The Courtship of Debbie
It was a very long two weeks
since I couldn’t go to her house or call her at home so meeting in the hallways
at school would have to do. Time in high school could drag on for days when you
really wanted to do something. When it dawned on me that two weeks actually
meant twenty days, not fourteen, I was devastated. I found a girl who,
according to popular belief, “really liked me,” yet due to our first date faux
pas, we would have to wait three weeks before we went out on a date again. Maddening,
absolutely maddening!
Monday at school, after our
first date and the meeting with the parents, Debbie was, to say, a little shy
and awkward. She'd gotten me busted with her parents and for a change, through
no fault of my own. I believe it was at the band room before school started we
ran into each other. I was in the jazz band and every morning before school,
the band would get together and practice our music. Those were good times and
while we were rehearsing, guess who I saw standing by the door with that
beautiful smile trying to be inconspicuous while still getting my attention:
Debbie. Thoughts of the weekend started spinning around in my head: playing pool, talking, remembering her smile,
being chastised by her parents, but more important—kissing.
A sharp elbow in my right side
from my partner Mike brought me back to reality. While staring at her and
reminiscing about the weekend, I got lost in the music and forgot to turn the
page. Damn it.
How could I stay mad at her?
She could make any bad situation better with her smile. There were times I
would really like to say, “Stop smiling!” Never worked. She would just smile
and giggle. Damn it!
Date #2 went much smoother. Her
parents met me with the same searching, skeptical eyes from our last encounter,
reinforcing her curfew time.
“Understood! She will be home
by 11:50pm. No questions. I will not fail.” She stood there smiling. Damn it!
Stop it. Yeah, like that worked. It was kind of a special date. She’d just
turned sixteen, and for some reason I wanted to get her a nice stuffed animal.
So I went to the only store in town that carried quality stuffed bears from
Germany, dropping $40.00 without hesitation. We got into my dad's car, and I
told her we had a stowaway passenger. She turned around and looked in the back
seat. The smile on her face went from ear to ear. She leaned back, unfastened
the seat belt on her present and gave it a big hug. Feeling a little neglected
I asked, “Do I get one?”
She smiled and said, “No . .
.you get a kiss.” After we kissed, her face became all serious as her eyes
moved to her left wrist. Her parents on the other hand bought her the present
of a lifetime. A watch! Needless to say, she was not a happy camper. She wore
it on her wrist like it was a ball and chain.
She was furious. “A watch! My
parents got me a watch for my sixteenth birthday. This is such crap.” She took
it off and put it in the glove compartment, reminding me not to let her forget,
it.
All I could say was, “Well, I
guess between your watch and mine, no chance of you being late.” Whoops. Not
the thing to say at the time. I got a look that shut me up in a heartbeat.
“It isn't funny, and you better
not start laughing. A watch for my birthday; what a bunch of crap!”
Okay, start the car, turn on the radio, roll
down the window and stay quiet. Seems like the best course of action for the
moment.
It was a simple date. Get
something to eat, go watch TV at my folks and then get her home on time. Well,
pretty much the general idea. Of course there would be some necking thrown into
the mix. It’d been three weeks since I’d been able to kiss her. That was the
real crime.
And that is pretty much how the
date went. Simple and quick. Wasn't repeating the original mistake. Had her
home by 11:30pm. I needed to regain the confidence of her parents. A small
price to pay in order to keep seeing her. She wasn't quite as obliging, but
that was okay. If this is going to work, I have to get her parents on our side.
We’d been dating for about a
month and were having a great time. I loved being around her and having fun,
but for some reason I couldn't get someone else out of my mind—Betsy. I needed
to try one more time with her. I pondered the thought and decided I needed to
let Debbie know.
We weren't really on a date
that night, more of a “I need to talk” meeting. I explained to her that the
only way we could have a shot at a really good relationship was for me to make
absolutely sure there was nothing left between Betsy and me. I’d be taking Betsy out on a date next
weekend. This was not a particularly popular thought with her or our friends,
but it had to be done. I can't date two girls at the same time and do either
one of them justice. So Betsy and I were going out at least one more time.
