The Time I Almost Got On Love Line
I have been a fan of Love Line for years. I learned about it around 2000, when I lived by myself with no television. Love Line was part of my radio programming entertainment back then. I listened to Love Line at night, Howard Stern in the mornings I didn’t have class or actually got up early enough to catch it, and NPR the rest of the time. Truthfully, it was long before I had the attention span for NPR. I think I just did it because it was cool.
I lived in downtown Portland on SW 13th and Jefferson, right by the onramp to the Sunset Highway. The studio was listed as an ‘Energy Saver Studio’ in the classified section of The Oregonian. It was a studio apartment without a bathroom or a kitchen. I had a microwave, a toaster oven, a dorm-size refrigerator, as well as a camping stove lent to me by my sister. Apparently ‘Energy Saver’ meant that if you wanted to listen to the radio, heat up something in the microwave and heat up something in the toaster oven at the same time, both my and my neighbor’s electricity would turn off. She used to get so mad at me! She would pound on her wall. She rode a scooter to work—not the motor-powered type, the foot powered type. She scared me.
Psycho Safeway, the only grocery store within walking distance, also scared me. Back in the day, that part of Portland was a ghost town after 8 PM. I would always count the minutes until 10 PM, when I could listen to Love Line, and not have to worry about listening to the crazy people on the street, or the hellish amount of traffic. Love Line made me laugh a little and forget about my scary situation. To this day, it remains my only fond memory of living in that place.
I left the country for a year to study abroad. Even when I moved back to the states, got roommates and had a TV, I almost always fell asleep to Love Line. I still remember that PSA about drunk driving from Mike Mills of REM, his gentle Georgian accent, and being so surprised after getting into the Beatles figuring out they used “Baby You Can Drive My Car” in that announcement. Whenever I hear the line “Beep, beep, beep, beep YEAH!”, I think nothing about the open road, or even how much that song rocks. Really, I usually think of Mike Mills, mostly in that shiny, green glitter suit he insisted on wearing for years, and his soppy smile in the “Shiny, Happy People” video.
When I met my fiancée seven years ago, I remember staying over at his place until real late, and we’d fall asleep listening to it. I would always try to leave before the program was over, so I could catch the rest in my car before I got home.
Fast-forward to 2005, when I found myself in a different part of town, but back in a studio apartment, my bf unofficially squatting with me. My world had become unhinged—my cousin, my best friend, and one of my few soul mates on this Earth, had been diagnosed with cancer and was on his death bed. His days were so numbered that the alarm would go off in the morning and I would be afraid to open my eyes to get out of bed. It took most of my courage to look at my cell phone to make sure I hadn’t missed any phone calls during the night that he had not made it. I was not ready to wake up in a world without him.
My cousin was my age, 29, when he got the news that he had cancer. Choriocarcinoma, the mixed-cell testicular cancer Lance Armstrong made famous, was so advanced in my cousin, doctors all over the US just sent him home because there was nothing they could do at that point.
The other thing about my cousin was that he was also a habitual pot smoker, and continued to smoke well into his diagnosis. There were so many questions I had but was afraid to ask out of fear of sounding like an uncaring asshole—was he an addict, or was he medicating? Did the pot smoking advance his cancer at an accelerated pace, or was it making his last few weeks on Earth less painful?
So anyways, there we were, my boyfriend and I, two people living in a studio meant for one. We had a TV, but occasionally, we would still listen to Love Line. I don’t know what got into me, but one night I decided to call to ask the questions about my cousin that kept me up at night. I tried five times or so, but the line was busy. I didn’t give up though. My boyfriend sensed my determination and stopped trying to convince me to hang up the phone. I think he eventually started rooting for me.
Then, it happened.
I got through, and the following conversation occurred:
Operator: Love Line. What’s your question about?
Me: Testicular Cancer and Habitual Pot Smoking
Then she paused a minute. It was right up Dr. Drew’s alley. I knew it, and I know the operator knew it, too. I was floored, I was in. I started clearing my throat to make sure my on air voice didn’t sound like I was 10. I also wanted to make sure the radio wasn’t too loud to get feedback, because I knew Adam hated that.
Operator: Is it for you, or someone you know?
Me: It’s for my cousin (then in one breath I managed) but-he’s-on-his-death bed-and-he-doesn’t-live-here-and-I-really-want-to-
Operator: We only take calls from the people directly. Sorry.
So before I continue the story, I want to say this is a flat out lie. So many times people have faked Adam and Dr. Drew out, saying they are calling for one reason when really they ask their stupid questions. I wanted to call BS right then and there.
The rest of the story, as my title suggests, is pretty lame. She hung up before I could plead any further. I tried to get my boyfriend to call and pretend it was him, just to get past the screener, but he would not.
I can’t tell you how much time passed between that call and the death of my cousin. It could have been the next day, I know it couldn’t have been more than a month. I don’t know if I ever told anyone else about this, or if it even matters. I just know this memory occurred to me yesterday, and whenever it comes back to me, I always wish there was someway I could high-five myself, or give the 2005 me a hug or something.
I just wanted to get it down before I forgot again, to honor and acknowledge it.
