So mail from my secret admirer kept coming.
Two, sometimes even three times a week.
Sometimes she wrote a full letter, sometimes just
a postcard with a few lines or brief note of encouragement. Though they were
always positive, she continued to keep me guessing, never letting on who
she was or if we were ever going to get together other than the vague,
"See ya later". Which would leave me scratching my head and wondering
when? The girl never disclosed more of herself than was absolutely
necessary. But the communication, though completely one sided, was cool and put
a spring back into my step just as spring overtook winter. Good things were
happening.
But on Tuesday, March 27, something not so good happened. At 10:05 that morning, KSPT's program director, Dave Wessell, invited me into his office. He said to close the door and take a chair. During the moment of anticipatory silence, my brain went into overdrive trying to figure out the nature of the meeting. I'd been off the air all of five minutes, so I couldn't have done anything to piss him off yet. I think.
But on Tuesday, March 27, something not so good happened. At 10:05 that morning, KSPT's program director, Dave Wessell, invited me into his office. He said to close the door and take a chair. During the moment of anticipatory silence, my brain went into overdrive trying to figure out the nature of the meeting. I'd been off the air all of five minutes, so I couldn't have done anything to piss him off yet. I think.
So I sat there, a shade confused and
stared at him. Well, what now?
Dave finally cleared his throat and spoke.”I don’t know how to tell you this, except to just tell you. We’re gonna have to let you go.”
Dave finally cleared his throat and spoke.”I don’t know how to tell you this, except to just tell you. We’re gonna have to let you go.”
Uhhh, that was not what I was expecting to hear. It stunned me, like being hit in
the head with a shovel.
“Frankly, your attitude recently has sucked.
You’ve been uncooperative or argumentative on every request I’ve made and I
just can’t put up with it anymore. Skip and I hashed it out over the weekend,
and while I was still willing to work around you, Skip was not. He wants you
gone” Skip wants me gone? 6
months earlier, I was his golden child.
Skip Bennefield was the president of Blue Sky Broadcasting, which owned and operated the two Sandpoint stations, KSPT and KPND-FM. And at a Labor Day barbecue for the whole staff out on Lake Pend Oreille's beachfront, he couldn't stop gushing about me. He thought it was the greatest thing since the discovery of the ohm to have me on staff. And on and on. Of course, all that praise in front of my new co-workers was most uncomfortable, especially coming from the station owner, and really unwarranted. I knew I wasn’t anything special, just a newbie, and there only because Blue Sky's opening coincided with my last days at Apple FM in Spokane. It was just one of those good timing things But Skip couldn't stop raving about the coup they'd pulled by getting me up there, and how glad he was having me in the fold.
Skip Bennefield was the president of Blue Sky Broadcasting, which owned and operated the two Sandpoint stations, KSPT and KPND-FM. And at a Labor Day barbecue for the whole staff out on Lake Pend Oreille's beachfront, he couldn't stop gushing about me. He thought it was the greatest thing since the discovery of the ohm to have me on staff. And on and on. Of course, all that praise in front of my new co-workers was most uncomfortable, especially coming from the station owner, and really unwarranted. I knew I wasn’t anything special, just a newbie, and there only because Blue Sky's opening coincided with my last days at Apple FM in Spokane. It was just one of those good timing things But Skip couldn't stop raving about the coup they'd pulled by getting me up there, and how glad he was having me in the fold.
That was September. This was March. So what the hell happened?
“I’m really sorry, Rocket. You’ve got a ton of
talent, but you've got a ton of negativity, too. Back in a bigger place like
Spokane, you might be able to skate by on talent alone. But here you need to be
a team player, and for the past couple months you've really been wandering off
the reservation. I don’t know what the deal is, either. Things were fine, you
were fine. Then I don’t know if something happened in your personal life or
something here, but something’s not right and Skip just doesn’t want it around
anymore. Whatever it is. Still, this isn't easy because I really like you;
hell, everybody likes you. But it’s the way it’s gotta be. You can finish out
the week, but as of Saturday we'll be parting company. Again, I’m really sorry”
He was sorry. But he
still had a job. And I had 5 days to figure out what to do next.
But where did things go wrong? I'd always been
a team player everywhere else, but Dave was right. I had kind of anchored
myself on an island and refused to come off it. I’d become a headache and
hindrance to just about everything he or Skip wanted to get done. Oh, it always
got done, but not without a lot of rancor and bad feelings. So what came about
at KSPT to cause me to commit professional suicide?
Well, that's easy- a consultant.