The following week at school
was a bit stressed to say the least. Debbie was trying to be nice and pleasant
towards me. She didn’t want me going out with Betsy, but I’d already made the
decision, and the plan was in place. Betsy seemed kind of excited about the
date. This was just adding fuel to the fire. Did I mention both of them were in
the band? I did my best to stay calm, cool, and collected. Looking back I’m
sure I failed quite miserably but ya know, it was high school and
seventeen-year-old boys aren’t the greatest intellectual giants - not just yet.
I was so glad Friday finally
arrived. It was time. A decision would be made this weekend one way or the
other - Betsy or Debbie. I set the date up for Friday so in case it didn't go
well, Saturday was open for a date with Debbie or whatever else I chose to do.
Not bad planning for a change.
Picked Betsy up around 8:00pm.
It had to have been one of the shortest dates I have ever been on. Betsy was
cute and very smart, but no matter how hard we tried to relax and have a good
time, it just wasn't working. Everything we tried was too forced. Nothing was
smooth or spontaneous. I was a little disappointed but relieved at the same
time. No more days or nights thinking there was something still there. Betsy
and I were done, and now I could devote all my energy towards Debbie.
I called her up when I returned
home from the date and asked her if she’d like to go out tomorrow night. She
agreed but with a few conditions. I would never put her through that again or
mention Betsy's name. I wholeheartedly agreed.
And so it began. I would give
Debbie all my affection, attention, and love. I would not be lured by another
female as long as we were dating. This did seem like a monumental undertaking
because I rarely dated anyone for more than a couple of months, but for some
reason this felt right. With the decision made, our journey started.
As our relationship grew, and
our affections for each became more intense, we did everything together. We
became inseparable. Well, there was a day she thought we might be involuntarily
separated.
See, during the first six
months of dating I had to use my dad or mom's car. Dad agreed I’d be able to
get my own wheels this coming summer. That would be so cool. No more asking the
parents if I could borrow their vehicles. I would have my own and be able to
jump in and go whenever I pleased.
My first truck! I wanted a red
Ford F-100 heavy half-ton pickup. Dad and I spent weeks poring over the paper
until we found one that didn't need a lot of work. She wasn't the prettiest
truck, but she was going to be mine for $900.00.
Yes! The day arrived, and I
invited Debbie to go with us. She was also excited; Jeff is going to have his
own wheels and no more car sharing. Did I mention that this model was
three-on-the tree? Standard transmission. No problem. Learned how to do it in
Driver's Ed., or so I thought. No practice runs, no real instructions. Dad paid
the guy, said good luck, and left. She and I hopped in and off we went . . .
about ten feet before it died. That went well. I looked at her, and she had
this look of caution and asked if I knew what I was doing.
“Hell yes I do. Just need to
get used to the clutch . . . along with applying the right amount of gas at the
right time.” We drove around the neighborhood a few times, and I was ready for
the main lanes. It went really well until I killed the truck in an intersection
with a small hill. This is not good! I could be exaggerating, but it seemed
like it took over ten minutes to get the truck moving again, and traffic was
really getting snarled-up. The other drivers weren't upset that I’d blocked the
entire intersection. They appeared to be enjoying the mayhem this teenager was
causing in front of his girlfriend. And somewhere during the debacle I know she
said, “Jeff, are you sure you can drive the truck?”
Finally got it started and
moving in the right direction. Needless to say she wasn't sitting next to me
but rather buckled in and holding onto the armrest of the door handle. Think
she might have been just a light shade of white. I suggested we go and see some
of our friends. Mysteriously, she had some chores that needed to be done that
afternoon so I took her home. It was a real quick goodbye kiss as she bolted
out of the truck and made for the front door. Guess now, I couldn't blame her.
Seeing your life flash before your eyes at sixteen in the middle of the day
can’t be a good thing.
