CLARITY IN THE RADIO STATIC

As I got in the car, I wasn’t in the mood for news radio so I scanned the dial and came upon an oldie, Air Supply’s “Lost in Love.” It’s from my high school years—I’m an oldie, too. I’d only gone a block when the station drew static. I wasn’t willing to lose the song. I listened as it came in and out. I made it to the end and then flipped to another station.

 

The song—it’s memories and the way it played this most recent time—was perfect for my current melancholic state. I’ve been thinking about love a lot lately. Just like the first time I heard “Lost in Love,” it feels like I know nothing about it. And, just like then, I cannot fathom falling into it. 

 

Back then, I was overwhelmed by the East Texas high school social scene where I felt unseen. I envied the popular people. I wanted their clear skin, their confidence, their gift of walking down hallways with exclamation marks always in tow. Everything they did or said stood out for reasons that didn’t make sense. That’s just what status does. 

 

I went to high school dances. Why so many? I didn’t go to the keg parties in the woods or at people’s houses after the dances. I didn’t know about them. I was honestly shocked to find out a couple years later that there were so many of them, too. I suppose people kept that sort of thing tight-lipped to keep the quality factor up. Isn’t that nonsensical? Unpopular people crashing hip high school parties only happens in movies, right? Why would I want to be ignored more? Why would I want beer which I still find gross unless I squeeze in a half-dozen lime wedges? I didn’t know about fruit beer back then and I suspect these weren’t the kinds of parties that had sliced fruit beside the keg…or anywhere.

 

Love was not conceivable in high school. Not with my zits. Not with my chicken legs and bicep-free arms. Not with my unruly red curls. Not with my utter confusion over my sexuality. I had “tendencies” but they needed constant quashing. This was the Bible Belt. This was the Land of the Southern Baptists. This was Hell. 

 

But on the radio, Olivia sang that I had to believe we are “Magic,” Diana Ross declared, “It’s My Turn” and The Manhattan Transfer harmonized over “The Boy from New York City.” There was hope, wasn’t there? There was something after high school.

 

Still, I subjected myself to deep inhales of Air Supply. Torture, some people would say, then and now. There was something lush in the vocals and dramatic in the way each song built to a crescendo. I sang along to every song on their albums, always hitting the high notes, just like co-lead singer Russell Hitchcock. (Back then, American Idol and William Hung hadn’t entered pop culture. I may have doubted many things about myself, but I had no reason to believe I might have been tone deaf. Ignorance, in that case, was bliss.) I sang along cluelessly to tunes like “Every Woman in the World,” “Even the Nights Are Better” and “Making Love out of Nothing at All.” Still, “Lost in Love” was my number one. 

 

SIDE NOTE: My first ever concert was seeing Air Supply on the Stephen F. Austin campus in Nacogdoches, Texas. (I was never going to be popular.)

 

Then, as now, song lyrics could be garbled, not all of them as much so as, say, “MacArthur Park” (Who leaves a cake out in the rain?!), but, oh, how I’d love to give so many pop tunes a quick edit. If I’d actually been in love when I first heard “Lost in Love,” I’m not sure it would have given me any tips. 

         I realize the best part of love is the thinnest slice

                                [Is this about cake, too?]

         And it don’t count for much

         But I’m not letting go

         I believe there’s still much to believe in.

 

So lift your eyes if you feel you can

Reach for a star and I’ll show you a plan

I figured it out

What I needed was someone to show me.

 

"Mockup" or mockery?

I re-searched those lyrics. He does not pass on the “plan” he’s shown. I blame Air Supply for keeping me lost in love whenever that feeling finally did occur.

 

And still I listen, then and now. Air Supply 4ever! This is just like me in love. Always loyal. Always the fool. 

 

So, yes, bringing matters to the present, the zits went away, the concept of popularity stayed back in high school (since I had no interest in entering politics) and I got myself far, far away from the Bible Belt and places with more Baptist churches than banks and gas stations combined.

 

I fell in love five times. And, remarkably, each of those times the guy loved me back as much as he could. I can go to a Love Anonymous meeting—I think I just made that up; don’t Google a local chapter—and I can stand up and say, “It’s been almost six months since my last love.” No doubt, there would be knowing nods. Translation: Yes, yes. We’ve heard your story. Not again. PLEASE! 

 

Okay, no story time. I’ll just say not every story has a happily ever after. (Do you hear me, romance writers and readers? WAKE UP!)

 

I can lean into another Air Supply song, their follow-up to “Lost in Love”: “All Out of Love.” Yes, well sequenced. First “in love,” then “out of love.”    

 

I can’t be sure, but I think that’s the way things will stay for me. I’m not being dramatic…though I will be next time I hear “All Out of Love” on the radio, Hitchcock pulling vocal gymnastics again to a crescendo that consists of a four-peat of “What are you thinking of?” Frankly, I’m letting all that go. Whatever my ex is thinking of, it’s certainly not me. 

 

Not in the cards...

I’m settled again, a single man. Five times in love feels like an awesome record for a guy like me. Not as awesome as one time in love that lasts forty years and still ticks on but, with an assist from hindsight, that was never going to happen. I think love has run its course. I’ve spent too much time hoping for it, looking for it, saying I’m not looking for it and hoping then it will come my way just like people say. Mathematically, I’ve longed for love longer than I’ve been in love.

 

Dating sites today are empty shells of what they were. I’ve had a baffling five months of  Grindr and Scruff, apps that are reputed to be more about Right Now than Mr. Right but for me have been about guys who are too afraid to post a picture much less say something.

 

I’m not going to hang out in gay bars. I’ve learned and relearned that I really don’t want drinking to be a cornerstone of any relationship.

 

I’m all out of love in terms of opportunities. I’m okay with that. Part of growing older is coming to terms with some of our dreams and aspirations not coming to fruition in the way we imagined. 

 

I do like my time to myself. I want to focus on some friendships I value. I want to explore more of the world. I want peace of mind. I’ve been muddling with all this quite a bit. Leave it to Air Supply to help me reach a crescendo and then let things fade out. 

 

It all feels right. Time to switch the radio off.