Sixth grade was a big year in elementary school. As "seniors," we were ostensibly in charge (as much charge as you can take over an elementary school), and sort of acted like hot shots. I went to a so-called "magnet" school, so the students didn't all matriculate to the same middle school. Instead, kids were assigned to different "magnet" middle schools based on the whims of the Los Angeles Unified School District's Sorting Hat. That meant this would be the last year with a large number of my cohorts, including my Secret Crush.
As with most secret crushes, I don't think my Secret Crush knew who I was. The simple fact of the matter was she was a cool person and I was not a cool person, so our paths seldom crossed. I suppose the extent of my contact with her was when she'd flirt with the really nerdy kid who sat next to me and "double checked" her homework answers against his. I'd always curse his big brain and my own inability to master the vagaries of mathematics. I'd try to use these opportunities to chat her up, but a girl who listens to Nirvana and watches the Real World is to a boy who plays Magic: the Gathering and watches Batman: the Animated Series as oil is to water.
And so sixth grade progressed without much incident until the announcement for the Winter Pageant. As with each and every all-grade performance in years past, there would be tryouts for solo performers. Now, I never usually go for this sort of thing since the prospect of being front and center with a jillion parents and students staring at me was too much to bear. So in prior years I usually took more of a . . . supporting role. One year I was one of many nameless, faceless cats in our rendition of "An American Tale" and another year I was one of many nameless, faceless orphans in our rendition of "Oliver." The perfect roles since less intensive roles meant more hanging out with my Best Friend during rehearsal time. But that year, I decided I was going to use the Winter Pageant as an opportunity to impress my Secret Crush. How exactly this was supposed to work didn't really cross my mind, but I figured since I watched so much Wonder Years it was bound to work. Oh, the logic of prepubescence.
Anyway, the tryout song was announced as "Castle on a Cloud." Hearing that song for the first time sent a chill up my spine. The subtlety and complexity hidden underneath a veneer of simplicity. The haunting yet angelic voice of the singer. It was a masterpiece. Something that professional singers probably struggled to achieve mastery over. Something . . . that was gonna be a piece of cake for me. If you practice enough, you get good at anything, right? Ah, the lies of childhood. And so I took a copy of the sheet music and dutifully went about practicing morning, day, and night. In fact, I vividly recall lying awake in bed the night before the tryout and visualizing my singing transporting everyone to a literal castle on a cloud. And after I was finished, the crowd erupted into applause, roses rained down, and my Secret Crush awaited with a big fat (French) kiss. I went to sleep happy.
Of course, oftentimes things don't turn out just quite the way you visualize them. Tryouts for solo performances by tone-deaf Japanese kids are among those things. Soon after the tryout started, I could tell from the teachers' faces that something was amiss. Elementary school teachers are kind people by nature (you really have to be to excel in that job), but I could see their horror creeping through their "smiles." It was as painful to watch them as I'm sure it was painful to hear me butcher that poor song, especially since I had equated yelling with singing--"THERE IS A CASTLE ON A CLOUUUUUD! I LIKE TO GO THERE IN MY SLEEEEEP!!" When I finished, the teachers threw out the requisite "Good job!" so as not to do too much harm to my young psyche, but I knew that there would be no solo performance for me. My Best Friend was there to greet me with a chipper, "Dude, at least now we'll get to hang out during rehearsals!"
Despite my performance at the tryout, I was still in the running for a "showcase" role at the Winter Pageant because, of course, elementary school is still the time of "everyone wins!" Shortly after receiving formal notice that I indeed would not be selected for a solo performance, I was selected to be a part of (or rather, hidden within) a quartet, three fourths of which were very strong singers. I think we ended up singing "My Favorite Things." Well, they ended up singing "My Favorite Things." I really didn't even have to sing, and I'll admit that most of the time I just mouthed the words (hey, better for everyone, right?).
As for my Secret Crush, well, she and my Best Friend were eventually paired up as part of a small group of couples that performed "Jingle Bell Rock." No singing; just dancing in pairs. Each day during rehearsals I'd "practice" with my quartet while my Best Friend would dance the afternoon away with my Secret Crush. I'd see him out of the corner of my eye and rue is dumb luck. The irony was that my Best Friend and Secret Crush absolutely despised each other, and their daily contact only fueled their mutual hatred. It was the absolute worst thing that happened to him, and each day after school he'd vent about his horrific experience that day over a round of Magic: the Gathering--"Dude, this is so stupid. I can't believe I have to dance with her like that, holding hands and putting my arm around her and crap. What're they gonna do next? Bring out the mistletoe and make us kiss [blech] It's just unfair. It's really unfair."
You're damn straight.
--KM
"What a bright time. It's the right time to rock the night away."
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