Well, I did learn how to drive
the truck to the point she felt comfortable enough to bypass the passenger seatbelt
and sit by my side. Probably took about a month or so to really master the
clutch and gas. And for at least a month, she would ask me before each date,
“Sure you can drive your own truck?” She would smile and giggle as the words
came out of her mouth. Guess I could have asked her if she would rather walk
but I couldn't get mad at her when she smiled. I loved her. With the clutch
mastered and the thought of her life ending at an early age gone, she agreed I
could pick her up in the mornings for marching band practice.
As mentioned earlier, the first
time I noticed her was at band practice. We practiced in the afternoon after
school, yet for some reason the band director changed his mind for the 1978
season. Practice would be changed to the mornings. That meant being at school
at 6:30am. “You have got to be kidding me, 6:30am? Argghhhh!”
Oh well, the band director's
will shall be done. After thinking about this time change, it dawned on me that
I would be starting my mornings on the right foot. The first person I would see
in the morning would be Debbie. Why? Because I was her ride to school. Hey,
this isn't such a bad idea after all. Picking her up in the morning and
listening to her complain about having to eat something her mother was
forcing down her was great. My parents were the opposite when it came to my
diet, “My God, Jeffery, is there no filling you up?” Not at that age. I could
never eat enough. The best, and I mean the best
part of picking her up that early, was the morning kiss. What a great way to
start the day!
Actually it did get a little
better. Being in the marching band meant we would be allowed to spend a lot of
quality time together: morning practices, special rehearsals, football games,
sitting with each other at the games, and the bus trips.
During school hours it’s
difficult to perform any serious kissing as the teachers were always looking
for too much PDA (public displays of affection) between students, but the band
director only cared that we were all accounted for and knew our parts for the
show. He didn't waste his time patrolling the aisles of the bus telling us to
keep our hands to ourselves; he cared more about how we performed. This was the
perfect opportunity to get some serious kissing time in. I always looked
forward to the long bus rides. I could never get enough of her being by my
side. Going to the games, preparing for the show and cutting up with friends
was great, but the bus ride back to the school after the performances was
heaven.
She always sat by the window.
Why, I don't know. Maybe she thought she might fall out of the seat and wind up
in the middle of the aisle. That might be a bit embarrassing for her, so I
gladly took the aisle seat. We would spend the ride back to the school wrapped
up in each other’s arms, kissing long and passionately. When we’d had enough,
she would lay her head against my shoulder and fall asleep. God, I loved that.
She would sleep, and I would lovingly stroke her soft brown hair, kiss the top
of her head, and whisper in her ear how much I loved her.
I hated it when the bus pulled
into the school parking lot. That meant our time together would be coming to an
end, but only for a moment - I was still her ride home. I would drive her home,
walk her to the front porch, and kiss for another ten minutes or so until the
front porch light turned on. Time to go. I would kiss her one more once and
look forward to the next time I would be picking her up for our newest
adventure. There was one morning that didn't turn out exactly as I planned.
Gas back in the day was around
$.80/gallon. Yes, eighty cents. Wendy's paid $2.15/hour and my truck's gas
mileage was eight mile per gallon. So I planned out every excursion and trip I
made. I had X amount of dollars per week to spend on gas, and the budget didn't
allow for any unnecessary trips.
It was a cold, dark morning as
I pulled into her driveway. Hmm, no Debbie. Walked up to the front door and
knocked. Her mom opened the door and said, “Debbie is sick and is not going to
school today.” What, I drove all this way for nothing? Yeah, those were
the thoughts permeating in my small brain. Her mother let me come into the
foyer and at the top of the steps was Debbie sitting down and looking pitiful.
She had a really sad look on her face, and all I could say was, “Why didn't you
call me?” No sympathy, no “How are feeling?”, just, “Why didn't you call?” She
should have shot me right there on the spot. I deserved it. She told me she was
really sorry and didn't call because she didn't want to wake my folks up. Let
me see, Dad gets up around 5:00am if he is home, and Mom usually starts moving
around 6:00. Needless to say I left her house in a huff. I was more worried
about the gas I’d used instead of being concerned with her well-being. Idiot!
