Every Saturday, we’ll be posting a new illustration by David Lester. The Mecca Normal guitarist is visually documenting people, places and events from his band’s 27-year run, with text by vocalist Jean Smith.
I must have missed this episode. April 13, 1973. Actually, I may have seen it. This would not have been of any interest to me. Maybe I was in the kitchen pouring Cheerios. These guys were not cute. This was not my kind of music. Not the way it’s played here. Too sing-songy. Lacks passion.
I’d been 13 for a while. Since the summer before, at Hornby Island. Driving back down Vancouver Island after being on Hornby, “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” came on the car radio. Hunched in the back seat of the Ford Fairlane, looking out the window so no one could see I was crying. I forget if I had Bill’s number. I doubt it. Over the years, I’ve forgotten which was Bill and which was Andy, the trail horse I rode on the beach. I have a black-and-white photo of the horse, on the back, in my 12-year-old handwriting, “Andy.” That’s how I know Bill was the stable hand. He was 16.
The song induced pain, a pain related to Bill and leaving Hornby, leaving Bill, my first period starting and the confusion of lust. I would never see Bill again. I’d stupidly jumped out of the hay loft onto the cement floor of the barn to run back to our cabin. I was showing off, getting away. I could have leaned back in the straw and allowed Bill to scale the blocks of hay, to get to me. I’d climbed up there to get away from him. I don’t remember, but even then, as soon as I’d done it, I knew my tom-boy leap was a mistake. I had intended to impress him. Like how I impressed the guys on my street by throwing a perfect spiral.
It would have been my first kiss. I guess I kind of scared myself; I turned and ran. I thought a little wild time had just begun. If I had his number, I might use it if I felt better when I got home. We could stay inside and play games, I don’t know. We could go out driving on Slow Hand Row, wherever that was. In the back of the car, “Rikki Don’t Lose That Number” on the radio, thinking about Bill, crying. A throbbing ache in my lower abdomen. Hurting. Pain. This was the beginning of never seeing Bill again.
