Breaking Out The Randy

By third grade, while still not really over Kelly, I was ready to “get back out there.” The pretty girl who had curly brown hair and wide blue eyes and who sat a couple rows over from me had become my new infatuation. Her name was Christy. Once again I decided to whisk her off her feet in elaborate, dramatic fashion. The one thing I knew for sure back then, was that third grade girls are desperate for romance. What they needed was a change from the same old tired routine. In order to be successful with the fairer sex, it seemed to me at the time that I should counter-program a little bit. I needed to be different than the other boys out there. Play ground antics and hair pulling were so common, every boy did it. It was all so…..2nd grade. A more sophisticated woman, a 3rd grade woman deserved…no she required a more sophisticated touch. So while others simply chased the girls they liked, or teased them or perhaps shared their juice boxes, I turned to poetry and craft to win the heart of my love. What could go wrong? How sweet, how thoughtful…how utterly and stupidly naïve.

The only problem with poetry was, I didn’t know any poetry and the few attempts I made at writing it sounded like this:

Dear Christy, you are so nice
I’m pretty sure you don’t have lice
I think you are really cool
I am glad you are in my school

So, I decided that I should borrow some verses. Since my family wasn't really one to have any Poetry Anthologies hanging around, I was forced to turn to record liners and the lyrics printed within them. My parents were going through a pretty big country phase with the old turntable so I had the very best of Oakridge Mountain Boys, Crystal Gayle, Waylon Jennings, and of course Randy Travis to choose from. After several hours of pouring through lyrics, I found the perfect song. Once she read those words, I was pretty confident it would be a done deal.

I busted out my crayons and my filler paper and drew a very impressive heart. I then transcribed word for word, in my very best handwriting, the lyrics of the most powerful love song that I had ever heard. The song that would melt her heart, make her love me while telling her exactly how I felt all at the same time. The song was “I’m going to love you forever.” By one Randy Travis.
I can still remember some of the lyrics:

I’m going to love you forever
Forever and ever, Amen
As long as old men sit and talk about the weather
As long as old women sit and talk about old men.

(OK, in hindsight, maybe I should have gone with my original poem!)

Regardless, I colored the page, double checked my spelling and then folded the note with me very best, newly learned note fold. Folding notes was very big. You didn’t just fold it in half or use an envelope. You made a bird, or a flower or something. I couldn’t do birds or flowers, so I did the one that had a little corner sticking out, and when you pulled that, the note opened up. I wrote, “To: Christy, From: Chris.” I think I might have put some hearts on the outside, because I knew that shit went over big on Valentine’s Day and I thought it might help here. After all, she’d never expect hearts, a fancy fold and Randy Travis on a Wednesday in September. Who did? No one else would be stealing my thunder, I had no competition to worry about, I was golden!

The next day, I hid the note in her desk and took my seat. My palms were sweating, my feet were tapping, I was a nervous wreck. How would all my hard work go over? It had to work! What other boy would go to all this trouble?

It took her forever to find the note. I swear it was like 8:34 or something before she finally reached under her seat and pulled out the note. A surprised look of excitement flashed across her face. She examined the note, took in the delicate folding, the hand drawn detailing. I could see her interest being piqued. Then she examined the address line. A frown crossed her face. A quick glance of her eyes in my direction, and then it happened.

She quickly crumbled the note, still unopened and tossed it back in her desk.

She never even read it! All that work. All of the emotional investment! My Heart, my Soul and Randy’s Lyrics were all on that piece of wide ruled filler paper that she so carelessly crumpled. I wanted grab Christy by her shoulders, shake her hard and scream at her, “I wrote out Randy Travis lyrics for you damn it!!! In my best print handwriting! Damn you callous hussy and damn your kind!”

I was wounded, stunned and angry. My return to the market was both brief and humiliating.