Well, that's easy- a consultant.
When I was hired in August of 1983, my first two months were spent
at our sister station, KPND-FM, in the little cottage near downtown on
Marion Avenue (see blogpost 12.31.11 "First Day Jitters, Part 1).
But in October, John Goes –who’d hired me- and Skip, promoted me the big
leagues (KSPT being the older more established signal). They put me on the
morning show and made me the new music director. I was tasked with cleaning up
KSPT's eclectic all-over-the-map multi format sound, and turn it into
something closer to KGA, the big Top 40 country station I'd worked at in
Spokane. Which I did.
It took almost two months, but by mid-December
KSPT sounded like KGA's little cousin. I can't say it was perfect, but it was
certainly better than before. I thought I'd done a good job. So did Skip. So
did Dave- who, in the interim, had been promoted from news director to
KSPT program director. Maybe that’d where things went wrong.
John Goes, who I really liked and got along
with, was now back running the FM. But Dave and I had a friendly
relationship at first, too. However in January, though he was pleased with
what I'd done with the station's formatics, Skip announced he'd had just
hired a hot shot programmer from a big station in Houston to help "polish"
things up. Oh,Skip ‘loved’ the work I’d done so far, but after a two month
intense hands-on music overhaul, I suddenly didn’t have the skills or ear to do
some ‘left over minor fine tuning”, as he called it? I felt insulted. And like
a tool.
But if Skip had been "blown away" by
getting a nobody former jock from Spokane like me on the payroll,
imagine the spine-tingling thrill he must've felt upon acquiring the
services of the top rated morning jock/program director at the #1 rated station
in the # 5 media market in the nation. He couldn’t shut up about it. To say
Skip was excited was the understatement of 1984.
And actually, at first, so was I. Heck, though I'd put a lot of myself into tightening things up around there, I certainly didn’t know everything; I was no radio guru or programming oracle. I never thought it was my way or no way, either. Not even for a day. I knew there was always room for improvement and, when I thought about it for a couple days, was actually looking forward to learn more about how "the big boys did it" from our new overseer from KYXX Houston.
But I never actually got to hear from Jeff personally; everything was filtered through Dave. I had no input, never got to discuss issues, ask questions or even talk to the man himself. Jeff's "suggestions" always came through Dave. I felt like a puppet, with my strings being pulled from both 2000 miles away and from the office down the hall. Jeff second guessed my every move and Dave made sure those second guesses got carried out. I quickly resented it.
And actually, at first, so was I. Heck, though I'd put a lot of myself into tightening things up around there, I certainly didn’t know everything; I was no radio guru or programming oracle. I never thought it was my way or no way, either. Not even for a day. I knew there was always room for improvement and, when I thought about it for a couple days, was actually looking forward to learn more about how "the big boys did it" from our new overseer from KYXX Houston.
But I never actually got to hear from Jeff personally; everything was filtered through Dave. I had no input, never got to discuss issues, ask questions or even talk to the man himself. Jeff's "suggestions" always came through Dave. I felt like a puppet, with my strings being pulled from both 2000 miles away and from the office down the hall. Jeff second guessed my every move and Dave made sure those second guesses got carried out. I quickly resented it.
I guess that’s
where things went wrong, because from there I lost the support of Skip and
goodwill towards Dave, and eventually lost my job; signing off KSPT for the
final time on March 31, 1984.
Ah, but what about “my secret admirer”?
Ah, but what about “my secret admirer”?
I hadn't received a letter from her since the
Friday before the Tuesday Dave gave me the bad news. It was like she knew what
had happened and didn't know what to say. But how could she? Anyway, I was
so busy getting fired and settling all my affairs in Sandpoint that during those
last few days, I almost forgot about her. I didn’t hear from her, anyway.
But as I drove away from KSPT that last day, my
truck stuffed to the gills with all my worldly possessions, the sun
sinking in front of me and Sandpoint disappearing behind me, as I headed
out town for the final time, I sadly
thought I’d heard from my pen pal for the last time, too.
However, six months later I’d finally landed
in Grass Valley, working the night shift at KNCO. It was an unfamiliar
town, an unfamiliar radio station and I wasn't 100 per cent sure I wanted to be
there. Honestly, I wasn't even 10 per cent sure. Regardless, though
my time at KSPT hadn’t turned out so well, I was still homesick for the Pacific
Northwest and the life and people I left behind. Like my first few weeks in
Sandpoint just a year before, I felt equally out of place and
friendless in Grass Valley.
