Page 6 of You Spin Me

That said, sometimes youwantto shake people up. Especially in the transition hours. Ten to eleven when the partiers are hitting their stride. Then again after midnight, when shift workers are commuting.

My job here in the library is to pull all the possibilities for the evening so I’ll have them at my fingertips. Which are intact. It’d be hard to do this job without the use of my digits. Unlike many survivors with facial burns, I didn’t lose an ear, so wearing headphones isn’t a problem.

Things I do my best to be thankful for.

An hourlater I’m in my favorite place in the world. The six-to-ten-slot DJ leans away from the mic so I can say the words that signal the beginning of my time on-air. “Say good night, Gracie.”

The statuesque blonde sing-songs “Good night, Gracie” into the mic before letting fly her signature cackle.

We switch places so I can take over and finish the routine. “Boston, give a big nighty-night to yoursecond-favorite alt-rock jock, Grace Traynor.”

As I say the last syllable of her name, I punch the button to play the cart recording of a crowd shouting, “Good night, Gracie.” As the roar echoes in my headphones, my fingertip releases the disc so the turntable can spin my first pick of the night. My patter continues over the opening bars. “Your late-night DJ Callihan here at ten oh two p.m. on WBAR 107.1. I’m not taking prisoners, but Iamtaking requests. But first, it’s ‘Crash and Burn’ from Boston’s own ’Til Tuesday.”

Yeah, yeah, it’s weird that I like to play songs that mention fire. What can I say? I have a sick sense of humor. As I’m lining up my picks for the next hour, evening producer Talia Cruz sneaks in with the commercial notebook. “You got three spots to read this hour, doll.”

“Got it. Jimmy feeling better?”

I pull promo and ad carts from the carousel, checking them off in the log as I listen to Talia’s expletive-filled report on her teenage son, who broke his arm skiing over Thanksgiving. Until she stops her own monologue mid-rant. “Shit. I forgot to pick up the weather.” Turning to exit the booth, she points at the phone next to me. “You got a call light lit up.”

When I pick up the receiver, a listener line volunteer lets me know there’s a caller named Jane with a request. As I fade the music, I punch the telephone button. “This is Cal at WBAR FM. You’re on the air, Jane. What’s your request?”

A breathy giggle precedes her voice. “Man, thanks for taking my call, Cal. You’re so chill.”

“Thanks for listening, Jane.”

“So, um, can you play ‘Night on the Town’ by the Del Fuegos for my friend Brenda? It’s her twenty-first birthday tonight.”

“Will do. Is there a certain time you were hoping for?”

“I’m picking her up in like an hour so if you could play it at eleven fifteen, that would be killer.”

“No problem. Hey, you want to do a favor for me, Jane?”

“Sure.” Her giggle is adorable.

“I’m about to play ‘Answering Machine’ by the Replacements. You want to do the intro for it?” She’s got a fun voice, so I also ask if I can record her doing it. Sometimes the station cuts stuff like that into promos.

“Fer sure!” More breathy giggles.

“You ready?”

“Oh yeah, I’m totally amped.”

After I start the intro of the song, I push record and cue her. “Take it away, Jane.”

“Next up it’s the Replacements with ‘Answering Machine’ on WBAR Boston 107.1 FM!”

I punch out my mic as well as the phone’s as I slide the volume up on the song.

“Great job, Jane. Happy birthday to Brenda.”

“Thanks so much, Cal! I love you!”

“Have a great night, Jane.”

I wonder if Jane’d be so happy to talk to me if I ran into her on the street. I can just see it. Sweet, innocent girl screams in horror.

I take the phrase “a face for radio” to a whole new level. That’s why I’m here. I get to make people happy without having to witness their revulsion—or worse, pity—when they see my messed-up mug.

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