Just my Imagination
7/16/06
by Diane Sprague
I was pretty grumpy when Clay announced a contest to guess the first letters of the words of the title of his album. I hate contests. Lord, I just wanted some news. I will never for the life of me understand why album information is up there with war strategies in terms of level of secrecy. It's like we have to pull the information bit by bit from Clay, and it makes me wonder if he gets some maniacal pleasure out of watching us squirm, beg, wait, guess, and wonder. It makes me want to throw blunt objects at him. Blunt because I don't want to hurt the guy. I just want to scare him a bit...and make him talk...or better yet, sing.
Of course, when I saw the silly contest could result in a phone call from Clay, my grumpiness dissolved just a little bit. I knew I wouldn't win. I have studied statistics. I am not one in a million. I am not even one in ten. And even if I were one in two, my chances would only be 1.5% because that is how statistics works for me. Darn numbers.
I decided to try the contest just so I could imagine the possibility of Clay calling. Sometimes even making something slightly possible opens up the imagination. I never hope to meet Clay is person because I doubt I could handle that, but phones are safe. I talk on the phone all day. I can sound professional and intelligent. I occasionally have people yelling and screaming at me over the phone and I just sit there twiddling my thumbs or doodling funny looking creatures during the rampage feeling safe and warm because they are far away and it will all end with a click. So I could handle Clay on the phone, well maybe.
That's the first thing one imagines. What would I do? Would I talk coherently? Would I be funny? Would I be serious? Would I hyperventilate? Would I scream, faint, burp? Would I be able to say something even remotely interesting? Would I accidently hang up on him? I have done some pretty stupid things in my day and doing stupid things in moments like that is my forte.
The next things one imagines is what he would be like. Would he be friendly, interesting, intelligent? Would he have the fascinating blend of being very simple and down to earth with a hint of mystery floating behind it all? Would he be very self-confident with that endearing gentleness surrounding his words? Or heaven forbid, would he be tart, mechanical, and short with me? Ouch, my fears always have a way of creeping into my fantasies. Let's get back to the good stuff. Would he give me some album news? Now that would be cool.
After this one might ask another important question. Why should this matter? I don't like celebrities. They bore me. So why did I make Clay special? Why did I let him into that magical spot in my mind where imagining a brief connection is exciting?
As a child, I would get together with my friends and imagine a spooky world. We tried to make ghosts, symbols, and our stories real. Every unexplained noise, shadow, and object created terrifying possibilities. Why we would want that when the sleepless nights they would created were long and endless was hard to explain. The answer actually was simple. Looking back I can see that we wanted life to be bigger, more mysterious, and more magical than it appeared to be.
Even as a young adult the world was still big with those possibilities. Life was telling me a story. I would look for the signs, the unexplained coincidences, and the symbols I was convinced were all around. Of course, over time cynicism took over. Life became darker and more empty than my deepest fears. The spooks, the symbols, and God wandered far, far away. It's hard to bring back something that dies.
It could result in bleakness that is unbearable, but it didn't because sometimes I do see it. It just appears in the simple things. Sometimes when I am driving to work, sometimes in the darkness of a sleepless night, sometimes in the middle of laughter with my children. I can see the beauty and mystery behind it all. Life is big, but it takes the small things to see it. That moment can quickly slip away. It's easy to forget. So I hold onto the symbols. I let Clay be a symbol. I let myself imagine something magically as a way of remembering, as a way of holding on. My congratulations go out to the person who won this brief special moment with Clay. That must have been a great experience. I enjoyed imagining it. Possibilities are fun.
Now it's time for some real information, Clay! I would love some more new music in my life. The old stuff is still good, but the world opens again with the promise of something new.
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