My new air shift ended at 10 p.m. and one late night during my second week on the job I decided to call a few old friends- just to see if I still had some. The only people I knew in Grass Valley were at the radio station and why would I call any of them? I saw them every day. But this particular Thursday night I picked up the phone and talked for 45 minutes with my long time-friend in Spokane, Brian Ayars and after hanging up with him reached out to my old Sandpoint buddy, Bryce Bollinger.
When I was doing mornings at KSPT, Bryce was doing afternoons. But as two young, single and often prone to uncultured behavior radio dudes, we killed a lot of our between air shift hours concocting new and silly ways to make each other laugh. I missed that and could've talked all night because he had me howling. But he'd been moved up to mornings and, well aware of how quickly that sign-on shift alarm came, I was about to let him hang up after about a half hour.
Before I did, though, I casually asked if any mail had come for me at the radio station after I left. I'd never told anyone at Blue Sky about the secret admirer letters, but talking to someone in Sandpoint again rekindled thoughts of the left behind unfinished business with my secret admirer. But no, except for my name still showing up on some of the mailers from record companies, no personal mail had come since my departure. Oh well. Guess she and I were never meant to be. Time to move on; nothing to see here. That was that. I said good night to Bryce, thankful to yak at him again, but glad I didn’t have to get by on 4 hours sleep anymore, too.
Two nights later, I was down the hill at Mom and Dad's house for a meal and game night. This was still close-to-rock-bottom time for me because, with absolutely no social life yet in Grass Valley, those evenings at Mom’s were becoming the highlight of my week. But that night, there was some mail for me, too. I’d left Sandpoint without a forwarding address and had been through a couple more since then. But with some junk mail and even some stuff from college still showing up at Mom’s address, the USPS finally caught up with me on this delivery; actually, two.
Both had been mailed from Sandpoint, Idaho. One was postmarked March 31- the last day I lived there- and the second was stamped May 8. One was in another red envelope, the other, a plain white, but both were from my “secret admirer.” It surprised me they hadn't ended up someplace in a dead letter file because neither had a return address. I was glad they reached me, though, and could hardly wait to get back home and read them. (There was no way was I going to open them at Mom's house. Since they looked personal and written in a girl’s hand and she'd already begun trying to pump me for information. No, I put them aside as if they weren't very important and told her I'd read them later).
Once home, I started with the earliest postmark, March 31, and three lines into it felt my heart starting to gallop. My friend had been ill and off work the last few days I was in town, and hadn't been up to letter writing until the last morning I was on the air. She said she was sad to find out I was leaving, wanted to know the circumstances and assured me if I left not of my own accord would never listen to KSPT again. But then she got to the good part.
My new air shift ended at 10 p.m. and one late night during my second week on the job I decided to call a few old friends- just to see if I still had some. The only people I knew in Grass Valley were at the radio station and why would I call any of them? I saw them every day. But this particular Thursday night I picked up the phone and talked for 45 minutes with my long time-friend in Spokane, Brian Ayars and after hanging up with him reached out to my old Sandpoint buddy, Bryce Bollinger.
When I was doing mornings at KSPT, Bryce was doing afternoons. But as two young, single and often prone to uncultured behavior radio dudes, we killed a lot of our between air shift hours concocting new and silly ways to make each other laugh. I missed that and could've talked all night because he had me howling. But he'd been moved up to mornings and, well aware of how quickly that sign-on shift alarm came, I was about to let him hang up after about a half hour.
Before I did, though, I casually asked if any mail had come for me at the radio station after I left. I'd never told anyone at Blue Sky about the secret admirer letters, but talking to someone in Sandpoint again rekindled thoughts of the left behind unfinished business with my secret admirer. But no, except for my name still showing up on some of the mailers from record companies, no personal mail had come since my departure. Oh well. Guess she and I were never meant to be. Time to move on; nothing to see here. That was that. I said good night to Bryce, thankful to yak at him again, but glad I didn’t have to get by on 4 hours sleep anymore, too.
Two nights later, I was down the hill at Mom and Dad's house for a meal and game night. This was still close-to-rock-bottom time for me because, with absolutely no social life yet in Grass Valley, those evenings at Mom’s were becoming the highlight of my week. But that night, there was some mail for me, too. I’d left Sandpoint without a forwarding address and had been through a couple more since then. But with some junk mail and even some stuff from college still showing up at Mom’s address, the USPS finally caught up with me on this delivery; actually, two.
