A Writing Journey

I think John Paul Allen broke up with me somewhere between Charlie Bucket finding his golden ticket and Augustus Gloop going up the pipe.

I don’t blame him, really. After what I did. But recess was never the same after that day. No more long walks together through the school yard as he read from his favourite book – Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. No more playdates with our older sisters, who sometimes let us tag along. No more fleeting glances or smiles of recognition when we’d sit next to one another in our Grade 4 class. No, it all ended that morning when I found myself trying to win my golden ticket on Spin-o-rama.

My sister and I had a morning ritual – wake up, make our beds, get dressed, go downstairs, have a healthy breakfast (usually Nutella on white bread, like all good Italian girls) and then walk to school. My sister always wanted to listen to the radio as we got ready.  Her favourite station was CKLH in Hamilton. As I finished my breakfast that morning, her favourite song – Tainted Love – played like a harbinger of what was to happen that day.

More of the cerebral type, I didn’t really like the music she listened to but I put up with it because there was something I waited for every morning on that radio program. It was a contest called Spin-o-rama, where people could call in to spin a wheel and win a prize. Every morning my sister and I would listen and my sister would say, “Maybe we should call?”

I’m not sure what was different that morning but the “maybe” turned into “why don’t we?”

She put me on the phone. She thought I’d be cuter, and if we got through, they’d pick me before her. She was right. We got through that morning. I was the “seventh” caller they were looking for!

As I waited to go on air, my sister could hardly contain her excitement. She was jumping up and down, as my eyes gleamed with delight thinking that just like Charlie, my dream was finally coming true.

Before getting my chance to spin the wheel, there was some on-air banter.

“So, what’s your name?” the male announcer asked. I rattled off answers like a good, obedient schoolgirl. My name, my age, my school, my favourite subject….and then came the question that forced me to stop and pause.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, as though he was my girlfriend and wanted to know a secret.

I paused. I thought. And then, I answered it honestly.

“Well … ummm … kinda …” I said, thinking back to the day before when John Paul and I were laughing out loud as we imagined Violet Beauregard’s nose grow into a giant blueberry.

“What’s his name?” the announcer pressed.

“Jean-Paul” I blurted.  Without time to really think about my confession, my words were swallowed up by the vortex of the Spin-o-rama wheel.  What number should I choose?  Which would be the lucky number today?  I finally chose a number, and I listened to the frantic sound of the clicking wheel as it spun. Round, and round, and round. As it slowed, the sound got louder and louder until there was nothing. The wheel had stopped. A short pause and then the answer. “Joanna, you are the lucky winner for today,” the announcer said. I won! I did it! My prize, he said, would be sent to me in the mail.

As I slowly hung up the receiver, and the events of the past few minutes replayed in my mind, my sister grabbed my shoulders and shook me as she jumped up and down, repeating, “We won! We won!” My initial excitement quickly turned to dread.

What had I done? Jean-Paul.  Jean-Paul. The words echoed in my head. That’s what I had said when he asked me if I had a boyfriend? Why hadn’t I said I didn’t have a boyfriend? Would it have killed me to lie?

My sister pulled me toward the door. She didn’t want us to be late for school. With each step I took in the direction of the school yard, I grew more anxious. But then I had a thought. Maybe I was overreacting. I knew we listened to CKLH every day, but who else would? We would because that’s the only clear radio frequency we received. I started to reassure myself that no one would have been listening that morning. It would be our little secret – my sister’s, the announcer’s and mine.

I had barely placed my foot onto the school yard, when children – dozens and dozens of children — swarmed me like a colony of bees. They quickly confirmed what I hoped was not true.

“We heard you on the radio!”

“I can’t believe you won!”

“I’ve tried to call that show a million times and I never get through!”

My radio debut was a hit. It felt like every student at school had heard me. In the agonizing moments before the bell rang, I was swallowed up by the crowd knowing that there was just one person I needed to see.

But by the time I walked to class, talk of my exploits that morning had already been replaced by the news that Lorraine had just gotten bangs. I welcomed the reprieve from all the attention and I quickly scanned my classmates for a smile of recognition from Jean-Paul, my literary love connection. I needed to tell him I was sorry. That I had made a mistake. That I just wanted everything to go back to the way it was.

But there was no smile that morning. His eyes never met mine. And when recess came, I saw Jean-Paul had already replaced me with another gorgeous brunette, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was introducing her to Charlie Bucket.