DESPERADO, WHY DON’T YOU COME TO YOUR SENSES?
YOU BEEN OUT RIDIN’ FENCES FOR SO LONG NOW
OH, YOU’RE A HARD ONE
BUT I KNOW THAT YOU GOT YOUR REASONS
THESE THINGS THAT ARE PLEASIN’ YOU
CAN HURT YOU SOMEHOW
Long before there was YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter – long before there were blogs and websites and other outlets for anyone to visit, there was Public Access television – those local channels where a person would sit in a little make-shift studio, often accompanied by a sad, fake ficus and an equally-dismal backdrop curtain. My hometown of Amsterdam had a couple of these shows (when they weren’t showing the latest polka party) where brave folks could sit for half an hour and field phone calls or talk about whatever was on their mind. Production values notwithstanding, it was interesting to see how well they dealt with prank callers, but also to see how people presented themselves. I’ve always enjoyed being an unobserved observer. This allowed for such viewing at a time in our history when such glimpses were not as ubiquitous as they are now.
One of the older kids in our high school had his own show. I knew of him, but we weren’t close. He was one of those rare kids who was popular with just about everybody. His presence was big, his smile ever-ready, and he always had something to say, which made for a perfect one-man talk show. I don’t recall what he discussed – I only remember his earnestness, and the fact that he was trying. It’s hard to find fault with someone if they are trying. He always closed his show with ‘Desperado’ – a song I didn’t know that well, but one which I searched and sought for meaning, desperately trying to figure out how he had such confidence, such power, such ease, and how I didn’t.
DON’T YOU DRAW THE QUEEN OF DIAMONDS, BOY
SHE’LL BEAT YOU IF SHE’S ABLE
YOU KNOW THE QUEEN OF HEARTS IS ALWAYS YOUR BEST BET
NOW, IT SEEMS TO ME SOME FINE THINGS
HAVE BEEN LAID UPON YOUR TABLE
BUT YOU ONLY WANT THE ONES THAT YOU CAN’T GET
In school, he was much the same. Gregarious and outgoing, with a popularity that somehow cut across all of the complicated circles of friendship and cliques that seemed to so densely populate Amsterdam High School. What a remarkable trick: to win acceptance and adoration from everyone, yet remain so staunchly down-to-earth. Maybe that was his appeal. Because he was a year or two older we would never be friends. (It was hard enough to step out of one’s own gender to be friends with another – stepping over the age barrier was almost impossible.) Yet we shared a physical education class for one year, and as we all waited on the gym bleachers for the teacher to begin, he would often stand in front of us all, bouncing a ball carelessly or just shifting his standing from one foot to the other, and talking and asking questions of everyone in the class.
He asked me how I was once, using my name, and I wondered if that was the key to his charm – to pay just enough attention to people so it sounded like he knew them. It has been documented that the sound of one’s own name is one of the most pleasing things a human being hears. It certainly worked for me. My distrust of anyone so openly vulnerable – because that’s what he was when he was so friendly to everyone – was instantly disarmed when he said my name and asked me how I was doing. My response was genuine, not my typical surly jab, but I’m not sure he took it as such, and he was already on to asking about someone else’s day so that was that.
DESPERADO, OH, YOU AIN’T GETTIN’ NO YOUNGER
YOUR PAIN AND YOUR HUNGER, THEY’RE DRIVIN’ YOU HOME
AND FREEDOM, OH FREEDOM, WELL THAT’S JUST SOME PEOPLE TALKIN’
YOUR PRISON IS WALKING THROUGH THIS WORLD ALL ALONE
I wondered at his popularity. I sometimes found it difficult to talk to my closest friends, I didn’t dream of talking much to my family, and it was terrifying to have to speak to strangers. How did he do it? How had he escaped the chains of social anxiety, and how wonderful might it feel to be so free? I envied him, like I envied everyone who seemed to have such an easy time of so many simple things. But what if his freedom came with its own prison? There was something about his broad appeal, and that expansive popularity, that left me feeling my quiet and shy manner, and my ocasionally-off-putting way with the world, might be a more sure path toward love. With prickly deliberateness and an intentionally aloof attitude, I’d made sure that anyone who entered my orbit was carefully vetted and tested – they were not casual acquaintances, not masses of genial, well-meaning peers who were made happy and content with a smile or a friendly word of encouragement. Such empty platitudes would not leave my lips.
DON’T YOUR FEET GET COLD IN THE WINTER TIME?
THE SKY WON’T SNOW AND THE SUN WON’T SHINE
IT’S HARD TO TELL THE NIGHT TIME FROM THE DAY
YOU’RE LOSIN’ ALL YOUR HIGHS AND LOWS
AIN’T IT FUNNY HOW THE FEELING GOES AWAY?
Two different boys.
Two different paths.
We live in such different worlds even when we think we don’t.
I wish I knew better how to bridge those worlds.
I also wish I knew how happy he was. Then and now.
Looking back on what little I saw and knew of him, and the lot of what I see and know of myself, I wonder if maybe we weren’t that different after all. In our own ways, maybe we walked alone a little too long. The most popular people I know are also the most lonely. And some of us who love nothing more than being left alone have managed to become surprisingly popular. Maybe we were, and are, somewhere in-between.