Both had been mailed from Sandpoint, Idaho. One was postmarked March 31- the last day I lived there- and the second was stamped May 8. One was in another red envelope, the other, a plain white, but both were from my “secret admirer.” It surprised me they hadn't ended up someplace in a dead letter file because neither had a return address. I was glad they reached me, though, and could hardly wait to get back home and read them. (There was no way was I going to open them at Mom's house. Since they looked personal and written in a girl’s hand and she'd already begun trying to pump me for information. No, I put them aside as if they weren't very important and told her I'd read them later).
Once home, I started with the earliest postmark, March 31, and three lines into it felt my heart starting to gallop. My friend had been ill and off work the last few days I was in town, and hadn't been up to letter writing until the last morning I was on the air. She said she was sad to find out I was leaving, wanted to know the circumstances and assured me if I left not of my own accord would never listen to KSPT again. But then she got to the good part.
"....But maybe I can at least
talk to you in person now because I'm going to come out from behind the curtain
and introduce myself. Are you ready? Drum roll, please. But you already
know who I am. You came in to where I worked at least three times a week,
sometimes by yourself, sometimes with a couple of your friends from the
station. I'm Cindy Keller, one of the girls at Dub's."
Oh DANG!! I never even thought of her. I was certain it had to be someone from work. But there were only a couple 20-something girls on staff at Blue Sky and neither had shown the least bit of interest in me. But Cindy? Wow. Yeah, I knew who she was. Like me, Cindy worked the morning shift at Dub's, the diner across the highway from the radio station. When I got off shift, I'd often head over there for a late breakfast or early lunch and she was the one who usually ended up waiting on me. I knew her name, but only because of her name tag, and knew she was the one with the big brown pony tail. But I had no idea she liked me though. How 'bout that?!
With a smattering of freckles and friendly smile, she was a fresh faced cutie, too. Small in stature, but not dainty, it was obvious the girl spent a lot of time outdoors and took good care of herself. Just as she’d described in her letters. Cindy was, indeed, a fine lookin' country lass. So why hadn't I thought of her? She was awesome. And maybe that's why- awesome girls seldom paid any attention to me. Besides, she always wore a ring so I just assumed she was married, engaged or spoken for. Guess not. Continuing on, Cindy explained the purpose behind the letters; that she wanted to get to know me better without being too forward or coming across like someone with a high school crush. So she came up with the 'secret admirer' theme.
" After all, you were on the radio. A local VIP. So I thought it'd be easier to remain in the woodwork until you got to know me better, or I get braver. I know you had no chance to respond either, but that's why I asked you to do things like cut your hair. If you didn't, experience tells me you weren't all that interested. But you did, which was a nice surprise. It made me happy. Are you surprised it’s me?"
Yes I was. And happy, too. But V.I.P? Hardly. I worked at the local radio station, but beyond the KSPT studios I was basically anonymous. Most people wouldn't know me from Adam. But then she made me even happier.
"Well, anyway, now that you know all that stuff, if you're still around I think it’s time we got together, don't you? I'd really like to talk to you face to face rather than through these letters. Does that sound okay to you? Here's my phone number so please feel free to call. Or now that you know it’s me and you kind of already know who I am, come by the diner sometime soon and we'll talk. But you have to order something! The boss doesn’t like people just coming in to flirt with the help. Ha-ha. Looking forward to seeing you. Love Cindy. Your not so secret anymore admirer."
Wow! What a great letter. But it'd been written at the end of March. It was now the last week of September. A lot can change in 6 months. My life and career direction certainly had. But Cindy's words were everything I'd been wainting to hear for what seemed like an eternity--a living, breathing girl actually liked me. And I liked her. It was two hearts calling out to one another through time and space and finally finding each other. True love was just a phone call away. Well, maybe not. But at least I had an open invitation to find out. Cindy was waiting and, with no more time to lose, I dialed her number.
Oh DANG!! I never even thought of her. I was certain it had to be someone from work. But there were only a couple 20-something girls on staff at Blue Sky and neither had shown the least bit of interest in me. But Cindy? Wow. Yeah, I knew who she was. Like me, Cindy worked the morning shift at Dub's, the diner across the highway from the radio station. When I got off shift, I'd often head over there for a late breakfast or early lunch and she was the one who usually ended up waiting on me. I knew her name, but only because of her name tag, and knew she was the one with the big brown pony tail. But I had no idea she liked me though. How 'bout that?!
