Southend U3A

Writing for Fun

January 2022

Rock n Roll Radio - Pete Norman

​She lived her life in the songs she heard on the rock & roll radio and for this special child this all started at a very early age.

Marjorie Gibson’s contractions were intensifying and she had reached the point where she knew that she could not withstand them for much longer but at that very moment, in the far corner of the Delivery Room, the nurse turned on the radio. At first Marjorie had thought it too loud and intrusive but the music pulsed with an almost hypnotic beat and her baby’s violent movements seemed to ease and settle.

Marjorie pressed her hands to her stomach and could feel her precious infant moving with a lazy rhythm. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the sound, to the rhythm, to the beat, to the sinuous movements of her child within her and within a few moments, in an almost trance-like state, she found herself holding her 6lb 8oz miracle in her arms.

Everyone in the room agreed that she was the most beautiful baby, even that sour old doctor Hartley, whose cold and dispassionate bedside manner was legend, was forced to admit that she was ‘one cute little thing’. The staff were rendered speechless by this unaccustomed outburst but Donna, the State Midwife, who was never lost for words declared that ‘For sure the Good Lord has sent down one of his angels amongst us.’

John and Marjorie Gibson had struggled to think of a suitable name for a girl – they had prepared a long list of possibilities for the anticipated boy but as for a girl . . . well that was never supposed to happen.

Marjorie cradled her precious infant to her and all such thoughts evaporated. Her child was indeed angelic, with her silky soft blond hair, her tiny turned up nose and her strikingly intense, almost luminous, blue eyes which were staring up at her with a sentience that belied her tender age. The State Midwife had spoken truly and there was now only one possible name she would entertain: Angelina. However, to her doting father she would never be anything but Angie Baby.

Angie never cried once on the day of her birth and the only times since that she ever showed any sign of distress – when, with a soft whimper, her bottom lip quivered – was when the room around her became silent, it was as if the insistent pulse of the rock & roll music had become an integral part of her soul.

In the years that followed Angie grew into the most contented and trouble free child, quiet and reflective, with no desire for the companionship of other children. She would play by herself for hours on end, kneeling on the rag rug in her bedroom with a handful of her favourite toys, swaying gently, humming softly to the omnipresent music which filled her room and engulfed her senses.

Initially her mother had resisted the installation of the radio, arguing that the child would become insular, that it would inhibit her from making friends and socialising but in the end she had been forced to concede that Angie never craved such things, that she asked for nothing more and that this one simple device gave her such pleasure. In the end Marjorie was powerless to hold out against her request.

Her formative years at school, however were not so easy, to the other children in her class she was considered somewhat of an oddity – a victim who did not retaliate to their bullying, who did not fight back, whose response to every provocation was simply an enigmatic smile. However, Angie found a surprising ally in William, who was obsessed with this strange child and would follow her around the playground like a puppy dog, protecting her from harm and chattering away to her incessantly, unconcerned with the lack of any response from his girl.

Eventually the other children tired of the sport and, apart from the constant attention of her guardian, Angie settled into school life. However, she was an unfathomable enigma to her teachers – she was quiet and for most of the time appeared to be inattentive and unresponsive, in a permanent state of trance but while she was not the brightest child in the class, they were forced to concede that she was by no means the dunce.

In the early days her teachers had tried to stop her incessant humming but an unusual truce was brokered by the Headmistress, Mrs Tellamare, who also happened to be William’s mother. William had suggested to her that Angie might be placed in a quiet corner of the classroom – which by coincidence was in close proximity to his own desk – and there she would be able to work away happily in her own little world without disturbing the other children.

This unusual arrangement worked surprisingly well and Angie settled. When the endless stream of teacher’s notes finally began to dry up, John and Marjorie Gibson thought that they could at last entertain the hope that their daughter might turn out cool.

However, their dream was shattered on Prom Night.

Marjorie Gibson had tried for some time to elicit a shred of enthusiasm from her daughter for the forthcoming event but her only response was her enigmatic smile, which revealed nothing of her inner thoughts on the matter. In the end her mother made the decision for her – Cinderella would go to the ball. She committed an inordinate amount of money on a pink dress in which Angie looked stunning – but then, she knew that her child had the enviable good fortune that she would look stunning in a black bin bag. She looked a special young lady but she hoped that the dress would not fall foul of the Headmistress’s instructions.

Mrs Tellamare had been most insistent that at the dance the children should be dressed with modesty, as befitted the strict religious attitude of herself and her team of Governors. She had been even more insistent that the children, who were already beginning to exhibit the rising sap of adolescence, should be strongly advised to curb their carnal desires and to this end she had placed her entire staff strategically around the hall to ensure that her instructions were strictly enforced.

The hall was full, the children were exquisitely dressed and even Mrs Tellamare appeared to display an uncharacteristic tolerance to the outfits that pushed against her preset boundaries. This was going to be a night that the children would remember for the rest of their lives.

In the hustle and bustle and excitement Angie was totally overlooked by the revellers and even when the dance started with some suitably restrained tunes she remained in her seat, eyes closed, swaying gently to the music. Even William, proudly dressed in his first ever tuxedo, was unable to prise her from her chair.

