Feels Like the First Time (3 page)

We never hung around each other when we were with our friends. That meant I never had to explain why I would be friends with a much younger girl, and she never had to explain why she hung out with such a nerd. But occasionally my two worlds collided.

One Friday night my friend Harold Crook came over after school to spend the night. We were planning to stay up and watch the creature feature hosted by The Count at midnight on Channel 7. The movies usually turned out to be big disappointments like
The Thing with Two Heads
and Channel 7 didn’t even come in clearly on our television, but the idea of staying up until midnight to watch them was irresistible.

Harold Crook and I had been friends since kindergarten. He was the veterinarian’s son and the kind of guy your parents wanted you to hang out with. He was earnest, intelligent, and he went to church because he liked it, not because his folks made him go. Like me, he had no experience with the fairer sex.

We had a few hours to kill between school and dinner that day, so we went outside and started tossing a Frisbee back and forth. Because we were nerds, we couldn’t leave it at that. We created a set of rules, with points awarded and subtracted for difficult throws, angles, consecutive catches, and so forth. Soon we were trying to set new world records for Inmon Yard Frisbee.

Dawn’s bedroom window looked onto our shared side yard. Midway through the game, Harold noticed Dawn standing behind her curtains, watching us. I was a little surprised she would watch something as boring as what Harold and I were doing.

At that moment, Harold tagged her with the nickname he called her forever. “I believe we have a Peeping Dawn,” he said, attempting to be witty. Harold called her Peeping Dawn from that day on.

By early 1976, I was halfway through my sophomore year and I was starting to branch out and become my own person. Like most kids, my primary influences had been my parents. I grew up listening to whatever my parents were listening to: Nat King Cole, Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass, The Kingston Trio, or The Lettermen. I still loved that music, but I had acquired tastes my folks definitely didn’t share. I had discovered Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and Bachman-Turner Overdrive, and my prized possession was my new
Frampton Comes Alive
double album.

For the first time I was beginning to think about the clothes I wore. I looked around the school to see what the popular kids were wearing, and thought about trying to dress the same way. I didn’t have any money to buy those clothes but at least I was starting to be aware of the idea.

I was also making some decisions that would affect me for the rest of my life. I started going with Mom to her Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and learned that alcoholism can be inherited. That worried me a lot. I didn't want to go down the same awful path she was on. I decided that same day I was never going to drink. That decision stuck, and I still haven’t had my first drink.

In February, Mom decided I could throw a birthday party, which surprised me. We never went hungry, but there was rarely money for extras like a birthday party. We rented the local hall, which was just a big empty room with a concrete floor and cinderblock walls. Since the place was big enough, Mom told me I could invite anybody I wanted.

On the day of the party, I took my record player and my small stack of albums and set it up in the hall. We set the cake on a small folding table and filled a garbage can full of ice and pop. We were ready to party like it was 1976.

I had a small difference of opinion with Mom about what lighting we would use during the party. She wanted the hall lit up like an interrogation room, and I was leaning toward complete darkness. We compromised by turning on the row of lights over the cake and pop, which left enough shadows to find a dark place to be alone with a special someone.

I invited Dawn and all the kids in my class. Nearly everyone showed up, and a lot of kids brought their own albums. The sound quality was what you would expect from concrete floors, cinderblock walls, and a cheap stereo, but nobody cared.

We danced for hours to the Steve Miller Band, Wild Cherry, Sweet, the Bee Gees and Earth Wind & Fire. Disco didn’t suck in 1976, and if it did, we didn’t care. We didn’t see anything wrong with dancing to
Gimme Shelter
by the Rolling Stones one minute, then doing
The Hustle
by Van McCoy the next.

Dawn was still in junior high, and most everyone else was in high school, so I tried to make sure she felt included. We danced together like teenagers did in the ‘70s–goofing off, laughing, and talking with friends more than dancing. As the party was winding down, I saw her standing off to the side of the room by herself. She had dressed up for the party. She wore black slacks and a nice jacket over a red long-sleeved top.

A fast song
, Rock‘n Me
by the Steve Miller Band, was playing and that was a good one for a last dance with Dawn. I grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the dance floor. Just as that song began, a self-appointed DJ pulled the needle and dropped it again on the great ‘70’s make-out song,
Stairway to Heaven
by Led Zeppelin. I was in a predicament. I’d already asked Dawn to dance, but I wouldn’t have if I had known it was going to be a slow song. At the same time, I didn’t want to insult her by saying she wasn’t old enough to slow dance.

I acted like it wasn’t a big deal and grabbed her hand and we danced the only way we knew how, huddled together, barely shuffling our feet. As Robert Plant wailed, Dawn put her arms around my neck and rested her head against my chest.

And that’s when I felt something I never had before. I had no idea what it was, but I didn’t want it to stop. This feeling was different from anything I’d ever experienced. It was part physical attraction, but there was also something that felt much bigger. Dancing so close to her–feeling her warm breath on my chest, smelling the shampoo in her hair–was so intoxicating that it confused me. Up to that point I had been dancing to all kinds of songs with different girls at the party, but nothing slapped me dizzy until that first dance with Dawn.

Stairway
ramped up from its slow, acoustic beginning to the famous Jimmy Page guitar crescendo, and we barely moved. Dancers around us separated and danced, but I didn’t breathe for fear that the delicate spell enveloping us would break. We clung to each other, lost in a magical moment.