With a smattering of freckles and friendly smile, she was a fresh faced cutie, too. Small in stature, but not dainty, it was obvious the girl spent a lot of time outdoors and took good care of herself. Just as she’d described in her letters. Cindy was, indeed, a fine lookin' country lass. So why hadn't I thought of her? She was awesome. And maybe that's why- awesome girls seldom paid any attention to me. Besides, she always wore a ring so I just assumed she was married, engaged or spoken for. Guess not. Continuing on, Cindy explained the purpose behind the letters; that she wanted to get to know me better without being too forward or coming across like someone with a high school crush. So she came up with the 'secret admirer' theme.
" After all, you were on the radio. A local VIP. So I thought it'd be easier to remain in the woodwork until you got to know me better, or I get braver. I know you had no chance to respond either, but that's why I asked you to do things like cut your hair. If you didn't, experience tells me you weren't all that interested. But you did, which was a nice surprise. It made me happy. Are you surprised it’s me?"
Yes I was. And happy, too. But V.I.P? Hardly. I worked at the local radio station, but beyond the KSPT studios I was basically anonymous. Most people wouldn't know me from Adam. But then she made me even happier.
"Well, anyway, now that you know all that stuff, if you're still around I think it’s time we got together, don't you? I'd really like to talk to you face to face rather than through these letters. Does that sound okay to you? Here's my phone number so please feel free to call. Or now that you know it’s me and you kind of already know who I am, come by the diner sometime soon and we'll talk. But you have to order something! The boss doesn’t like people just coming in to flirt with the help. Ha-ha. Looking forward to seeing you. Love Cindy. Your not so secret anymore admirer."
Wow! What a great letter. But it'd been written at the end of March. It was now the last week of September. A lot can change in 6 months. My life and career direction certainly had. But Cindy's words were everything I'd been wainting to hear for what seemed like an eternity--a living, breathing girl actually liked me. And I liked her. It was two hearts calling out to one another through time and space and finally finding each other. True love was just a phone call away. Well, maybe not. But at least I had an open invitation to find out. Cindy was waiting and, with no more time to lose, I dialed her number.
But the call didn't get through. Instead of hearing Cindy, I heard the familiar three staccato Pac Bell tones followed by the recorded voice of the operator: "We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again." I did; I dialed the same 10 numbers and got the same recording. Uh-oh. Then I called directory assistance and got the listing for Cindy Keller in Sandpoint, Idaho. According to the Pac Bell data base, it didn't exist. Uh-oh again.
My last hope was Dub's. That number did exist. Though Cindy worked mornings and probably wasn't there, whoever answered might know how I could reach her. But when I asked the guy if I could speak to Cindy, he sounded confused. "Who"? I repeated Cindy's name and a brief description. "Oh, yeah, Cindy. Right. I'm, kind of new here. Yeah, she's still on her honeymoon. Won't be back for another week. Are you a friend or something?"
Yeah, I
lied, just an old friend or something, calling to wish her well on her
nuptials. But I'd catch up with her later, sorry for the bother and thanks.
Then I hung up. I took a deep sad sigh. I didn't know why I felt sad. It's
not like Cindy and I ever really had some sort of relationship. But I was sad
anyway. I sighed again and spotted the second letter. The one dated May 8. The
one in the plain white envelope. I quickly grabbed it and tore it open.
"May 8, 1984
Well, Rocket. It’s been over six weeks and I still haven't heard from you, you never called and you never came by. And by this long silence I can only assume you never wanted to get in touch or the whole thing was just a joke. But I kind of put myself out there for you and it hurts you just shined me on. The kind thing to do, the decent thing, would have been to at least just drop me a note and let me know. You didn't have to give me any reason or tell me your new life story or anything like that. I just would've liked to know, so I wouldn't have wasted my time waiting around. You could've said something else came up, or you met someone else, or became a foreign spy. You could’ve said anything. But not a peep out of you. And you, this big time radio guy. What is it, cat got your tongue, or are you just always an asshole?
Sorry. As you can gather I'm a little pissed off. But I'm a big girl. I took a chance on you and it burned me. Lesson learned. Perhaps you're still here in Sandpoint, perhaps not. But either way I wanted you to know I'm not waiting around for you anymore. There's a guy that comes in every morning that keeps asking me out and I've put him off all this time, just in case I ever heard from you. But no more. If he asks me again, I'm saying yes.