I had the whole day to think
about what an ass I’d been towards her. I felt like such a heel. Even my best
friend Mike agreed. “Dawson, you’re such an ass some days.” I rectified the
problem after school. Instead of hanging with friends or going straight home, I
turned the truck south and went to see my sick girl.
Her mom answered the door
saying, “Hello, Jeff, is there something you want?” I felt about two feet tall
with her words. You could hear it in her voice.
Stupid boy!
“May I see Debbie for a few
minutes?”
“Jeff, let me see if she feels
like getting out of bed.” Her mom went upstairs and disappeared for five
minutes. It doesn't take five minutes to see if someone is going to get out of
bed. . . or does it? It does when the person who made an ass of himself is
coming back to apologize. Any other girl I’d dated would not have received this
type of patience. Debbie slowly emerged from her room, sat down at the top of
the stairs with her mother smiling behind her. I felt like I was being
interrogated from up on high. I told her how sorry I was for not caring more
and it would never happen again. I understood her not wanting to phone early in
the morning for fear of bothering my parents, and sick or not, it dawned on me
that she just wanted to see me each and every morning. God, I can be slow some
days. Oh yes, phone calls. Back before cell phones, computers, or instant
messaging, we used a device known as the telephone, or to the younger crowd, a
land line.
On some weekends, for whatever
reasons we couldn't go out, we would spend the evening talking to each other
for hours. How many remember this simple pleasure? Being apart for any amount
of time was insufferable. I wanted to be around her constantly and if the phone
was the only way to fill the gap then we filled it to the max.
I remember my parents coming
home from a night out on the town, and Dad asking me who was on the phone all
night? Let's see, I'm the only one here so it must have been “I”.
“And who were you talking to
for over three hours Jeffery?”
“Well, Dad...Debbie.”
“Jeffery, what if there’d been
an emergency and we needed to talk to you? What would you have done?”
“Well, Dad...”
“That's just ridiculous,
Jeffery. Don't do it again.”
“Okay.” Yeah like that message
sunk in - no. If I couldn't be with her then I was going to call her and spend
as many hours listening to her wonderful voice until we were together again.
We were always together at
school. I picked her up in the morning, met her between classes, or caught up
with her by my locker stealing kisses at every opportunity, and ended the day
by taking her home. School was really in the way of us being able to spend all
of our time with each other. Holding her, kissing her, making her laugh, or walking
down the halls either holding hands or with an arm around her waist holding her
close. Life is outstanding with her in it. And it was only going to get better.
Fall, 1978; class rings came
in. When I placed the order, it was more because everyone else was getting one.
What was I going to do with a ring? Guess I'll put it in a box because I sure
wasn't going to wear it anytime soon. All the activities and safety reports I
received from my father carried the same outcome: broken fingers, busted hand,
or an amputated digit. At my age, I wanted to keep all of my digits, so the
ring would be placed in a safe dark space where it could do no damage. Debbie
asked me if I’d ordered a ring. “Well yeah, why?”
“No reason. Just curious.” If
she’s curious there’s a reason. She never asked a question for the hell of it.
The day arrived; we could pick
up our rings in the cafeteria between classes. Oh, yeah. I went to pick up the
ring even though I wouldn't be wearing it. Hey, looks pretty cool even though I
knew its fate – in a box where it and I will be safe. . . and then I had a
thought. Wouldn't it look great on her finger? Imagining her wearing my ring
filled me with a strange, wonderful feeling of euphoria I’d never experienced.
I couldn't wait to find her and ask her if she wanted my ring.
The last bell rung, and I knew
she would be waiting by our locker to sneak a quick kiss and ask her how her
day went. I came down the hall and there she was, wearing my jean jacket with
that wonderful smile. I walked up, gave her a quick kiss and hug. “How was your
day, babe?” She would roll her eyes and start talking about something a teacher
or student said that really irritated her. Like me, she couldn't stand stupid
comments or remarks (Okay, and she is dating me why?).
I placed an arm around her and
we headed towards the band room so I could get my trombone. We didn't talk
about much. I'm too busy trying to
figure out how to give her the ring without botching it up and making a mess of
the situation. Would she want it? Would she be happy? Would she wear it or
would I put it in a box for future use; I just didn't know, so I kept quiet and
enjoyed holding her close as we walked down the halls.
