenly and said, “Oh, Kev! Listen to this song; listen to the lyrics!”
I did.
And I never thought I’d feel this way. And as far as I’m concerned, I’m glad I got the chance to say that I do believe I love you.
“Did you hear that part?” she asked.
“Uh-huh. Did I miss something?”
“The last line, what was it?” she asked.
“I’m glad I got the chance to say that I do believe I love you?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Yes, what?”
“I do believe I love you,” she whispered with a giggle.
I felt those ‘in love’ butterflies rise like a tornado of flapping wings. Was Amy saying what I thought she was saying?
“You do believe you love me,” I cautiously said.
“Uh-huh!” she said enthusiastically.
“I guess I do believe I love you too, Amy,” I whispered.
“Hmm,” she said, almost as a breath. “I like that, Kev. That felt right. I was worried it wouldn’t.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, too, Ames,” I admitted. “I just couldn’t find the right time. I guess this was it.”
“I guess it was,” she said, giggling again. “Is that okay?”
“Are you kidding? Yes! I’m glad you finally did. Thank you!”
Meanwhile, deep inside my psyche, that carbonated bottle holding the guilt over Dawn bubbled wildly, pushing that cork ever so slightly out of its neck.
VIII
Family reunion day at Piney Run Park was upon us.
We’d have the pavilion until five p.m. and suggested a five-thirty return time to Big Irv, which should give us enough time to get packed up and make the trip. Big Irv met us at the Little George’s halfway point and bid his daughter a good time.
I finally introduced Amy to Veronica, each of whom had heard about the other. And if I remember that summer correctly, I believe it was the first time Mom met Amy, too. Obviously, the rest of my family had never heard of her. Hell, most of them hadn’t seen me since the last reunion except for Bad Relative and a few others. I introduced her as Amy. They’d ask how we knew each other. Amy would answer with, “I’m his girlfriend,” which was the first time I’d ever heard her utter those words.
We hung around with the rest of the family for lunch, which amounted to hamburgers and hotdogs. Amy and I excused ourselves after lunch. Hand-in-hand, we walked on one of the many trails that snaked around the park and Piney Run Lake, following the south inlet trail until it crept toward the southwest, paralleling the stream that fed into the lake. The walk was well over a quarter mile.
The park wasn’t all that crowded that day. Plus, the property is over five hundred fifty acres. We were alone when we reached the tip of the lake. Very alone. No one else was around or even nearby.
Amy stopped, turned around, and smiled. Her eyes twinkled in the breaking sunlight through the trees, sending light lines across her favorite red shirt and jeans. I stopped walking and smiled in reply.
“What’re you doing?” I asked.
She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around my neck, and pulled me toward her. I swear adrenaline shot through me without warning, soaring my heart rate.
“This,” she whispered, pulling my lips to hers. We clumsily kissed for a few seconds until our tongues broke through. The first kiss turns into the first French kiss.
I’m not even going to attempt to describe that first kiss. As far as it went, it exceeded every imagined scenario about what it might feel like, physically and emotionally. The proverbial sparks flew. I also felt arousal by kissing a girl for the first time. Not so much a “Hey, let’s do it right here in the woods” sensation, though. I’d have to quantify it as more like the sensation of passionate fire spreading throughout my midsection. It was exquisite. Now I understood why people enjoyed kissing so much. So many endorphins. Is that what being in love feels like? I had no definitive answers, but man, it sure felt like it. It would be another dragon I’d chase and only catch a few times.
When Amy pulled back and looked into my eyes, she hugged me tightly. “I love you, Kev,” she whispered.
I told her I loved her too.
Ready player: Level two.
IX
The days following our first kiss at the family reunion were tough.
Now that I felt closer to Amy than ever before, I missed her twice as much, probably more. Even though we talked daily on the phone, I didn’t want to wait weeks to see her. Big Irv and Debbie agreed to let Amy spend the day in Woodbine on the third Saturday in June. We could pick her up at ten a.m. at the Little George’s handoff spot. She could stay through dinner and then call her Mom to determine a good time to meet for the pickup. It usually occurred between seven and eight in the evening.
I’d spend my days reading books, listening to music, and usually working on my first novel, “The Orange.” Only, I’d given the manuscript to Amy at the family shindig at Piney Run. It’s a long book. I knew it would take her a while to read it. That also meant I had one less thing to work on, as I didn’t feel like writing something new.
I’d also spread out my chores over the week. Those I didn’t mind so much. I’d get an allowance for them and be outside in the Maryland summer. I liked our Woodbine house and loved caring for the yard. I’m a perfectionist and always go the extra mile to ensure the yard looks perfect.
Once again, it’s probably an Aspie thing. Don’t judge.
Besides cutting the acre and a quarter yard, shrubbery surrounded the house and the driveways. Those, too, I kept well trimmed and maintained. I’d always hoped that people who drive down Woodbine Road would see the house and admire just how fucking prime it looked. That, and I also wanted it to look good for Amy. First impressions are lasting impressions, after all. I also figured I’d never get too bored doing a different project each day because I could always take my time and do it right.
The weeks seemed to drag by. The good news was that Big Irv allowed Amy to have extended phone hours during summer vacation. We’d listen to the same station, typically B-104, comment on the music, or sing along. Sometimes we’d switch to 98 Rock to see what the hair bands were doing.
Say what you like, but I maintain that the 80s music is some of the best.
Amy would also offer her critique of “The Orange.” She liked it. It was definitely original, and some of it required a larger-than-usual suspension of disbelief. Even I knew that as I wrote it. Let’s put it this way: The Space Shuttle Challenger accident affected me so profoundly that I had to devise a scenario in which they survived the explosion and were saved unbeknownst to the world, all using very unplausible science fiction and, of course, alien interference. That’s the part she found original, but she suggested I’d never be able to use their real names if I wanted to be published and might change them when I began editing.
