Cary Randolph writes.

Hark back to those golden years...

caryrandolph:

…before iPods, before Gmail, somewhere between AOL and AIM, at the height of Carson Daly and Total Request Live, and remember, will you. Take this voyage with me down memory lane, this journey to transcend your Wednesday malaise, remember what it was like to be all of thirteen or fourteen or fifteen and without cell phone.

Remember, please, calling your varsity Lotharios after dinner, after homework had been fucked with and doodled on and stuffed back in the Trapper Keeper, and just hanging out on the phone. Remember your daddy picking up another receiver somewhere in the house and hitting speed dial without first checking for a dial tone, remember your kid brother eavesdropping on yet another line as you mumbled those confidential utterances of undying lunch room lust and longing and Oh my God, can you believe Crystal made out with Travis IN THE PARKING LOT? What a slut. I heard she can’t even afford Lucky jeans. Remember the first hour or so of lively conversation seguing into something less energetic though not at all half-hearted. Nay! You waited all day for this phone call! You saw him but twice in the hall between classes and the first time didn’t even count because he was hauling ass to the cafeteria to beat the line because it was, after all, pizza day…

All day you waited to hear him breathe on the other end of the phone while he wrapped up his latest round of Halo to then dissect the goings-on at last Friday’s keg party and hopefully, hopefully! casually! mention the upcoming semi-formal, which will not be semi-formal at all but will involve you wearing floor-length sequins and him in a royal blue button-down with a Hanes tee peaking out from beneath, only to be exposed when, on the dance floor, he and his buddies all unbutton their royal blue button-downs, oh God, it happens every single time, but you don’t care, because you and your girls are too busy doing the Electric Slide…

Remember cradling that hot cordless phone under your chin as you threw the next day’s outfit onto your window seat and then brushing your teeth and - hold, please! - washing your face with Noxzema and cleaning the gunk off your retainers and sorry, sweetie, this thing gives me a lisp. Remember then getting into bed and - my bad, just one second, GOOD NIGHT, MOM!, and turning out the lights and turning on your new Dave Matthews CD ever so softly…

And this is where the magic happens, this is where the conversation with your one true love takes a turn for the glorious, this is where you start in on the real soul-search conversation. Remember the top-five lists, the favorite bands of all time, the Let’s go to a concert together, maybe make it a double date, and I really like frappucinos; don’t you like frappucinos? and I think Shawna and Tyler are having sex, can you believe it? But they’re really in love, they’ve been together all semester, and so what do boys think is the difference between talking and dating and going out? and lots of heavy breathing, oh my God, so much heavy breathing and also, Are you tired? No, are you tired? No, what are you doing? Nothing, what are you doing? and What are you listening to? “Stairway to Heaven”; what are you listening to? Oh, just that mix CD you gave me last Saturday when we were hanging out in your parents’ basement, you know the one with all the Matchbox 20 on it, the one that starts with that P. Diddy slow jam I like, the one we swayed to at that farm party…

And before you know it, your clock-radio reads four a.m., and you’re not even talking anymore! You’re just listening to each other sigh and roll over and maybe whisper What? Huh? Oh, nothing, until finally you say in that meek, exhausted half-whisper, Well, I guess I should go to sleep, I’ll see you at the student council meeting, and don’t forget to bring duct tape for that triangle-trade project (y’all, tell me you remember the triangle trade), God, our teacher is such a bitch making us do this group effing project, I mean spring break starts in THREE DAYS. Anyway, you hang up first. You hang up first! No, you hang up first! I love you! I love you more! No, I love you more! And then the battery dies.