No signal
My most cherished possession is and always has been my bedside radio.
I've had it since I was a kid. It's a nice little thing, AM/FM receiver with a digital clock and a CD player. Of course, the CD player hasn't worked since my brother knocked it off the dresser when I was five or so, but the other two functions work just fine. I remember always being uncomfortable falling asleep to CDs for that brief time it worked, anyway- the music would be a comforting presence, someone sitting beside me, watching over me.. When the CD ended, though, the silence was unbearable, and noises in the middle of the night even worse. I'd wake up randomly feeling frozen in fear and impossibly alone- so even if I didn't recognize the voices on air, I'd always prefer to explore through radio signals instead. Usually after enough talking from the hosts, they'd play a song I was familiar with, and I'd feel safe enough to fall asleep with that assurance that they'd still be playing when morning came around.
It was nice, having that bit of stability in such uncomfortable times.
I didn't have a great childhood, if it wasn't obvious. My brother knocking over the radio?- Not an accident, though he might claim it was. The fighting would usually start in the afternoon when he got back from skipping school or smoking with his friends, staggering into the evening, then trail off into occasional outbursts and eruptions late into the night, usually ending off with the BANG of a door slam or a fist into the drywall. Thankfully, of course, those bangs would be sufficiently muffled by the static, then further soothed and smoothed over with a nudge of the dial back over to the music stations.
I was reflecting on all this today as I stared at the radio on my dresser playing some indie song from one of the college stations, it being one of a few items left unboxed in my room as I pack up my things to leave for that college tonight. For almost 15 years now it's sat there in its spot unmoved though not untouched, never unplugged, always happy to stand guard at its post and play its soothing songs long into the night.
I guess it wasn't always defensive, though. It also encouraged me to go on the offensive, one night.
The fighting was bad. Not that it wasn't always bad, but this was worse than usual. More sobbing than just shouting. Fists against drywall downstairs were joined by more violent and percussive blows against less sturdy targets. Even around midnight when things would usually trail off, it was still going on somehow, round after round of incessant escalation. I just wanted to turn up the static and sob harder when it seemed to have found a channel, I must have nudged the knob a bit. A song I didn't recognize was playing, but the outro was fading out, and once it finished, a PSA began to play- kind of like those "If you see something, say something" ads that used to come on in between Simpsons reruns. Without mentioning any scenarios in particular it just kept saying that help was "one phone call away" and "don't hesitate before it's too late" before reading out the number to call. As it ended and a song I knew started playing, I let it toss around in my mind- biting my lip and picking at the loose threads on my pillowcase as I wondered if it was a good idea or not. The song was a short one- Rabid Child by They Might Be Giants, one that I was surprised to hear on the radio- and as it finished, inexplicably, the PSA started again.
Almost the same, except the phone number was stated at the start in addition to being repeated at the end. I took it as a sign, crept over to my parents room down the hall (careful not to be so heavy-instep as to let them know I was awake upstairs) repeated the number quietly to myself, then dialed it into my mom's cellphone, anxiously waiting as it rang. I don't remember the details of how my conversation with the operator on the other end went, but they assured me help would be sent out fast. After hanging up, I carefully placed the phone back where it was before, crept back to my bed and pulled my blankets over my head as I heard the PSA repeat one final time, fading out into a softer, more traditional late night tune led with a humming church organ and some soft bells. I didn't fall asleep before the sirens drew near, but somehow- I still think it was the lullaby-like tune that was droning on right next to me -I fell asleep to the faintest sounds of my brother being arrested on the floor below me.
He wasn't there in the morning, which I guess should have been obvious. He wasn't there for months, which was a bit surprising though, at least to me as a kid. I didn't think change could happen overnight like that, but the number one obstacle to a good night's sleep was removed just like that. He only came back once, that few months later, to get his stuff, and then he was gone. I never spoke to him again, not that I want to. I still sleep with the radio playing.
So I looked over at it now, this afternoon, with a quiet appreciation. Considering that this was my last day here, I figured I should unplug it so I could bring it to my new place, have it be the last thing packed and the first thing unpacked.
"Friday, May 31st, they'll be headlining at the Space Ballroom in Hamden before heading up north to New Haven on Satur-"
I switched it off, cutting off the radio announcer mid sentence as he listed off tour dates for some local band, and leant over to pull the cord out of the wall- being met with no resistance as the cord dangled limp past the dresser and onto the floor, no outlet to speak of.
I checked the bottom of the case to see what batteries it took. The battery slot was empty where it should have held double As.
Heart thumping in my chest, I set it back onto the dresser to switch it back on.
"-day where they'll be opening for Parsonsfield at College Street Music Hall! Get your tickets now because they're selling fast.. Don't hesitate before it's too late."