Eventually, I did just that.
Instead of Dick Scobee commanding Challenger, it became Paul Davis commanding the Atlantis.
X
After much impatience, the day of Amy’s visit to Woodbine finally arrived.
I’m not sure who was more excited, her or me. When we arrived, she first wanted to see my room with the reported Christmas lights strung all about. She followed me upstairs, barely saying hi to Mom to see the light show. I warned her it didn’t have the same effect during the day and we’d have to wait until it got dark to get the full effect.
That didn’t matter. Amy wanted to see them, anyway. She looked around in awe as I plugged the single extension cord into the outlet to light them up. Her wide eyes and open mouth said it all. I turned them off and suggested we’d try again after it got dark.
Next, she wanted to see the forts I built in the woods behind my house. I don’t remember her wanting to see those before, but whatever. All she’d ever known was the city. This was all new to her. Therefore, her command was my wish. I told Mom we were going for a walk in the woods by the sawmill to see my various creations in the woods.
You know how parents of Gen-X kids are. “Okay, dear. Be back when you see the driveway lamp come on. Make sure you take something to drink.”
Which we did. Apple Slice. Yummy.
The first not quite fort I showed her was the abandoned hay wagon that sat partway down the driveway path into the deeper part of the woods. The wagon was stable enough to sit or stand on. Wooden boards were still hanging from the rear and left sides of the structure. The panels on the other side were mostly rotted off. Mostly.
We sat next to each other on the wagon’s edge and began swinging our feet. I told Amy some of the better sites were deeper in the forest, including the foundation of a long torn-down house. The path we stared at from the wagon was originally its driveway.
Amy kept staring at me and nodded as if paying attention. Her eager eyes said something different. I look at her. “I want to kiss you again. Is that okay?”
“Sure? Can I ask you something first?”
“Anything.”
“Was I your first kiss, too?”
Amy laughed and told me about a time last year when a friend dared her to kiss a boy on the lips, which she did. But it was a peck and didn’t really count.
A peck that didn’t really count.
I’m glad Amy felt that way. Maybe if I told her about Dawn pecking me on the cheek, she’d dismiss it as silly.
“Besides that, Kev, you were my first kiss.”
“And you already know you were mine.” Amy nodded. “And you want some more of this?” I asked, implying confidence.
She didn’t answer. She leaned in and got what she wanted. I returned her kiss, which turned into tongues. Her arms found their way to my neck as I held her legs. We fell to the uncomfortable floor of the dilapidated old wagon. I rolled onto my back so she wouldn’t have to. She lay on top of me and continued to kiss me as if it were the last time.
I thought about things Kurt once told me. “Kiss her neck, son. She’ll go crazy for that shit. And nibble on her ear, too. You’ll probably make her come.”
I wasn’t worried about making her come. That was a whole new level we weren’t ready to cross. I began to kiss her neck softly. Amy stopped kissing me, closed her eyes, and softly moaned. Holy shit! Kurt was right. After a spell, I did the same to her earlobe. She gasped in pleasure and sat up.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked.
“A friend suggested it. He said women like that kind of stuff.”
“I’d say he’s right. Wow! Whew.”
To calm the waters, I took Amy for the rest of the tour through the woods and returned to the Woodbine house earlier than expected.
We went up to my room and began listening to records and talking the day away. For the rest of Amy’s visit, we were the perfect innocent couple enjoying each other’s company. It was a perfect, memorable day. When I remember Amy now, that day is one I fondly recollect.
XI
A week later, I blew it and ruined our mutual ‘in love’ highs.
The Dawn situation continued to eat away at me. The guilt rose like water in a sinking boat. And that’s precisely how I felt. So I called her one evening and spilled my stinking guts.
“I have to tell you something, Ames,” I said. “Something happened the night of the cast party.”
“Oh?” she asked, sounding cautious. “What happened?”
“The girl who played Sylvia Lee, Dawn? She kissed me.”
Amy didn’t reply immediately. “Kissed you how?”
“A peck on my cheek,” I said. “We’d be talking about Stagelighter stuff. She got up to leave, kissed my cheek, and left. I’ve not talked to her since.”
“Kevin, that was a month ago.”
“I know,” I said. “I feel terrible about it. I didn’t want Dawn to kiss me.”
Amy didn’t speak. In the background, I could hear her weep.
“Ames? Are you okay? What’s wrong? Say something.”
“You waited a whole month to tell me this?” she asked through sobs.
“I’m sorry, Amy,” I whispered. “I was afraid of how you’d react.”
“I wouldn’t have reacted that badly, Kevin,” she said. “Yes, a girl kissed your cheek. I’m not crazy about that. What hurts me the most is that you waited a month to tell me because you didn’t trust me enough to know I wouldn’t have been that upset. It would’ve been fine.”
I closed my eyes even though we were on the phone. “I’m so sorry. Amy. I never wanted to cause you any pain.”
Yet she wept silently, probably so her parents wouldn’t hear her.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she stated coldly. “I need some time.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
Her words felt like railroad spikes pounded mercilessly into my chest.
“I’m going to go,” she said through more pronounced sobs. “I need time. When I’m ready, I’ll call you. Okay, Kev? Please?”
“Okay,” I whispered, staring at the floor as tears fell. “I’m sorry, Ames. If there’s anything I can do—”
“Give me time. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Amy hung up.
“I love you,” I whispered into a disconnected phone line.
