audiolog one by william rockford

The following is a transcript of William Rockford's first audio journal.

Well, I've decided to begin a journal. A record of my feelings, thoughts and observations. I've chosen to record my thoughts to audio tape instead of writing them in a traditional journal because my mind tends to race beyond the pace of my hand.

Why have I chosen to begin a journal? Well, this is a difficult question to answer. I suppose we all seek to be immortalized in some fashion ... document our existence to prove we once occupied a moment in time. Like a photograph. Like initials carved into a tree or etched on the plastic wall of a telephone booth.

Will anyone hear these audio tapes? Will anyone hear my voice? I do not know, but I feel some strange desire to record ... to record my life ... my experiences. Perhaps I will return to these tapes and attempt to reconstruct my life into something ... something meaningful. Perhaps I will find a resolution -- salvation if I'm lucky -- to the unsolved issues ... the wounds from long ago that haunt me to this very day.

I awoke this morning from a dream. Actually, it wasn't even a dream. It was a flash of a face that rattled me from sleep -- the face of a nine-year-old Kelly Johnson.

As time passes, faces change ... the memory converts the hair, the eyes, nose, cheeks and lips into something intangible -- a moment, an experience.

It was the third grade and Kelly was nine, I was eight and she was my first crush. I was a shy boy and never revealed my "love" for her, but somehow she discovered I liked her. It was the third grade ... recess ... and Mrs. Wright, my third grade teacher, was on recess duty. I was playing kick ball when I heard Kelly yell, "Hey, William! Come here!" I removed myself from the game and, nervous as hell, approached her. "Let's go behind the shed. I have a secret I need to tell you. Quick. Mrs. Wright isn't looking."

"Um, OK," I replied, my belly boiling with butterflies. I made sure Mrs. Wright wasn't looking -- we weren't allowed to leave her sight -- and hurried to the shadow of the shed.

The janitor's shed contained a lawn mower, tools, paint and other things. I had never been behind the shed, but I had heard the stories: first kisses, sixth graders smoked cheap cigarettes, girls gossiped. Many myths were born behind that shed. I can recall the shed's appearance as if it were yesterday: white paint peeled from the rotting wooden walls, the shingles were in disrepair and a rusted padlock secured the shed's contents.

"So," she said. "I heard you like me."

My hands were buried in my pockets. My feet were restless. "Um, I don't know ... I ... who told you?"

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" she asked, ignoring my question.

"Um, yeah. Maybe ... yeah," I lied.

It's so much easier to lie. Just bury yourself under a blanket of falsehoods and fabrications ... sheets that will keep you warm from the cold truth ... the reality of your circumstance ... your reflection. And these days, this age of Wikipedia and online profiles, it's easier than ever to construct a make-believe reality. With just a few keystrokes we can change history, distort the facts. If we don't like who we are we can recreate ourselves in cyberspace via an online profile -- a new name with a false shadow. But I digress ...

I admitted I had never kissed a girl and she said, "Well, I'm going to show you how. I know you want to kiss me, William."

I couldn't look her in the eyes. My eyes were bouncing. I remember the sun glistening off her pink jellies. The PVC plastic. Her tiny toes. I thought I was going to piss myself ... so nervous. I was about to kiss Kelly -- my first crush. A preadolescent infatuation ... empty and baseless.

"Close your eyes," she instructed me.

"Um ... I ... I don't know. Mrs. Wright might catch us," I said.

"C'mon, William. Don't be a loser. C'mon, it'll be fun," Kelly reassured me.

"OK ... OK." I closed my eyes and I could feel her presence getting closer and closer until her lips met mine. She began to kiss me. My lips imitated her's.

A kiss.

A kiss.

A kiss.

Her breath tasted like strawberry bubblegum.

And then she ... I felt her hands on my waist ... hands moving to my belt buckle and through our connected lips I said ... a whisper, "What? What are you--"

"Shhhh, this is part of kissing."

She ... she unbuckled my belt. She unbuttoned my Bugle Boy jeans. Her hand reached inside ... her hand ... inside my Superman underwear ... fondling my private parts. And her breath tasted like bubblegum ... the flavor of strawberries. Our heads and lips were frozen. Still. Like department store mannequins. But her hands ... her hands were very much alive. And I ...

I tried to bury myself under that third grade sun. Make-believe. Pretend this isn't happening.

Flecks of white paint clinging to the decaying walls of that god damn shed.

Her pink jellies.

Her artificially flavored breath.

A preadolescent crush, shattered.

Me, clinging to ... myself.

And then a whistle and Mrs. Wright yelling, "OK, kids, recess is over! Form a line in alphabetical order next to the water fountain!"

And without a word, without a glance, Kelly scurried away ... from the shed ... from me, unbuttoned and unbuckled. Embarrassed. Ashamed.

I quickly collected myself and followed Mrs. Wright's instructions.

That ... that's all for now. End of entry. April 23rd of 2004.

End of transcript.

xx