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."

Dis da Wayne. How you been doin’? Part 2

When I last left Wayne he had invited me to call his "small (cell) phone"...

*A brief note from me- I have given up on myspace's ridiculous blog formatting that changes my fonts in mid paragraph, or refuses to let me turn bold on and off at my whim. As a result, I will not be using headings. Instead, I will use a dashed line to break up story sections. It's unattractive but reliable. Life is just a trade-off, don't ya think?

I wasn't comfortable calling Wayne on his small phone. I was afraid of his mama, and the possibility of incurring her wrath by racking up a huge phone bill just shootin' the breeze with Wayne. He, however, was persistent, and ended every phone call the same way.

"You call me on my small phone sometime? It's okay. I'll answer it."

"Yeah Wayne, I'll call you sometime."

"You said that last time, and you never called. The phone never rings."

After months of relentless questioning, I gave in and called him.

"HELLO" he bellowed.

"Hi, Wayne. This is Rebel."

"OH, HI REB-UH! HOW YOU BEEN DOIN'?"

"I'm good." I paused, confused by the sound of a scuffle on Wayne's end of the phone.

"Who is this," Wayne's mama whispered.

"This is Rebel. From the music store. Wherehouse Music."

"Yes, I know you. We are in a movie theater right now. I need you to call back later."

As she hung up the phone, I heard Wayne in the background, yelling.

"NO MAMA! I WANNA TALK TO REB..."click

I love the idea of Wayne shouting his greeting to me in a dark theater, and to imagine the struggle his mama must have put up to wrestle the phone from his hands.

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Having been successful at getting me to call his small phone, Wayne now wanted me to come to his house.

"You could come to my house sometime, and see my bedroom. You wanna come to my house?"

"I don't know Wayne. We need to ask your mama first. But I'm pretty busy. I work a lot and I have a daughter that keeps my hands full."

"What's your daughter's name?"

"Dot."

"What does she like?"

"Well...she likes Egypt, and reading a lot."

"Does she like country music?"

"Yeah, she does. Johnny Cash is her favorite singer."

"You can bring her to my house. I can show her my numba ones."

"We'll see Wayne. We still have to ask your mama."

The next time Wayne visited the store, he brought his mama straight to my register.

"Mama, can Reb-uh come see my house sometime?"

"He asked me to come over and I told him we needed to ask you first. I wasn't sure that you would want me to come to your house."

Wayne's mama looked bewildered.

"Sure, you can come over anytime."

I was sure that she would say no. In fact, I was counting on it. Now I had to think of another reason that I couldn't go to his house.
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I spent months dodging Wayne's invitations. He asked me every day. Every day I told him I was too busy.

Then, my family decided to move to East Texas. I knew Wayne would be upset, and I was nervous about telling him. I waited for him to come to the store so I could tell him face to face.

"Oh no! You not gonna work at Wherehouse Music anymore? Will they put out my special orders?"

"No, you'll still get to keep your special orders until you can pick them up. Everyone that works here will take care of you."

"Will you bring your husband and daughter to my house so I can meet them?"

"Sure Wayne, we'll come over to visit and see your collection of number ones before we move."

"When are you gonna come? You gonna come tonight?"

"No. We'll pick a date, and that's the day we'll come over."

When Eric picked me up from work that night, he asked me how my day was.

"Well, I told Wayne that we're moving. And, you're gonna fucking kill me."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I told Wayne that I'd bring you and Dot to his house to meet him and look at his number ones."

To their neverending credit, Eric and Dot agreed to accompany me to the house of a retarded man that they had never met. I really love them folks, they're perfect for me.
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The day we were scheduled to visit Wayne at home, I was nauseous with dread. I had one thought all day.

"Oh fuck. How awkward is this gonna be?"

When Eric and Dot picked me up at work, I saw my dread mirrored in their faces. Our drive through the suburban streets was silent until Dot spoke up.

"This is weird. I can't believe we're doing this."

We found Wayne's house easily, because he was standing in the front yard, beaming at us. His hair was slicked down, and he had upgraded his usual sweatshirt to a sweater.

As I got out of the car, he charged towards me, full speed, arms outstretched.

"REB-UH! IT'S SO GOOD TO SEE YOU!" He squeezed me in a hug so tight I could feel my bones grinding together.

"IS THIS YOUR HUSBAND AND DAUGHTER? IT'S SO GOOD TO MEET YOU."

He shook their hands enthusiastically and invited us inside. As we entered their home, Wayne's mama met us.

"How are ya'll? Wayne's been so excited about ya'll coming. He's been standing in the yard for an hour and a half. Ya'll wanna see his bedroom?"

We entered his room, and I was overwhelmed by the perfect mix of middle-aged man and child. In the corner, a brown tweed wing chair sat next to a rustic table topped by a brass reading lamp. His bed was neatly made with a Spider-Man comforter. On the walls were framed Disney lithographs. But the focus of the room was on his numba ones collection. A wooden shelf groaned under the weight of hundreds of CDs and LPs.

"Are those all your number ones," I asked.

"No. There's more in da closet," Wayne answered.

Wayne's mama invited us to look in the closet.

"He keeps his Disney movie collection in here too."

Hundreds of CDs were filed on a bookshelf on the far closet wall, and hundreds of videos filled the wall on the right.