Picked up my horn and off to
the truck we went. She always knew when I was having a major thought. She never
questioned me. She would smile with those big, beautiful brown eyes. God, I loved
her so much.
We got in the truck and before
I could flip the engine on, she turned and said, “Jeff, is there something on
your mind you need to ask me?” How did she know? I hesitantly put my hand in my
pocket, looked at her, and responded, “Debbie, I picked up my class ring today
and was thinking about, uh . . . maybe letting . . . (her eyes were filled with
happiness and glee, she already knew what I was going to ask her) uh . . .
Debbie, would you like to wear my ring?” I pulled it out of my pocket and
stared at it like it was a dead weight. I didn't want to look at her if she
said no. Why was I feeling so nervous? It's only a class ring, not like it's a
wedding band or anything, just a class ring, but it is a ring.
She paused for a moment, placed
her left hand in my right hand that was holding the ring. She placed her right
hand on my face, turned my head towards her, leaned forward and said, “I would
love to wear your ring,” and then kissed me. A feeling of elation poured through
my body. She wants to wear it. She
really wants to wear my ring! I was so relieved. If she would have said no,
maybe I might have thought it was some type of rejection, but she said yes and
wore it every day of the week and loved showing it off.
She wore it everywhere we went,
whether it was school, getting together with friends, having fun, or going to
the movies; it couldn't be missed. The silver band, the blue stone on her dark
tanned skin, they were a perfect match.
* * *
Movies
Yes, we loved going to the
shows. The three that jump out and require a little explanation: The Rocky
Horror Picture Show, The Shining, and A Bridge Too Far.
It was imperative, as mentioned
earlier to get her parents back on our side. This took a lot of time and
patience. Dads, you know what’s on every seventeen-through-eighteen-year-old’s
mind when it comes to your daughters. We might be old, but if we’ve forgotten
the mindset of those carefree days, then shame on us.
Rocky Horror was sweeping the country, and I loved going
to the midnight films, but her curfew was throwing a major curve ball in the
mix. She had to be home when the movie would start. So an elaborate plan was
hatched. Make damn sure that she was always home at least ten minutes before
her appointed curfew time or even better, just plan a date that keeps us at her
house with no chance of being late. I asked Debbie if she wanted to go catch
this film. Well duh, of course she did; now to convince her parents to let
their only daughter go to a midnight movie. I mentioned to them one day that I’d
like to take Debbie to a midnight movie. They assured me they would think about
it. No rush. Not like the film was going to stop playing anytime soon.
Went over to her house Friday
night for our weekly date. Her parents
were waiting in the family room. Never a good sign.
Once again, she and her mom are
sitting on the couch, her father was standing to my right, and I believe they
had a lamp shining on me. “Jeff, we’ve thought about this midnight movie idea
and have a few reservations.” Of course they would. “We have agreed to let her
go. Now, how do you envision this date?”
Uh-oh, I have to lay out a map
for them. “Well, I would pick her up say, 9:00 o’clock so we could get
something to eat (and go parking for a little bit), take her to the movie and
have her home twenty minutes after the film ends.”
“How long is the film?” asked
her father.
“One hour and thirty minutes.
She would be home no later than 2:00am.”
Both of them were quiet for a moment.
No movements, no sighs—silence. Her dad slowly started speaking, “Uh, huh.
Well, here’s how we see it. You pick her up at 10:00pm. That will give you plenty of time to get
something to eat, go to the movie and have her home by 1:45am and not a minute
later.” Well, this sounds okay, just won't have time to get something to eat.
Agreed.
I was at her house at exactly
10:00pm and sped off to one of our favorite spots. This had to be the quickest
parking excursion we ever embarked on (Yeah, I ate before I picked her up).
That was actually good planning on my part for a change. The movie? She’d never
seen anything like it. We had a great time and yes, she was home at 1:44am. No
telling how long she would have been grounded if she’d been one minute late. It
was not worth tempting fate.