As the final notes of the
a cappella
ending ricocheted off the concrete floors, Mom flipped on all the lights. It was like throwing a bucket of water on two amorous dogs. The bright light shone in our faces, making us blink. The magic instantly evaporated. Dawn didn’t even look at me. She simply turned and walked away. I noticed her cheek was slightly red from resting against my jacket lapel. I could still feel her warmth against me.

After all the pop cans and paper plates were swept up, I went home and lay down on my twin bed. It was several inches too short now, and my feet dangled off the edge. I pulled the pillow over my head and replayed the evening, song by song. The surprising thing was that some of the girls at the party seemed interested in me. I had no experience with flirting, but I was sure that’s what had happened.

And yet, I could only think of Dawn and the sweet feeling of dancing slowly with her. I drifted off to sleep, still able to feel her cheek against my chest, her arms around my neck, and hearing
Stairway to Heaven
in my head. 

By the start of my junior year I had traded in my thick black glasses for contact lenses, and I wasn’t nearly as awkward as before. I saved the money I earned over the summer and bought new clothes. I was even growing my hair longer, although I expected my step-dad to put his foot down any day and make me get it cut. I was a work in progress, but I was moving toward the acceptable end of the social spectrum.

At the end of October, something happened that impacted my life for years to come. The Friday before Halloween I was in my bedroom, reading a comic book and watching my 19” black-and-white TV. My bedroom television only got one channel, but that made watching TV easy. I either watched what was on that channel or did something else.

I was sitting in the rocking chair next to my space heater, reading a Mighty Avengers comic book and ignoring what was on TV. A lame show called
The Paul Lynde Halloween Special
was on
.

I heard a thrashing guitar and looked up to see four guys in full black-and-white makeup, wailing on guitars and screaming like banshees. Behind them, flash pots were spitting fire fifteen feet high. The logo on the screen said KISS in huge letters. I had never heard of them, but I couldn’t take my eyes off them. My older sisters got The Beatles on Ed Sullivan, and I got KISS on Paul Lynde.

As soon as the first song–
Detroit Rock City
–was done, Mom poked her head into my room.

“Jerry’s on the phone for you,” she said. “He says it’s important.”

Jerry had been my best friend since I was eight years old. We shared a lot of interests: Marvel comic books, science fiction books, horror movies and shooting our BB guns. I trusted him more than anyone else and knew he always had my back.

I ran into the kitchen to tell him to turn on his TV, but when I picked up the phone, he was more excited than I’d ever heard him.

“Inmon! Do you see what’s on TV? Holy shit!”

“I know!” I said. “Where did these guys come from?”

“I have no idea, but we’ve got to do something with this!”

“Like what are you thinking?” I asked him.

“I’m thinking we need to put on some makeup, get some guitars and be those guys!”

“Oh, that’s an awesome idea! Aside from the fact we don’t have any instruments and can’t play or sing.”

“Whatever, Inmon. I’m gonna go watch the rest of the show. Maybe they’ll do another song. I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll figure out how we’re gonna do this. See ya!”

Jerry was the perfect complement for me. He jumped in with both feet whenever he saw an opportunity. He was the idea man, and I was the voice of reason.

The next day we got together and figured it out. We’d get our moms to make our costumes. We’d beg, borrow or steal some instruments, and we’d lip-sync to KISS records. That way we didn’t need to know how to play or sing. Jerry’s mom even said she had some wigs she could loan us, since our hair hadn’t fully grown out yet.

Forming the group was Jerry’s idea, so he got to pick who he wanted to be first. He chose Gene Simmons,
the Demon
. I was Jerry’s best friend, so I got the next choice. I took Paul Stanley,
the Star Child
. All we needed was to recruit a Peter Criss and Ace Frehley. By the end of school on Monday, we talked our friend Kenny Schoenfeld into being Peter Criss,
the Cat.
Another friend, Bill Wood, would be Ace Frehley,
the Spaceman
.

Next, we needed a venue for our debut. When I saw the Mossyrock School District was holding a talent contest in January, I knew that was the ideal place to launch KISS II.

We decided to do
Detroit Rock City
at the Mossyrock Talent Show, since that was the song we saw them perform on TV. I was responsible for ‘singing,’ so I rehearsed for many hours. I didn’t want to let the other guys down. Besides, it was fun being a rock star, even if it was only in my head.

By the time the talent show arrived, we were rehearsed and ready to go. I had the words down cold, and I’d even learned how to walk and jump in my platform boots, but we had a few problems. We hadn’t figured out how to make flash pots like we saw on TV, and, even in makeup, I didn’t look much like Paul Stanley. But we weren’t going to allow a few details to slow down the juggernaut that was KISS II.

When the night of the Talent Show arrived, we hid backstage like nervous brides. We had our makeup and costumes on, and we wanted to make an entrance. After an endless parade of trumpet players, piano recitals, and singing trios, it was finally our turn.

We got into position behind the curtain and struck what we hoped was a dramatic pose. To someone who hadn’t seen KISS on TV, I’m sure we looked like demented mannequins. The beginning of
Detroit Rock City
blasted from the sound system, but we continued to stand still, waiting for the driving guitar intro. When it came on, we rushed to our microphone stands and gyrated like we had lost our minds.