51
Tuesday, October 19th, 1984, 1:18 P.M.
A flurry of orange-brown leaves, the very symbol of Autumn in southwest Michigan, were gathered at the base of Dylan Strome’s windshield wipers on his 78′ Chevy Impala. He reached in and pulled out the water soaked clumps with his bare hands and threw them to the ground. His car needed a washing something awful, but now was not the time. His sugar craving was getting the best of him and it was time to head over to the 7-Eleven. It was also lunchtime and the food in his parents refrigerator was not going to suffice. Not unless he was some kind of weirdo vegetarian or was prepared to have another PB&J for the one-thousandth time.
Dylan got in his car, fired up the engine, then chugged his piece-of-crap beater towards Main Street, through the heart of his tiny town. Each block he passed made him realize that if he didn’t get his muffler fixed shortly, he would probably end up receiving a ticket from one of his town’s finest at any given moment.
He pulled into the 7-Eleven and found a parking spot right in front or the store. There were a couple seconds of engine run-on after he turned the ignition switch into the off position; Just another sign that his life was hanging by the thread. Delivering pizzas, living with his parents, and driving around in a rust-bucket that yielded a solid, seven miles to the gallon was just the beginning. He had no idea what to do with his life from a vocational standpoint and he was starting to panic in a myriad of ways. Part of his burgeoning depression resulted from the fact that his girlfriend of the past two years had recently broken up with him and there didn’t seem to be any other prospects on the horizon. Nothing made him feel more like a loser than not having a girlfriend. It was an innate instinct at his age. What made matters worse, the girl he was becoming fixated with was not a reality. In fact, she didn’t even know he existed— and never would.
His wild, unstable fantasies was one of the main reasons he came to this particular store.
He entered the establishment, turned right, and walked over to the magazine rack instead of going over to the cooler to get his sandwich and drink. He immediately started perusing the entertainment section until he came upon exactly what he was looking for. To his amazement, in the lower left-hand corner of Tiger Beat magazine, was a picture of Gina Schock, with an announcement that there was a centerfold picture of her in the middle of the magazine. It wasn’t Playboy, something he knew none of the Go-Go’s would ever pose for, but it was the next best thing.
Dylan didn’t just watch the Go-Go’s sitcom, he stared intensely at Gina, savoring her every word, and wishing every episode was about her. Additionally, in an amusing bit of irony, he was not alone. Gina was quickly becoming a fan favorite on the show with her uncompromising character and her natural on-screen presence. She was bright and funny, and was gradually beginning to command the scenes without blinking. Plus, her unique, Baltimore accent was just the sort of thing to put her over the top with the American public. Her pronunciation of the two words— “Ya’ know” (Ya’ nehhw) was spreading rapidly, as teenagers all across the country were starting to mimic her. As a result, it didn’t take very long before someone in a particular conversational group would spit it out— “Ya’ knehhw.” Gina had unwittingly created a catch-phrase that was instantly rivaling Moon Zappa’s “OmiGOD!”
Without hesitation, Dylan picked up the publication and ripped it open to the centerfold. There she was in her faded blue jeans and her pink sweater. She was lying on her side, with her head propped up by her right hand and smiling wistfully into the camera. Her blonde hair was layered perfectly and her glittering blue eyes put Dylan into an instant trance. It was her eyes that made her attraction complete. Gina’s crystal-blue persuasion sparkled out from beyond the pages and turned a dopey magazine like Tiger Beat into something spectacular.
Dylan took the magazine with him as he headed over to the cooler. He grabbed a roast beef sandwich on white bread, a cheddar cheese stick, and a Strawberry Quick. He thought about grabbing a bag of chips, but decided on his favorite Vanilla Bun instead. He placed everything on the counter and was immediately embarrassed by what the cashier might think of his purchase. He thought about telling the cashier that the magazine was for his kid sister, but ended up saying nothing.
“Anything else, sir?” asked the cashier.
“No, that’ll be it,” Dylan answered back. He almost asked the cashier what he thought of Gina, but quickly assessed that the guy was probably more of a Def Leppard fan.
Dylan slipped out of the store relatively convinced that the cashier cared very little about his purchase. He pulled out of the parking lot, and as he traversed down the road, fought with the temptation to start eating the stuff that he had just bought.
He pulled up in front of his house and parked out on the street. Even though he had the whole driveway to himself, he wasn’t exactly sure what time his mother would be coming home from her volunteering duties over at the local hospital.
Dylan entered the house through the front door, which he intentionally left unlocked, and went straight upstairs to his bedroom. He closed the door and sat down on his bed. As he ate his lunch, he thumbed through the pages of his magazine, casually looking at the various pictures of all the young celebrities, but unable to concentrate on anybody but Gina.
After successfully satiating himself with his sandwich and his artificially flavored milk, he laid himself down on his bed and placed the magazine upright on his chest. As he ate his candy bar and stared at the foldout of Gina, he slowly started to drift off into his imaginary world of celebrityhood. He imagined a crowd of fans greeting the two of them as they came out of a hotel. He imagined the two of them being alone and being intimate. It was powerful and intoxicating.
He was young and his sexual energy was too overwhelming to ignore. It was time to act like a typical man. He stood up and placed the magazine down on the bed. He opened it up to the centerfold of Gina, and within five minutes, deposited his obsession for her all over the pages. Then he slumped over and caught his breath.
After regaining his composure, he folded up the magazine and threw it into the wastepaper basket. Unfortunately, he would never be able to look at that magnificent picture ever again. It made him angry.
He stumbled over to his desk and took a seat, continuing to feel exhausted. Eventually, he reached into a drawer on the right hand side and pulled out his Glock G45. He stared at it for several seconds as he contemplated his ultimate move. He knew what he had to do. He had to get in his friend Billy’s green van and drive across the country to Hollywood, California, where he would meet the love of his life. He was becoming unhinged. Reality and fantasy were being blurred together. He pulled the slide back, aimed the weapon at the wall, and dry-fired.
If he couldn’t have Gina, nobody would.