The Shining? All I can
say is she really liked it, and to this day I do not understand why “all work
and no play, makes Jack a dull boy.” When the film was over, we ran into an
acquaintance of mine, Brett. He and his girlfriend saw the movie also. I looked
at Brett and asked him what he thought the movie was about. He knew about as
much as I did. Jack Nicholson is crazy. Well, Debbie liked it, and that’s all
that mattered.
The next movie and last war
movie she saw with me was an epic I just couldn't wait to see. I was literally
foaming at the mouth - A Bridge Too Far.
Great cast, great story and of course a soon to be World War II classic.
We arrived a little later than
I wanted, but that was okay. It was close to a sellout, but we were able to get
the last tickets. She was a bit apprehensive about the movie. She’d never seen
me so excited about any film, and believe me, I was very excited!
Okay, got the tickets, bought
some popcorn and drinks and ventured in. It was a full house, and I mean full. I hated how they started these
mini multiplexes. Apparently the theaters felt they could make a lot more money
by reducing the seating capacity by say, sixty percent. I hate small theaters, but that’s another
story. Okay, we get in the theater, and the only seats available were in the
front row. This would prove to be a minor faux pas.
The film was everything one
could ask for: great acting, superb directing, authentic action scenes, and
excellent special effects. The defining moment in the movie is when elements of
the 15th SS panzer army are coming to retake Arnhem from the
British. The cameras were placed in just the right place so when (remember the
real bridge was about 1 mile long with a large arch in it), the German armored
reconnaissance force is cresting over the bridge and all you can see are these
black silhouettes. I jump up out of the seat and yelled, “Now you’re going to
see some action!” or something to that effect.
Debbie was in shock at what I
was doing and quickly grabbed my arm, pulling me back into the chair, “Jeff,
they’re going to throw us out if you don't settle down.” I got too excited and
believe me, she kept a tight hold on my arm until the film was over. She never
went to another war movie with me again. Gee, I wonder why?
Going to the movies, getting
something to eat was always fun, but there was one activity she could never get
enough of, pinball.
When I turned eighteen, Dad
asked me what I wanted. Didn't have to think about it very long. A pinball
machine, Dad. He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. He probably wasn’t too far off. “Jeffery, do
you have any idea how much that will cost?”
“No, Dad, but if I can find one
that is affordable it’d be a great addition to the game room, wouldn't it?” He
begrudgingly said okay. But instead of just me going to check out the
selection, he suggested we go together and see what R&M music store had in
stock. So in the truck we both climbed and headed off to R&M.
They had a great selection, but
$750 to $1,000 was way out of line. I almost gave up until I came across a game
with the name “Superstar.” I’d never seen or played this one before. The
salesman turned it on so we could check out the action and how the scoring was
calculated. After about fifteen minutes, Dad agreed it was a pretty good machine.
And the price? $300.00. Sold! What a great birthday present. Dad paid for it
and told the salesman we would be back later today to pick it up.
I dropped Dad off at the house
and made a beeline to my best friend Mike's, rustled him out of the house, and
headed to pick up the machine. He couldn't believe what Dad had bought, but
like myself, he loved playing pinball and couldn't wait to try his luck.
That machine became the focal
point of the game room. Between my friends, family, and Mom and Dad's bridge
parties, it was a hit. There were times Dad and his friends told us we would
have to wait our turn.
When Debbie heard about the
gift, she couldn't wait to come over. Now we’d been to the local amusement
park, Bell's, but she never showed a great deal of interest in pinball. Skeet
ball was her game, and she soundly beat me every time. That was wrong until she
explained that when she lived in New York, she and her brother would go to the
local arcade. He would give her a handful of quarters, and she would spend all
day playing skeet ball. Believe me, she was very, very good. I never ever came
close to beating her.
She asked how soon I could come
over and pick her up. She really wanted to see the new toy and give it a whirl.
