Just listen by Sarah Dessen

Author:Sarah Dessen [Dessen, Sarah]
Language: spa
Format: epub
Published: 2011-07-28T03:09:28+00:00

The next morning, Owen kicked off his show with a techno song that went on, no joke, for a full eight and a half minutes. All of which I spent telling myself that I was fully entitled to go back to sleep, and yet somehow not able to do so.

“That was Prickle with ‘Velveteen,’” he said, when it was finally over. “Off of their second disc, The Burning, which is probably one of the best techno records ever released. Hard to believe some people don’t even like that kind of music, isn’t it? You’re listening to Anger Management. Got a request? Call us at 555-WRUS. Here’s Snakeplant.”

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t roll over. Instead, I listened to the entire show, as was my habit now, while Owen played some rockabilly, some Gregorian chants, and a song in Spanish he described as “like Astrid Gilberto, and yet not.” Whatever that meant. Finally, in the last few moments before eight o’clock, I heard the beginning of notes of a song that sounded familiar. Although why I wasn’t sure until he came on again.

“This has been Anger Management, here on your community radio station, WRUS, 89.9. We’ll wrap up today with a long-distance dedication to a regular listener, to whom we say: Look, don’t be ashamed of the music you love. Even if, in our humble opinion, it’s not really music at all. We know why you really went to the mall yesterday. See you next week!”

Only then did it hit me: It was the Jenny Reef song, the one they’d been playing nonstop at the mall the day before. As it began, I sat up, grabbing for my phone.

“WRUS, Community Radio.”

“I did not go to the mall to see Jenny Reef,” I said. “I told you that yesterday.”

“Are you not enjoying the song?”

“Actually,” I said, “I am. It’s better than just about everything else you played.”

“Funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“I’m sure you aren’t,” he said. “Which, frankly, is just plain sad.”

“Almost as sad as you playing Jenny Reef on your show. What is this, all the hits with none of the lip?”

“It was meant to be ironic!”

I smiled, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Just keep telling yourself that.”

He sighed loudly, the noise filling the receiver. “Enough about Jenny Reef. Answer me this. How do you feel about bacon?”

“Bacon?” I repeated. “Which song was that?”

“It’s not a song. It’s a food. You know, bacon? Pork product? Sizzles in a frying pan?”

I actually pulled the phone away from my ear, looked at it, then put it back.

“What do you say? You up for it?” he was saying.

“Up for what?” I asked.

“Breakfast.”

“Now?” I said, glancing at the clock.

“What, you have plans already?”

“Well, no, but –”

“Cool. Pick you up in twenty minutes.”

And then he just hung up. I put the phone back on its base, then turned, looking at myself in the mirror over my bureau. Twenty minutes, I thought. Okay.

In nineteen and a half, I’d managed to shower, throw on some clothes, and get out to my front stoop, where I was waiting when Owen pulled into the driveway.

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