"How do you organize your number ones, Wayne?"


"I do 'em by year. Hey! You wanna see my cuppatooter?" (cuppatooter is Waynespeak for computer)

"Sure," I said.

We looked at the computer. A map of Texas and it's various area codes was displayed on the screen. Wayne tried to figure out what my new area code would be.

"You gonna live north or south of Tyler?"

"I'm not sure yet, Wayne. I don't know where we are from Tyler."

"Look at this map. This is north, south, east and west." he said, pointing to the directions as he spoke. "Where are you gonna be?"

"I don't know Wayne, my new town isn't on that map."

"Well, when you figure it out, you call me."

We stayed several more minutes while Wayne explained to Eric that he would be taking me to lunch when I came back to Ft. Worth for a visit.

"Mama will drive us to lunch, and I won't care how much Reb-uh's food costs, I'm gonna pay for all of it. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah," Eric said, "that will be fine."
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As is usually the case, I underestimated the number of words needed to tell this story. It's late, and I find it necessary to stop here, and finish the story of Wayne at a later date.

Dis da Wayne. How you been doin’? Part 3

My last day at Wherehouse Music was emotional. I wandered around, talking to my music store family, and saying goodbye to my customers.

Wayne came in that afternoon.

"Reb-uh, this your last day before you move right?"

"Yeah Wayne, it is."

"You come out to the car. Mama's got a present for you."

We walked outside where Wayne's mama was waiting. I greeted her, and she handed me a Target giftcard.

"Wayne bought this giftcard with his own money because you've been a good friend to him."

"I thought you could buy some pants," Wayne said.

"Thank you Wayne, that was very sweet. I probably will buy pants."

"OKAY! You're gonna call me right? And come back to see me? When are you coming back to see me?"

"I'm not sure Wayne. I'll keep in touch."

"Okay, Reb-uh. You make sure you call me okay. I love you."

"I love you too, Wayne."

I walked back inside, stole the Hank Williams bust, hugged my friends goodbye, and handed over my keys. All while bawling like a baby.

I did buy pants with the giftcard.

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We moved to East Texas. I wrote Wayne a letter once, and never received a response. I refused to buy a phone because I wanted to drop out of society, and I didn't want Wayne to trap me on the phone at work, so I never called him. In other words, I lied to a retarded man.

I joined myspace to keep in touch with my friends in Ft. Worth, and I would get messages from them about Wayne.

"You should really call Wayne, he asks about you all the time. Sometimes, he calls to talk about you, and we get sad because you're gone."

"Wayne says to call him."

"Wayne wants to know when you're coming to visit."

I still didn't call him. I have the capability of being an awful person.

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The first time I went home to Ft. Worth, I dropped by to visit the store. When I asked about Wayne, they were excited to tell me that he completed his numba ones collection. I was sad that I didn't get to see him achieve his dream.

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A few weeks ago, I got a message from my friend Little Bryan, Champion Bear-Hugger.

"Wayne has really been pestering me to call you. You should do that."

I decided Little B was right, so I got Wayne's number.

"Hello?"

"Hi Wayne. This is Rebel."

"REB-UH! HOW YOU BEEN DOIN'? YOU NEVER CALLED ME!"

"I'm sorry Wayne, I just got a phone."

"I GOT ALL MY NUMBA ONES!"

"I heard that you did. Congratulations."

"Wherehouse Music is closing, and me and mommy are sad. We been shopping at Sam Goody. They got country there too. Are you gonna come back to work at Wherehouse Music?"

"No Wayne, I'm gonna stay here. Did you get the letter I sent you?"

"No, did you send it for Christmas? They're late."

"Yep, they sure are."

"So, how you been doin'?"

We talked for awhile, and I promised to call him the following week. I forgot. Wayne did not. He called me.

"Hello."

"Dis da Wayne. You said you would call me and you didn't do it."

"I'm sorry Wayne, I forgot."

"Wherehouse Music closed. What store are they gonna put there?"

"I don't know Wayne."

"Do you still work with guns?"

"Yeah, I do."

"You better be careful. Guns are dangerous. Police have laws about guns, did you know that?"

"I did. I'm careful."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Maybe I can come spend the night at your house sometime."

"Oh, I dunno Wayne. It would take six hours for me to pick you up."

"Six hours? Dat's a long time. Mommy can't drive that far because of her neck."

We talked about the loss of Wherehouse Music, the completion of his number ones collection, and whether my area code would remain 936. As I ended the phone call, Wayne brought up the subject of an over night visit again.

"Maybe you can come get me sometime and I can stay the night at your house. You can bring me home at 10 o'clock the next morning."

"Maybe Wayne."

"Hey, do you still have friends in North Richland Hills?"

"Yes, I do."

"How many?"

"I don't know, maybe fifty.">

"Fifty friends? Do they know about me?"

"Yes Wayne, they sure do."

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BONUS! My favorite Wayne story that I never managed to fit in...

Wayne and his mama came in to shop one day, and it was clear that mama was ready to leave the second they got there. She was trying to rush him, and he wanted to look at every country cd.

"Wayne, didn't you want to go buy some yogurt?"

"Yes, I did."

"Well, you better hurry up so we can go to the grocery store."

"NO MOMMY! IT DOESN'T TAKE THAT LONG TO BUY YOGURT!"