Teen Idol Crush

Photo by Merve

“I got a new record at the TG&Y," said Marilyn. Grown-up, that's what she was. She wore a bra.

"Ever heard of the Partridge Family?" Marilyn jumped onto her messy bed and kissed life-sized Bobby Sherman smack on the lips. "Sorry, Bobby, but you gotta go!" She peeled him off the wall, folded him, and tucked him into her dresser drawer.

A new poster replaced Bobby.

"I dig David Cassidy!" Marilyn licked her lips and kissed the new guy.

I nodded as if I understood. Truth was, I’d never heard of David Cassidy or the Partridge Family. I listened to Walt Disney records, and my record player resembled a circus wagon! Marilyn turned up her stereo and handed me a red leather record jacket stamped with gold letters, like a photo album.

"You need to learn this next song.” Marilyn carefully set the arm onto the record vinyl. “We’re going to sing it together the next time you come over."

Sometimes I wondered why Marilyn kept me around—a fourth-grader who couldn't carry a tune. She was older, more mature, and I felt lucky she liked me at all. If Marilyn wanted me to sing Partridge Family songs, then I would.

"I was sleeping and right in the middle of a good dream, like all at once I wake up from something that keeps knocking at my brain...” Marilyn danced in the middle of her bedroom and sang into her hairbrush. “Hey, I think I love you, so what am I so afraid of, I’m afraid that I’m not sure of a love there is no cure for ..."

Inside the album were pictures of the Partridges, an ordinary-looking family with musical talent. David Cassidy’s smile, long brown hair, and deep brown eyes warmed my cheeks. My palms sweated, my heart raced.

Marilyn caught me staring. "Looks like someone’s just got a bad case of the teen idol crush.”

New feelings overwhelmed me.

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to die. It’s normal,” she reassured. “It just means you're growing up." Marilyn made it all sound ordinary, and I believed her.

When Marilyn wasn't looking, I tore a picture of David Cassidy out of one of her Tiger Beat magazines and slipped it in my pocket.

A week later, I spent leftover birthday money on my first Tiger Beat at the TG&Y. I cut out every David Cassidy picture and pinned them to the bulletin board beside my bed. Mom didn’t allow tape on the walls. But Marilyn’s room was different, with posters taped everywhere, even on the ceiling! It felt like she slept in a room full of people.

Every night, I’d look at David Cassidy on my bulletin board. I’d close my eyes and imagine him until I could see him in my head. I pictured him walking through a busy airport with the Partridges and their manager, Mr. Ruben Kincaid. I could see David carrying a big leather suitcase. He didn’t know it, but I was inside that suitcase, a poor little stowaway. When he got to his motel room and Danny Partridge was in the bathroom, David unzipped his suitcase, and there I was, curled up like a pillbug. “Where did you come from, sweetheart?” he’d say. And then, I’d lose myself in his beautiful brown eyes and... and fall asleep.

I still don't know how, but soon Brother and I owned all the Partridge Family albums. I played them constantly, studied the lyrics, and learned every song by heart. My favorites were "Point Me in the Direction of Albuquerque," "I Can Feel Your Heartbeat," and "I Think I Love You." Marilyn said I sounded like a professional singer, and the world was ready to hear my beautiful voice. She promised I’d be a star, and I believed her.

One day, Mom handed me a plastic bag of bread heels. "Could you go feed the birds for me, please?" she said.

Reluctantly, I left my musical daydreams and walked toward the play area. Next to Elvis’s trailer, a narrow path led to the Happy Acres pool and play area, with thick, broadleaf ivy on both sides, taller than I was. Every time I walked there, I was reminded of Ichabod Crane and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. That headless horseman and flaming pumpkin head haunted me!

The play area was covered in Bermuda grass and clover. A mulberry tree stood in the middle, great for climbing and peeking into trailer spaces. On the far side, a plum tree hung over the fence near the swings. In summer, when plums ripened, I’d swing and spit the pits into the ivy.

Bread heels are delicious, especially the sourdough. I crushed the wheat and rye heels and sprinkled them on the grass. The robins weren’t as picky as I was.

While the birds ate, I stared at the ivy-covered fence behind my trailer. I could just see the top of our single-wide and shed roof. I always wished I could climb the fence to shortcut home, but the ivy was too thick and full of black widows. If a baseball landed there, it was nearly impossible to get back. Once, I found an old plastic Easter egg with perfectly good jelly beans inside!

Heart pounding, I stood alone on my clover stage, facing the ivy as if it were my audience. Bathed in a rainbow spotlight, surrounded by greedy birds, I closed my eyes and began to sing.

"Crazy little rag doll, her hair was wild and tossed. And I put my arm around her ..." I held an imaginary microphone and sang to my teen idol crush, "Point me in the direction of Albuquerque ..." Then it occurred to me, singing in front of the ivy made my voice sound amazing, even better than it did at Marilyn’s house! In that moment, I knew I’d be famous. I could feel it.

"What, in god’s name, are you doing back there?" Mom shouted over the fence.

Startled, the robins fled, and I quit singing.

“Nothing,” I replied.

"You’re supposed to feed the birds, not pester the neighborhood! Lunch is ready."

I had a grilled cheese sandwich, milk, and carrot sticks for lunch. Mom said I couldn’t go back outside to play until every carrot stick was gone; I felt like a caged bird! So I sat in the kitchen booth for half an hour, gnawing on carrots and dreaming about my musical future on television.

As the days passed at Happy Acres, I taught some kids how to sing Partridge Family songs. Soon, we practiced together and called ourselves the Partridge Family Singing Club. After roll call and collecting a nickel for dues, we’d gather in front of the ivy behind my trailer—standing side by side, swaying and singing into imaginary microphones.

Then, one Saturday morning, we put on our first concert in the play area. No one came, even though I drew a flyer with magic markers and put it on the washhouse bulletin board. Poor attendance didn’t stop us. We sang Partridge Family songs with all our hearts and loud enough for people on Robert’s Lane to hear.

"... I'll prove it, baby, I'm a man of my word. Oh, oh, oh oh, I can feel heartbeat and you didn't even say a word …"

We only performed once, but the Partridge Family Singing Club became legendary at Happy Acres. Mom said everyone within a mile was talking about us! Then she suggested we take a break for a couple of weeks to let our voices rest. She was probably right, since my throat felt a bit scratchy. I had become a star, just like Marilyn promised.

Brother grinned. "You’re lucky nobody called the cops, idiot!"