SPINNING ON THAT DIZZY EDGE
Somehow, without trying, a friend group formed that was all kids from divorced parents. We didn’t even talk about it once. We started getting into weird stuff simultaneously and cross-pollinating each other with our weird interests, and it’s untested whether our broken homes led us to nontraditional interests, but it was there. Sometimes I think indie culture was all a product of failed marriages.
At the end of ninth grade my best girl friend was Melissa. She was beautiful, but was born with a minor facial deformity that possibly made her more approachable than other girls. I wasn’t worried that she would judge me for my acne or other deficiencies. In retrospect, maybe friendship was easier because we both discounted the possibility of romance. At least I think we agreed on that point.
At 11pm on Sundays MTV would air 120 Minutes, a showcase for alternative bands they didn’t play on the radio or sell at the lame record stores at the mall. We would all try to stay up and watch a few videos before bedtime, and some kids would brag they watched the whole thing, although that was unlikely since we had to wake up at 6 for school. Melissa figured out that she could put in a VHS tape at 11, hit record, go to bed and watch it later. At first I thought this was cheating, that this taboo music should only be heard at the witching hour. Hilariously she only had one blank tape, and would tape over it every week, so we would try to hang out and watch it once a week. Melissa and her friend Jessica were both in love with Robert Smith, and they basically said girls would like me if I looked more like him, and I should wear makeup and change my hair. I laughed it off, until one day Jess said if I let them cut my hair she’d “go with” me. I still don’t know what that term means. It sounds southern, like you’re gonna go hold hands in public. I wasn’t particularly attracted to her, a husky redhead with maximum freckles, but I liked the attention and figured I should listen to girls about this sort of stuff.
We waited until Melissa’s grumpy dad was gone one weekend afternoon, and then she called me and Jess to come over. They played the 120 Minutes tape and we smoked cloves in the kitchen, which we could get away with because Melissa’s dad smoked like crazy. Jessica put on an apron and started acting sassy and intense, like she was head hairdresser at a salon. They sat me in a chair from the dining room table, draped towels over me, and started hacking away. I complained that I couldn't see what they were doing but I didn’t actually care. The Pixies video for “Here Comes Your Man” started playing and I was like “Why do they keep playing this goofy song?” and Melissa said “I’ll give you a tape of this album. The guitars are too noisy for me so you’ll like it.”
They backed up to stare at my haircut. It’s like they were almost looking at me. Jess said, “Well, for it to really look like Robert Smith I need to spike it up” and she put some mousse crap in there that also turned my hair red. They busted out laughing.
I was like “Are you still gonna make out with me?” and Jess goes “What? No! I never said that!” and Melissa mumbles “Well you kind of did…”
They really hacked me up with those kitchen scissors, but as I eyeballed it in the bathroom mirror, I had to admit it was an improvement. Melissa’s dad came home, looked in the ashtray, and said “Who smokes Camel Lights?”