Love At First Cassette
Whitney inserts herself into Sharp on a North Philly street and leaves him love-struck. Will she be his only rewind? | A flash fiction comedy of a 1980's variety.
Happy Summer!
I wrote this story in last years NYC MIDNIGHT’s 500 Word Short Fiction challenge in round 1. It placed 5th out of my group which propelled me to the second round of the competition.
My prompts were:
Genre: Comedy
Action: Dodging
Object: A Boombox
It was the summer of 1987. Her owner carried her across Cumberland near the corner of 25th, luckily dodging a reckless red Camaro IROC-Z. This led to a shouting match, but I only saw her.
I was new to the street, recently purchased by my owner at Eddie’s a few blocks over.
Her pearl white peeked through the plastic case, which was covered by a pretty lady wearing a white tank. When I saw her uncovered, I vibrated. There was no need for small talk. I opened, and she entered.
My chrome metal body, stiff and ready. Her four rigid sides a perfect fit. When her electric tape brushed against my head, I heard “The Voice.” It sang with the power of soul.
For the first time, I felt a connection that ignited my circuits, caused gears to spin, and blared a symphony of pop synths and ballads out of my woofers and tweeters.
I called her Whitney. She called me Sharp. Cassette meet Boom Box.
We filled the streets of North Philly with songs of young love and heartache. For weeks, we’d merge and let our auditory powers become the center of block parties and a casual disturbance of the sound ordinance.
It was bliss, until our owners were arrested for a noise violation.
Left on the street alone, it was the first time we ever sat in silence. She didn’t have to sing a word for me to know she was my deckmate.
When a thief disturbed our intimate slumber and sold me to a local pawn shop for a quick buck, I thought it was over. The shop had no interest in Whitney, so she was yanked from my clutches as her tape caught in my gears.
She was disemboweled and left on the sidewalk.
If I had power, I would have cried as I watched her from the display window be pelted by rain, kicked, and stepped on. I thought she was fried.
Until my owner, released from jail, haggled for an hour to reacquire me and thankfully, grabbed Whitney off the ground. I got new batteries, Whitney was respooled, and we returned to Cumberland.
It felt like an eternal static until he finally inserted her into me. Her voice boomed at 20 watts. She was a little more scratchy and worn, but she dodged obsolescence.
I promised she’d be my only rewind.
But Whitney’s owner had other plans. Apparently, being jailed over loud music short circuits the relationship vibe, so she grabbed Whitney and yelled at my owner, I never want to see you again!
This time, they failed to dodge the Camaro IROC-Z when crossing the street, but no one was hurt. Whitney’s owner actually struck up a conversation with the driver and even laughed before entering the vehicle.
The last thing I heard was Whitney’s voice singing I Want To Dance With Somebody as the Camaro drove off into the sunset.
Oh how I wish to be entangled in her tape again.
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