No. 233 – Save a Prayer

Performer: Duran Duran

Songwriters: Simon Le Bon, Nick Rhodes, John Taylor, Roger Taylor, Andy Taylor

Original Release: Rio

Year: 1982

Definitive Version: The studio version.

How can two people who are so smart be so stupid simultaneously? Easy answer: when sex is involved. Let’s face it, it can turn a Mensa member into a Jackass casting reject.

When Beth and I first took our relationship to a new level on her 17th birthday, we took proper precautions. Neither one of us was interested in ruining our lives, to say nothing of facing the potential of certain death at the hands of her parents. (Obviously, considering we both were virgins, neither was worried about contacting an STD.)

However, it wasn’t long after that magical night that we figured out something that opened a whole new world. What we figured out was that if we enjoyed conjugal bliss on a particular day of the month—the day after Beth’s time of the month—we could bypass the proper precautions.

It wasn’t as though we just stumbled upon this—we were intelligent beings, after all. But we knew—and I would imagine I was the leading proponent of this—that the sperm wouldn’t survive long enough to fertilize. Of course, this is the rhythm method, which is the only acceptable form of birth control for some Catholics. (Fortunately, Beth wasn’t one of those.)

When I’m on my deathbed, one of the days I’ll remember was the first time we put our well-reasoned theory to proof. It was a summer weekend day, and when I went to see Beth in the afternoon, she had a couple of surprises for me.

When she came around the corner and down the hall to the front door, which was open to the screen door, Beth wore a billowy white skirt that always was one of my favorites and a nice, clingy cotton top. But what was instantly noticeable was everything above the shoulders. Her hair had been teased out to an inch of its life, and Beth had a wild look in her eyes that I hadn’t seen before. If I didn’t know any better, I might have thought she had just finished being ravished. Instead, she knew she was about to be.

Beth let me in and immediately explained that her parents and sister were gone, and then, she said, she had just finished a visit from her aunt, as she would say. I’m not stupid, so I knew exactly what that meant: It was Go time with a capital G.

We knew we didn’t have much time, so we quickly went down to the basement, but we also knew that what we were about to do wouldn’t take long. Beth pulled up her skirt to show me that she wasn’t wearing any underwear—for faster access. To this day, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anything hotter than that reveal.

So, we entered the wonderful world of bareback sex, and—no kidding—it beat wearing condoms. But, again, we weren’t stupid. We agreed that while it was eye-opening, we weren’t about to push anything. We would do this ONLY on the first day after her aunt left town. (Beth refused any “during” activity, and I was OK with that.)

When our theory proved out as a success the next month, it got so it no longer bad news when Beth told me that it was her time of the month. We both knew what that meant in about a week—we’d be on the verge of a nuclear meltdown.

In fall 1984, I couldn’t go home for mid-semester break, because I now was calling Wabash football games. Fortunately, Beth came to visit in October with her mom and her mom’s friend. Just before her arrival, I learned with much delight that the timing was such that her visit might coincide with the end of her aunt’s visit. Perfect timing!

The Friday didn’t work out, but the Saturday was game on, and I’m not talking about Wabash getting spanked by Dayton. The evening was a wildly festive romp that even included a tryst on the staircase up to my bedroom landing area—certainly the actions of acrobats or dumb kids who don’t know any better.

The rest of fall was nondescript—a prelude to Thanksgiving, when I would see Beth again. It was OK. There was nothing epic about that weekend, and Beth seemed a bit out of sorts. When we spoke on the phone the next weekend, I noted that she seemed a little preoccupied during Thanksgiving. Beth apologized, and then told me why.

It seems that her aunt was scheduled to visit before Thanksgiving but didn’t. She didn’t want to say anything when I was home, as she said, because she figured it was no big deal, and she didn’t want to worry me. Now, a week later … still nothing. Now it WAS a big deal.

After having the wind punched out of my lungs, I finally inhaled. Whaaat?! Beth wasn’t overly concerned, so she said, but she was scared. I could hear it in her voice. Well, do you feel different? Not really, she said, but let’s face it: Beth was 17. How was she supposed to know what being pregnant felt like?

Pregnant. Yes, let that word sink in for a while. I certainly did, and my mind immediately raced to all of the worst-case scenarios. It wasn't that Beth was just having an irregular cycle; it was that she was pregnant. What the Hell do I do?

Well, I knew what I had to do if our worst fears were confirmed. Beth wasn’t a religious nut by any means, but abortion was completely out of the question. The only solution: We would have to get married, and I’d have to drop out of school—right when I suddenly figured out what I wanted to do with my life.

When we hung up the phone, I went to the library to study, but it was no use. I couldn’t think of anything else. I was one week from papers week and then finals. Basketball season was just getting started. I was reading Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy, and in retrospect, there’s no question why I connected so strongly with that book. I felt as though I were Jude suddenly. I panicked.

Beth apparently felt the same way, and we were on the phone the next night, too. Nothing had changed, and Beth said half-jokingly (I think) that she thought about throwing herself down the stairs of her home. Not to get political here, but think of that: Potentially killing yourself with a broken neck was preferable to having a safe medical procedure.

Needless to say—but I’ll say it anyway—we were on the phone every day after that. Nothing was happening Tuesday, but Beth had encouraging news: She felt as though something was about to happen. The feelings she was experiencing were those she recognized, not something entirely new. Wednesday, same thing.

Finally, Thursday, Beth gave me one of the most welcome phone calls I ever received. When I answered the phone, before she even said, hi, all she said was, “Guess who came to visit today?”

Euphoria. I’m not kidding. I had so much work to do in the next week, and any pressure I felt about that evaporated in a puff of smoke. Beth wasn’t pregnant. We hadn’t ruined our lives. Hell, schoolwork was a cakewalk by comparison, which might explain why I finished with A’s across the board on all my papers and exams and the best semester of my college career.

So, yeah, save a prayer for the morning after. I know exactly what this song is about, or at least, what it’s about to me. Beth and I got lucky, and our prayers had been answered.

Naturally, these two intelligent people learned their lesson and always took precautions thereafter, right? Of course not. The incident was never forgotten, but it certainly didn’t stop us from using natural birth control, which never failed—never even gave us another scare. If anything, we got more daring, pushing it into a second day.

Like I said: Smart people, dumb decisions. That’ll happen when you’re thinking with something other than your brain.