Dis da Wayne. How you been doin’? part 1

I Used To Be Scared Of Retarded People

I don't mean the incredibly stupid people I encounter on a daily basis that cause me to mutter under my breath, "What a fucking retard." Nope, I'm talking about the people that are mentally retarded. I never knew what to say to them, and I had hard time understanding what they were saying to me. A large number of them shout their conversations, and that made me nervous. If I saw a retarded person, I would just turn on my heels and move in a new direction.

That changed when I met Wayne.

"Wayne, stop bothering them!"

Wayne visited my music store once a week, and planted himself in the country section. A middle-aged man with a sparse mustache, thick glasses, a pudgy physique, and a large collection of sweat shirts, he was always accompanied by his tired looking mother. He shouted at her from across the store, tipping me off to the fact that he was retarded. Following my policy, I avoided him.

On the off chance that Wayne attempted to speak to one of the employees, his mother would shout, "Wayne! Stop bothering them." In the beginning, I was relieved by her refusal to allow him to interact with us, but over time, I saw it as cruel. This perceived cruelty led me to the decision that I would befriend Wayne.


"I'm gonna get all the number one country hits."

The next time Wayne came to the store, his mother dropped him off while she ran an errand in the shopping center behind us. He headed straight to the country section, my area of expertise. I took a deep breath, summoned my courage, and approached him, my hand out-stretched in greeting.

"Hi Wayne, my name is Rebel. Can I help you find anything?"

"How do you know my name?"

"I hear your mom yell your name all the time. What are you looking for?"

"I'm gonna get all tha numba one country hits, from 1954 to today."

Unsure that I heard him correctly, I made him repeat it. He patiently explained that he was collecting EVERY number one country hit, starting with the year he was born. This seemed a monumental task to me, and I was instantly impressed. He explained that someone (he told me her name as if I was intimately familiar with her) had given him a list of all the "numba ones", and he was buying them, one by one.

"Wayne! I told you to leave these people alone! He's not bothering you is he?" Wayne's mother had returned.

"No ma'am, I came to talk to him. He was telling me about his number ones collection."

"Oh yes," she said, "he's been collecting for a long time."

The three of us stood in the country section for thirty minutes, discussing Wayne and his quest. He purchased a Roy Clark album that had a number one he needed, and they headed for the door. Wayne stopped.

"Hey," Wayne shouted, "what's your name again?"

"Rebel," I replied.

"Reb-uh? Can I call you sometimes?"

"Sure, Wayne. I wanna help you get your collection."

And So It Began

Wayne started calling me at the store. In the beginning, he called for research purposes. Wayne's dream required a lot of research. Many of the artists and songs he was looking for are now out of print, and I spent hours digging through computer databases in search of a compilation featuring the required song. Sometimes, we were unsucessful, leaving me to break bad news to Wayne.

"Is it 'cause he's dead? Is dat why it's out of print?"

I'm not a fan of spreading misinformation, so I would try to explain the myriad reasons that albums get put out of print, but he always came back to,

"Is it 'cause he died?"

After my twentieth time to explain all the reasons albums go out of print, I came to the realization that I was wasting my breath with explanations, and confusing Wayne.

"Yep, Wayne, it's 'cause he died."

"Oh."

Wayne had a rare record dealer that would find the out of print songs for him, allowing him to mark another one off his list.

Eventually, Wayne's calls became more frequent, and less about research.

"Reb-uh? Dis da Wayne. How you doin'?"

"I'm good, Wayne! How are you?"

"I'm good. I'm watching All My Children."

"Are you? That's good. What did you eat for lunch?"

"Mama made macaroni."

If I wasn't busy at work (I frequently wasn't), we'd spend twenty minutes shooting the breeze about the most mundane aspects of our lives. If there was a lull in the conversation, Wayne would always return to,

"So, how you been doin'?"

I liked that his behavior was reliable.

Naked Love, Affection, and Awesomeness

At the end of one of Wayne's weekly visits, he rushed towards me, arms spread wide. He wrapped me in his arms and squeezed tight, a perfect impression of the bear-hugs my cousin Justin gave me when he was five. When our embrace was over, he looked deeply into my eyes, a wide smile on his face.

"I love you, Reb-uh."

"I love you too, Wayne."

This became a weekly ritual. Our daily calls now ended with "I love you".
Because of our friendship, Wayne began to forge relationships with the other employees. He hugged Daron once. It was the most awkward thing I have ever seen Daron do. Sometimes their phone conversations would end with an uncomfortable Daron saying, "I love you too, Wayne."

On Wayne's birthday, he came to visit me at the store. His shirt said, "THIS IS WHAT COOL LOOKS LIKE!" Wayne had come to open the birthday presents that the store employees chipped in to buy him (2 of the CDs he'd ordered, featuring numba ones).

"Happy birthday, Wayne," I said.

"I'm 50 today!"

"Are you?"

"Yeah. If you want to call me, you can call me on my small phone," he said, gesturing to the cell phone holstered on his hip."I'll give you the numba."