Kiss and The Who

Mom and Dad had decided to part ways with the Early American style hutch in the kitchen. Thank goodness. At one time it was a nice piece, but like most pieces of Early American furniture, it had become a large, clunky, but very shiny eyesore. The behemoth had lived in our kitchen for as long as I could remember, and now just in time for my 21st birthday party with friends and family the following weekend, Mom had decided to update the look of the kitchen. The new furniture was scheduled to arrive tomorrow, and today we were going to empty the hutch. It was such a large piece, I called it Jaba the Hutch. We had boxes for things to pitch and keep.

Mom opened the glass doors on the top half of the hutch, pulling out a stack of receipts, letters, and gift cards. She sat down at the kitchen table, also Early American style--quite large and heavy--also leaving tomorrow. She flipped through the stack and said, "Oh, honey, here's something for you. Look at the postmark. You must have been away at camp when this arrived."

I looked at the date, quickly did the math, and realized the letter would have arrived when I was 12. Brandishing a letter opener that boasted a large brass eagle on it (note the commitment to the Early American theme in this kitchen), I gingerly slid the blade through the top of the envelope to find a letter written to me by someone with the handwriting of another 12 year old.

Dear Beth (I Hear You Calling),

Hello and how are you? I hope your summer is going great. Mine has been all right. We're visiting my grandparents in Michigan for the week, and then we'll come home for a while. My mom is off for the summer because that's 'one of the perks of teaching,' she says. She says teachers have to have summers off, otherwise their brains might turn to mush if they have to spend even more time with students. Then she says she's jaded, and she starts singing that Aerosmith song.

After we get back from Michigan, Mom says we're going on a road trip. Dad won't be able to come with us because he has to save up his vacation time for Christmas and Spring Break. I think we're going to go to Mount Rushmore and the Bad Lands (what makes them Bad?) and some drug store. I didn't know why we would need to go so far to go to a drug store when there's a Walgreen's five minutes from our house. She also said if I were taller, I could drive part of the way and also be a safe driver if she needed to stop off for cocktails during the trip. I think my mom is in desperate need of a vacation from school and from my grandparents.

Remember how I sat behind you in Reading class last year? I didn't mean to terrorize you or make you crazy when I whispered the lyrics to "Beth." I love the song, and I think you're the coolest girl in our grade. You know The Who wrote a musical with my name in it, and when I hear the songs, I don't get weirded out or anything. I think it's pretty great. I decided, though, that I would go online and find the lyrics to "Beth," to see if it really is a cringe-worthy song or if it's a thing where people don't want to hear their names in a song.

Here's what I found out: The song is beautiful--the tune and the singing. BUT, the lyrics are weak. The song is an apology to poor, beautiful Beth (I picture you), sitting at home, while the guy is off practicing his music with his band. In my mind, they're a bunch of burnouts practicing in someone's garage, and their music is mediocre at best. I seriously hope Beth dumps the guy. If I were your guy, I would never make you wait around for me. If I said I'd be there, then I would be there.

When we start 7th grade, I hope you'll sit next to me or in front of or right behind me if we have any classes together. You're the only girl in our whole grade that treats me better than toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Maybe we can study together, or maybe we can go to the Koffee Kup for french fries after school some time. I get it if you don't want to be my girlfriend, but it would be nice to have a friend-girl.

I think you've seen my sketchbook before. Mostly, I do pencil or ink drawings. Some of my better pictures were in the art show last year, and I got a first place on one of them. It was a very proud moment for me. I felt all puffed up like when a turkey or a peacock fans out its feathers. Anyway, I wanted to send this sketch I did of you. It was this one day when we were having Sustained Silent Reading. You were deep into "Little Women." You were wearing a ruby red ski sweater with blue accents, and your hair was pulled back into a low pony tail, and there were some escaped hairs that encircled your face, and you looked like an angel. I wasn't sitting behind you that day. Remember the day there was a leak in the roof, and they had to move us around to place some buckets to catch the water? Anyway, when you look at the picture I drew, it was you on that day.

I showed the picture to my mom, and she said I should send it to you because it was 'just so nice!' I hope you like it. If you want to write me back, that would be cool. My dad says that we kids don't write letters like kids did when he was our age. He says letter writing is a dying art, and I don't want to contribute to the loss of one of the arts!

You don't have to worry about hearing me hum or whisper-sing "Beth" anymore, but if you want, I won't be offended if you sing, "Tommy Can You Hear Me?" or "Pinball Wizard." They're both in Tommy (that musical by The Who).

I hope you're having a really great summer, and I'll be so happy to see you when school starts back up. If you do want to be my girlfriend, I won't close the door on the possibility, but if not, that's fine, too. It would be nice just to be in your orbit.

Your friend,

Tommy

"Mom, do you remember the boy who used to sing "Beth" by Kiss? He sat behind me in my reading class? His name was Tommy?"

"His mom was an Algebra teacher at the high school, wasn't she?" Mom asked while she recollected the events of that summer. "Is the letter from Tommy?"

"It is. He also sent a sketch of me that he had drawn that year." I handed her the drawing. It was so sweet, innocent, and touching. Mom's eyes misted over as she took in the image.

"It's beautiful and looks just like you did at that age," she said in a husky voice. "I'm going to get it matted and framed. I love it."

"Me, too," I said, and I started doing the ugly cry. "I wish I had been nicer to Tommy. I wish I didn't get so crabby every time he started singing that stupid song."

"It's a shame what happened to him and his mother," Mom said.

We were both quiet while we continued to empty the hutch and put things in their appointed boxes.

I knew Tommy had had a crush on me, and my 12-year old heart didn't want him to like me like that, but he was a smart cookie and a hard worker, and we tended to get paired up on group projects because of where we were sitting in class. When we left for summer break that year, that was the last I'd ever heard from him until I read the letter today.

Tommy's mom had fallen asleep while they were trying to drive straight through to South Dakota. According to the report in the newspaper, he had been asleep in the back seat of the car. They were killed instantly. When 7th grade started, we had an assembly and there was a brief memorial for Tommy and his mom. People who didn't even pay attention to Tommy were wailing and carrying on, and I don't think it had anything to do with Tommy in particular or even grandstanding. I think it was more about how everything can be gone in the blink of an eye.

I broke the silence after a bit. "Mom, do you mind if we listen to the soundtrack from 'Tommy,' while we finish up? I think it would be nice, since Tommy mentioned it in his letter."

And that's how we finished up our work on the hutch.