There was a time when I knew that Rick Springfield and I would be married – only in a way that a 13-year-old can be sure of such things. I had a rich fantasy life during those years.
One year, my friends and I camped out in front of Diamonds department store in Mesa to buy Rick Springfield concert tickets. We weren’t the only ones and our seats weren’t great but I was convinced that he looked me straight in the eye through my binoculars at least twice. I think I still have the concert T-shirt in a box in the garage.
In ninth grade, I took a guitar class and the girl who sat next to me in class and I would trade posters from our 16, Teen and Tiger Beat magazines – she’d give me her Rick Springfield posters and I’d give her my Eddie Van Halen posters and we’d discuss our plans to meet them.
After I heard that Rick Springfield got married, I stopped thinking of that future. Maybe I was a little disappointed, but hey, I just wanted him to be happy. (Or maybe I just matured a little and realized the impossibility of the scenario.)