Chicago 2: Love At First Skate

by editor Michele Catalano

I was eight years old when I first heard Chicago’s “Colour My World.” But I didn’t really pay much attention to it until years later, when it was played during the “couples only” portion of the night at the roller rink. I remember sitting on the sidelines in my skates, knowing no one was going to ask me to get out on the floor with them, to hold hands while we skated around in circles to the pretty piano melody. I sighed deeply during the song, and wished I would find someone who would write a song like that for me. I was thirteen.

I could not imagine being that in love with someone, or having someone be that in love with me. My teenage idea of what love is was warped by music and soap operas and romantic books with happy endings. I expected that all love was like this, that once you fell, you fell hard and declared your passion and love for each on an ongoing basis. It was all-consuming.

Love was an emotion at the surface that you couldn’t hide. People could see it in your face; you glowed with joy all the time. You smiled a lot. Your eyes would light up at the mere mention of your beloved’s name. There was a certain devotion involved in this love that I had dreamed up, as if your partner existed only for you, only to please you and love you and cherish you.

I believed that everyone found a love like this in their lifetime, that there was one particular match out there for every human being, and life and your heart would guide you to them. When Chicago’s Terry Kath sang, “Now, now that you’re near / Promise your love that I’ve waited to share,” I knew that he was singing about finding your one true love.

My mother owned a copy of Chicago 2. I would sometimes put it on and listen to “Colour My World” four or five times in a row. I would play out a whole scenario in my head, in which a mysterious young man would come out of nowhere to ask me to skate. I wrote a teenage romcom in my head as I lifted the needle and placed it down carefully, so as not to hear a bit of any other song from Chicago 2. I had made that mistake once before. I had no use for this album, other than torturing myself over an overwrought song that had a flute solo.

****

I thought I found my true love a hundred times. It was Jimmy from around the corner, a cute jock who showed a modicum of interest in me. It was Kerry, the hottest boy in seventh grade, who would surely look past my mediocre looks to see that I was the one for him. It was the adorable Canadian exchange student, who would surely give up his citizenship to stay here with me and listen to Steely Dan while we held hands and talked about our future.

And then there was Bobby, a high school freshman I met when I was a junior. Bobby was my first lesson in “be careful what you ask for.” He was devoted: constantly declaring his love for me, calling me every night and singing songs to me while he played the guitar over the phone. He brought me roses at school, and made T-shirts that said “Bobby & Michele” in glittery letters. It was everything I had been looking for and, it turns out, nothing I wanted. That kind of “love” was claustrophobic and just too much for me. I felt attached to Bobby, glued to him against my will. I broke up with him after he sang Toto’s “Hold the Line” to me on the phone while I was on a family vacation in Florida. I had found my “Colour My World” love, a guy who existed only to please me. And I hated it.

After that, I tempered my vision of love. I decided that true love would leave enough room for me to breathe and adjusted my expectations accordingly. I no longer took my cues from romantic songs or books. That was pure folly. I realized that all of my previous bouts with being in love were nothing more than teenage crushes. I knew nothing about love, and I realized that “Colour My World” was meant to appeal to the masses rather than to express the songwriter’s insights about a relationship.

I went to the roller rink (shout out Levittown Roller Rink, Long Island) dutifully every Friday night, taking my place among my peers in the long line to enter. Every guy was aloof, every girl nervous. Would tonight be the night you got a couples only dance?

I’d skate through the Led Zeppelin, go to the snack bar during the disco song (I couldn’t keep up with a disco free-skate), and wait for the now familiar piano notes that signaled it was couples time. The girls would line up along the rails, and each guy would skate past and grab the hand of the girl he had chosen. I know how this sounds. Believe me, it was as bad as it reads. It caused me a lot of anxiety and messed with my self-esteem.

***

I went through a succession of long-term relationships. One of them ended in a broken engagement. Three of them ended in divorce. To say I know nothing of love is an understatement. I still don’t know what true love really means, or if it is a thing that even exists. I see people together in marriage for over 60 years, and I wonder if they have found that elusive love, or if they just settled into a comfortable relationship of give and take.

I listen to a lot of love songs, but I listen more to songs about people who have fallen out of love, or who have been hurt in the pursuit of love. Those songs seem so much more real to me; they speak to experiences I’ve had. Whereas “Colour My World” never could reach me now, Coldplay’s “The Scientist” practically attacks me with its yearning for something that no longer exists, with its refrain of “Nobody said it was easy / No one ever said it would be this hard.”

Maybe Chicago 2 isn’t as bad as I remember it. Maybe there’s more to the album than a schmaltzy love song that reminds me of a love never found.

I’m 62 years old, and I’ve given up on the idea of true love for myself, mainly because I no longer believe a perfect love exists. I’d love a companion, someone to travel with and go out to dinner with, maybe a movie. But I am no longer looking for someone to whisper Chicago lyrics into my ear. Songs like that are best left for the roller rink, for when the “couples only” sign lights up, and young people who still believe in love skate hand-in-hand, sure that they have found the one.

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