29. Someone, Somewhere in Summertime

There are a hundred things I want to tell Jocelyn—right after watching her car leave my driveway.

These words stalk me on Sunday as I count down the minutes until I can see her again.

I question everything I said and did. Every response I gave. Everything.

Doubt is a terrible thing, but there’s nothing you can do with it except let it go. But that’s not happening. Not on this day.

I don’t feel like going outside. It’s a bit chilly and overcast. I assume it’s going to rain. It always seems to rain on Halloween. Instead I lose myself in Uncle Robert’s music in the snug room upstairs.

Mom asks about last night, and I try to play it off cool. She knows something’s up but doesn’t pry. She knows it won’t go anywhere.

The beauty in being a teen is that adults remember this and put you in a box. A box in which the bad can’t be all that bad. A box in which drama is simply teen drama and doesn’t necessarily count.

But it hurts and it counts. Just because you’re sixteen doesn’t mean you can’t hurt.

Speaking of boxes, I discover another one filled with albums in the walk-in closet—more old eighties records. I listen to whole albums with fascination. The Psychedelic Furs. Peter Gabriel. Level 42. Information Society. Howard Jones. The Human League. A-Ha. Some of the songs are so unabashedly corny that I almost blush listening to them. Others sound poppy and fun. Some of them are magical.

Why go outside when I can lose myself like this?

I find a group called Simple Minds and play the album titled New Gold Dream (81-82-83-84). The first song sends me somewhere far off.

As the music plays, I map out strategies in my mind.

What I will say and what I will do.

Knowing I’ll say and do none of those things.

I’ll still be in this room tomorrow, the songs still playing in my mind.