On And On And On

I was watching the telly yesterday when an ad came on for a new R&B compilation album and in the background played an old familiar song.

Every time I hear Zhane's 1993 hit, Hey, Mr D.J., I'm fifteen again and back in high school. During those days when cool kids wore bright oversized Cross Colours pants, carried Country Road duffel bags, and listened to Sony walkmans, I was a chubby, timid boy, not part of the cool click. I was into R&B when everyone else seemed to be into something else - headbanging heavy metal music and pop that was popularised by the then locally manufactured group, Girlfriends. I was also in an all boys class that I couldn't completely relate to. It was a confusing and isolating time.

Hey, Mr. D.J. will also always be the song that will remind me of MJ.

MJ and I met at a friend's house party and got on easily and became bestfriends very quickly. He was the first male friend I had that appreciated what I did: writing, dancing, and R&B music. Finally, a kindred spirit - and I didn't have to pretend in having interests in cars or sports. There were many afternoons spent chilling to the groovy tunes made by the Black artists from the States that were big in Australia at the time, but particularly over Zhane's song. We almost wore out my cassette single tape of Hey, Mr. D.J.

At the height of our friendship, MJ and I were inseparable, and everything was going well until R came along. The new girl at school, MJ befriended her and I could sense that he was really interested in her. Not long after, he began spending less time with me and more with R. I couldn't understand what I was feeling - I just knew I didn't like what was happening between us. So I acted out. I ignored him when he paid me attention, I got annoyed at him when he didn't, and I was a complete bastard to her. Somehow, I thought by acting the way I did, it would bring MJ back closer to me. I was just being an arse.

In the end, the tension between us became too much and he and I came to blows. In our one and only fight, I called him a faggot. I don't know why I said what I did but as soon as it escaped my lips, I knew I'd lost him for good. He didn't reply but simply walked away. We stopped speaking from then.

Looking back, I realise that I was really in love with MJ, even though at the time, I considered him more like a brother. In a way, he was my unrequited first love and the friendship that we had was a relationship where unrecognised and unacknowledged needs were sustained - if not mutually, at least mine - for a time...

Ironic how things pan out, isn't it? More than 10 years later, here I am, the one that actually turned out gay, and last I heard, MJ is about to settle down with his long-time girlfriend. To this day, we've neither spoken nor seen each other. I only ever hear of him from friends of friends.

I've moved on now - no longer regretting what had happened. I've made many friends since and I even have a better bestfriend now, but I'll always hold a special place for MJ. And, of course, there will always be that song that will remind me of him... on and on and on.