Have a nice life Rocket but please don't try to get in touch. I've already changed my number. And if you somehow get a letter to me, I will not read it. Good bye. Cindy"
Wow. She pretty much told me everything except 'go to hell'. She didn't tell me I couldn't come to Dub's either, though even if I could what was the point? To Cindy, I was past tense. From an absolute high after reading the first letter, the second one plunged me into despair. Of course she had every right to be mad at me. But then again, she didn't. I didn't receive her invitation to get in touch until almost 6 months after the fact. It's the Post Office's fault. I'm not an asshole.
"May 8, 1984
Well, Rocket. It’s been over six weeks and I still haven't heard from you, you never called and you never came by. And by this long silence I can only assume you never wanted to get in touch or the whole thing was just a joke. But I kind of put myself out there for you and it hurts you just shined me on. The kind thing to do, the decent thing, would have been to at least just drop me a note and let me know. You didn't have to give me any reason or tell me your new life story or anything like that. I just would've liked to know, so I wouldn't have wasted my time waiting around. You could've said something else came up, or you met someone else, or became a foreign spy. You could’ve said anything. But not a peep out of you. And you, this big time radio guy. What is it, cat got your tongue, or are you just always an asshole?
Sorry. As you can gather I'm a little pissed off. But I'm a big girl. I took a chance on you and it burned me. Lesson learned. Perhaps you're still here in Sandpoint, perhaps not. But either way I wanted you to know I'm not waiting around for you anymore. There's a guy that comes in every morning that keeps asking me out and I've put him off all this time, just in case I ever heard from you. But no more. If he asks me again, I'm saying yes.
Have a nice life Rocket but please don't try to get in touch. I've already changed my number. And if you somehow get a letter to me, I will not read it. Good bye. Cindy"
Wow. She pretty much told me everything except 'go to hell'. She didn't tell me I couldn't come to Dub's either, though even if I could what was the point? To Cindy, I was past tense. From an absolute high after reading the first letter, the second one plunged me into despair. Of course she had every right to be mad at me. But then again, she didn't. I didn't receive her invitation to get in touch until almost 6 months after the fact. It's the Post Office's fault. I'm not an asshole.
I
wanted to tell her that- scream it- but it didn't matter. If she ever thought
of me again at all, it’d only be as an a-hole. And from now till the end of
time, there was nothing I could do about it. I'd never be able to convince her
otherwise. She'd moved on- probably with the guy who kept asking her out.
But had I not left Sandpoint, or left a better forwarding trail to
find me. I wondered if somehow it'd might have been ME and Cindy now.
instead of Cindy and him?
Oy! What a crazy mixed up world. I crumbled up the letters, then cursed the darkness and myself for my rotten luck and timing. But that didn't help much, either. Nor would it in an hour, a week or even a month. What was, was. Cindy may have had feelings for me- “had” being the key word- and even if she did, once she assumed I was the world's biggest jerk didn’t waste any time tearfully dwelling on her loss. I was history. There would be no more 'secret admirers'. There would be nobody. Not for me, anyway. Nada. Ever.
I got up and stared out the window. Under the moonless, black, nighttime sky, and in the still unfamiliar surroundings of Grass Valley, I felt a long way from home, alien and lost and like nothing made sense. Yet it did. This was how the world always made sense to me. 24/7 status-quo: life sucked and whatever bad things happened, I earned or had coming. It's just the way it was. Why should it be any different now? Cindy was right to move on. I didn't much care for me either. And since she wasn't going to be with me, I allowed the companionship of dark self-condemnation to come alongside instead. It kept me company while I continued to gaze outside in hopeless silence, feeling empty and alone.
Oy! What a crazy mixed up world. I crumbled up the letters, then cursed the darkness and myself for my rotten luck and timing. But that didn't help much, either. Nor would it in an hour, a week or even a month. What was, was. Cindy may have had feelings for me- “had” being the key word- and even if she did, once she assumed I was the world's biggest jerk didn’t waste any time tearfully dwelling on her loss. I was history. There would be no more 'secret admirers'. There would be nobody. Not for me, anyway. Nada. Ever.
I got up and stared out the window. Under the moonless, black, nighttime sky, and in the still unfamiliar surroundings of Grass Valley, I felt a long way from home, alien and lost and like nothing made sense. Yet it did. This was how the world always made sense to me. 24/7 status-quo: life sucked and whatever bad things happened, I earned or had coming. It's just the way it was. Why should it be any different now? Cindy was right to move on. I didn't much care for me either. And since she wasn't going to be with me, I allowed the companionship of dark self-condemnation to come alongside instead. It kept me company while I continued to gaze outside in hopeless silence, feeling empty and alone.
And crying
like a big baby.
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