 |
honky cracker: Ten is the Lonliest Number
April, 1992. Finishing out my Freshman year of high school. Our chorus, which was pretty fucking awesome, was supposed to play some parade at Disney World. Now, Disney World has parades every fucking day because, you know, YAY! UP WITH PEOPLE! and shit. But somehow some administrative shit got fucked up, and we weren’t playing Disney World, but we had our tickets booked and we were going to freaking Orlando whether Eisner wanted us or not. So we ended up doing whatever we do at La Mercado, an outdoor mall in the middle of Hell, Orlando.
The high school band came with us. The band was full of tuba players who played electric guitar better than they played the damn horns. They were also older. The band doods were Juniors and Seniors. Us chorus doods, we were frosh and sophs.
The band doods thought Pearl Jam’s “Ten” was the be all and end all of rock and roll. Me, at that time, I thought Nirvana’s “Nevermind” beat the hell out of that Pearl Jam poseur shit.
In the meantime, I’m rooming at the Caribbean Beach Resort in Disney World with two guys – one is my good friend Seth, who is (I hope) still my good friend to this day. The other was a Junior that we’ll call Meff. Seth kind of idolized Meff and I got lost in the shuffle. Whatever, that’s fine. I like being on my own anyway. But I’d wake up to Seth and Meff comparing how awesome their pecs were in the mirror. Such is the way of the world.
Our chorus had a 22 year old graduate student named Dawn that served as our accompanist. She, Meff, and Seth would often disappear together after hours.
Which, again, would be fine. Except that, at fourteen, I had a ridiculously huge-ass crush on Dawn. In fact, in six months from then, I would buy her a ring in Quebec City on a field trip she didn’t even go on and give it to her six months later. Because who can resist a pre-emo 15 year old with a ring?
Seth and Meff were cooler than I, and those two and Dawn would sneak off after-hours to go do… I don’t know what. But there were only two keys to the room, and they took them both. So every night, while they were out with the girl I was sure was the older girl of my dreams, I was left alone to watch the fake waves on a fake beach and hope an unaffiliated female mouse might wash ashore. Til the damn keys came back with Meff and Seth, and I could sleep in Pectoral Pissing-Match Hell.
This went on all week. Til the last night of the trip, when Meff and Seth probably realized they were being dicks. Dawn comes up to me the night before we’re leaving and says “Hey, Honky. While everyone else is sleeping, we’re going to EPCOT”.
In retrospect, that was a Pity Move if ever there was one. At the time, I didn’t give a shit at all. This was my time – MY TIME DOWN HERE [/goonies] and fuck if I wasn’t going to make the most of it. I bought her a monkey puppet and she named it Floristan. There’s some composeriffic reference to Floristan that I can’t place, but she named it. And it was hers. And I provided it for her.
We rode “Journey Into Imagination” twice and held hands. When we got out after the second time it was Fireworks Time over the lagoon overlooking the “countries” at EPCOT. In retrospect, it was total “let’s-placate-EmoHonky” bullshit. But she held my hand throughout the entire fireworks display and the bus ride back to the hotel. And I can’t express in text what that felt like or what it means to me this day. Even if it was fucking fake.
After everyone went to bed, I stayed up and looked from out balcony upon the fake waves of the fake beach and thought how lucky I was that, for once, someone recognized what I needed from them and gave it to me.
And as I did, the band teacher – who we’ll call Captain Doucheberry – wandered out of his room, drunk off his ass, and caught me up after hours.
“Honky!”
“Yes?”
“Man… ‘Ten’ is way better than ‘Nevermind’. What’s wrong with you? Go to bed.”
