For Those Who Don't Believe in Love Songs

Chapter 5 - Introduction

November 30, 1994

Martha's phone lingered in her peripheral vision as she sat on her bed and studied command economic systems. It was a black kettle rotary phone she'd bought at a Goodwill when she was thirteen. The vintage look of it made her feel unique and sophisticated at the time but she had since abandoned the projected meaning. It was simply a phone that allowed her to place and receive calls.

It held a different meaning this night, however. It held the promise of James. She had begged him in chemistry class for more information, but their opportunities to talk were brief and public. He appeased her with a pledge to call that evening. He already had her number.

Martha had barely slept the night before, unable to quell her buzzing mind. Currently, she was mentally exhausted, yet restless in anticipation of James' call. As far as she was concerned, he had basically come out to her as a superhero – hundreds of lifetimes of education and experience at his disposal. Well, not ALL of it, she thought. He can't possibly remember all of it. That would be insane! Nevertheless, it was clear he had made use of his time. She shared one class with him and he appeared to have the subject mastered. Would the same be true for Physics? History? Literature? In how many languages would he be fluent?

Of equal wonder, and greater incredulity, was her role in it all. One thousand students in his graduating class, four thousand total in the school and James chose to confide in her – Martha Beckett: the heretofore, industrial strength, guaranteed or your money back, boy repellent.

James professed to know almost everything about her. He knew about her first kiss. Martha wondered if he knew about the first time a boy broke her heart. Cast as the March Hare and he the Mad Hatter, Martha rehearsed with Kurt every day after school for two months during the 8th grade. He laughed at her jokes. He teased her which, from a thirteen year old boy, was the highest form of flattery. And despite belonging to different cliques, their connection was undeniable.

At the wrap party, she chose to be brave, tell him how she felt, and ask him to the next school dance. He responded with wide eyes and an excuse to leave the room followed by weeks of avoiding her in the hallways. She was devastated and placed the blame not on Kurt, but on herself and the hope she'd held. How could I have been so stupid? Since then, Martha had come to understand how cowardly Kurt's response was, but the shame and fear remained.

She reached the bottom of the textbook's page with no more understanding of the subject than she had at the top. Her mind elsewhere, she tried again. The phone rang and her arm snatched the receiver like the tongue of a frog to a fly.

"Hello?"

"Good evening, Miss," said a despondent voice. "I'm calling on behalf of AT&T. Are you happy with your current long-"

"Yes, very happy thank you." Martha hung up in disappointment.

She decided her efforts to study the theories of Friedrich von Hayek were futile. She walked the book to her desk and traded it for a spiral notebook. On the bus-ride home this afternoon, she'd sketched out a list of questions like a reporter prepping for an exclusive. My interview with the boy from Pluto.