However, when the DJ chose to lighten the mood with some rock & roll, Angie came alive. In a trance-like state she rose from her chair. The other children subconsciously parted as she drifted through them. In the centre of the dance-floor, in her own little space, in her own little world of make-believe, Angie began to move to the music, her hips swaying to the rhythm, an enigmatic smile lightening her face. The other dancers largely ignored her but nothing was wasted on William. He was entranced by the eroticism of her movements and he moved in on her. Without resistance he pulled her to him, melding his body against hers and, in a state of primeval lust, he attempted to move his body against hers with the same sensuous rhythm but even his clumsy fumblings appeared to go completely unnoticed . . . by her. . . . but they did not go unnoticed by the ‘thought police’ who were stationed around the dance-floor.

Mrs Tellamare was informed and she tore her way through the dancers like a woman possessed. For a brief moment she stopped, with hands on hips, to observe the situation for herself . . . but just for a brief moment. A gesture to the DJ stopped the music dead and in the silence that followed she seized hold of the girl and pulled her physically from the floor, berating her mercilessly: salacious, brazen hussy, Lucifer’s temptress, whore of Babylon . . .

Mr and Mrs Gibson were summoned and they were informed that their daughter was touched by the Devil’s hand; that she was expelled from the school forthwith; that she would never be welcome in these hallowed halls ever again.

It was a body blow from which Marjorie Gibson would never recover. Her husband was swift to take control and declared that they had no option but to educate her themself in future. They were shunned and ostracised by the small and close knit community but to him the innocence of his precious daughter transcended their ignorance.

Angie settled into a routine existence in which she received a token education from her parents but spent most of each day alone in her room as she had as a small child. The change in her life and the loss of the companionship of the other children seemed of little consequence to her.

Each night her radio pumped out her rock n roll music.

Each night lovers appeared from the pulsating rhythm of the music and whirled her across the floor, gyrating in ecstasy.

Each night her father would knock on the door and call out, ‘Angie girl, are you all right? Tell the radio good-night.’

Her lovers would fade away back into the radio with the sound.

Each night, in the silence that followed, Angie was alone with her thoughts, with her memories, with her senses burning in anticipation of the next dance.

William was, of course, expressly forbidden to see her, call her or make contact with her in any way but the poor boy was still obsessed – even more so after the Prom Night dance. He made his plans carefully. That little bit older he was granted a certain autonomy and he was allowed to visit his friends on his own.

Each night, under the cover of darkness he would creep up the driveway and peek through Angie’s window blinds.

Each night he would watch as she danced, just as she had danced at the Prom Night.

Each night he only had one thought in his mind and he had simply to bide his time for the opportunity to present itself.

That opportunity came when Marjorie and John decided to visit her sister in Connecticut. It was an overnight stay but they knew that with the right provisions and her radio Angie would be far happier staying behind than coming with them – with all of the potential problems that would bring.

Alone in her room Angie was in her world of make-believe. From her radio, one by one, her lovers would materialize, writhe in ecstasy in her arms for the duration of the record and then fade away as the music ended. William watched with mounting excitement through her window blinds and then, unable to contain himself any longer he made his way around to the back of the house.

As he tripped the door catch with practised ease the faint sound was muffled by the pulsing music. He slipped quietly along the corridor and paused for a heart stopping moment outside her door while he summoned the courage to enter, to cross the Rubicon – once he entered there would be no turning back.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door. It swung open silently but instantly the sound of the music began to fade. She turned to face him. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. He struggled for the words but finally, through dry lips he managed, ‘I see your folks have gone away, Angie. Would you like to dance with me?’

Angie smiled that old familiar smile that always had such a devastating effect on him.

He added, ‘I'll show you how to have a good time.’

But when he walked into the room, he felt confused, as if he had entered a whole different world in which he was a mere puppet.

As if in tune with her thoughts another rock & roll track began and Angie began to gyrate to the rhythm. She beckoned to William with her finger and smiled that smile which overpowered all reason. He sank into her arms and felt the softness of her body pressed against him, gyrating against him, writhing against him until he could feel himself being sucked into her world of make-believe.

The track she had chosen was long. The music’s was so loud it span him around until he felt as if his soul had lost its way. She whirled William around the floor in ecstasy for what seemed to the poor boy to be a lifetime . . .

Perhaps it was, for as the track ended, as the music slowed and diminished, he could feel himself growing smaller and smaller with the sound.

It seemed to pull him off the ground.

Toward the radio he was bound.

Never to be found.

The headline of the Luisville Recorder read ‘Boy Disappears. Everyone thinks He’s Died’

The Sheriff and the majority of the townsfolk searched the town, dragged the canals, made a fingertip search of the surrounding wasteland but William was never found. They questioned each and every person in the town without success but no-one ever thought to question a ‘crazy’ girl with a secret lover who keeps her satisfied.

It’s so nice to be ‘insane’ . . .

because no one asks you to explain . . .

the radio by your side . . .

Angie baby