And whirl she gave it. There were nights that all we did was play pinball. You
want to talk about intense? Some days it
was just plain scary watching her play. You would have thought she was taking a
math final or working on a major English paper. Should have put up a sign,
“Warning, Debbie at Play, Do Not Disturb.” I had the high score of 315,000, and
she was bound and determined to top it. I learned the hard way not to get in her
space when she played unless I’d been invited to join her.
She was having a fantastic
game, and this would be the day she beat my high score. I accidentally bumped
the machine as I put my arms around her and the machine “tilted.” For those who
don't know, when a pinball machine goes “tilt”, it shuts down and the game is
over. What a mistake. Unhappy doesn't even come close to describing the look
she flashed at me. It was more along the lines of, “You are going to die.” All
night long that is all she talked about – how I deliberately interrupted her game
so she wouldn't beat my score. I never, repeat, never bothered her again when she played. Nope, she never did top
my high score.
Dad had a pretty cool stereo in
the game room, so if we were playing pool or pinball, we could listen to our
favorite songs and if we were in the mood, we would take in a dance or two.
Dancing with her was like twirling the wind. She was so graceful and smooth
with her movements. She is the first girl I danced with who could follow and
lead at the same time. We loved dancing with each other so much, we never
missed a school dance no matter what the theme was.
You name it, and we went to
them: Homecoming, Christmas, Valentine's Day, and Sadie Hawkins. She really did
know how to follow with style and grace and, of course, holding her close,
smelling her perfume, and stroking that beautiful brown hair lightly (without
messing it up) while slow dancing and kissing her was heaven. She was so
beautiful. Looking into her brown eyes when she smiled, I could see how much
she was in love with me, just the way I was in love with her. Life couldn't get any better. Seventeen and
in love with the most beautiful girl in school. No one could ever convince me
otherwise that this was only puppy love or a high school fling. I loved her
with all of my heart and soul.
Christmas Dance
1978
During the summer of 1977, I
was working at the local golf course - LaFortune. It was my duty to take care
of the golf carts. Changing batteries, charging them, pulling or fishing them
out from sand traps and creeks, usually caused by one or two, too many cold
beers from the fine golfers who played the course. Too bad I didn't collect
cans back then. Oh, well. The garage I worked in did not have a refrigerator
much less air-conditioning, and I was one of those guys who usually took their
lunch every day.
I was sitting around in the
living room with Debbie and her mom talking about the oppressive summer heat.
Her mom asked me what I usually ate at work. Kind of a strange question, but
what the heck. “Well, I usually take a bologna sandwich and some chips.”
“Jeff, do you put mayonnaise on
the sandwich?”
An odd question; I mean bologna,
without mayonnaise? “Well, yes.”
She and Debbie looked at each
other and in unison said, “You better find a cool place for your lunch or at
least drop the mayonnaise.” I convinced them it would be fine. Now you know the
look women have when they know they’re right, and the male they are questioning
is still trying to figure why two and two equals four. Hey, I knew what was
best and would carry on.
I carried on all right. It was
a particularly hot day in the shop, the outside temperature was hovering around
ninety-eight and the shop temperature had to have been around 105+. Time for
lunch. Couldn't wait to eat that bologna sandwich with all that sweet
mayonnaise. It was sure good for about three hours, and then it wasn't so good.
Came down with a real good dose of self-inflicted food poisoning. Threw up for
probably six hours once I got home from work. Oh, it was just terrible. I do
mean terrible. Somewhere between runs to the bathroom and retching out my guts
I called her and said I wouldn't be coming over. I believe to this day I heard
very faint laughter on the other end of the phone receiver.
After I recovered from the
episode, I went over to see her. Well instead of just going in and saying hi,
her mom wanted to be a little chatty. And guess what the topic was? “Jeff,
plan on taking anymore mayonnaise sandwiches to work this week?” I
thought I was going to start puking again. You know, they did feel just a
little sorry for what happened, but it was difficult to feel the love while
they were both laughing about it. That was wrong, but I loved her and could
never be mad at her. Now even though I never really got mad at her, I gave her
plenty of opportunities to remind me of how underdeveloped my brain was at
eighteen.
There was a night she wasn't
smiling at all, worse than when I went out with Betsy. We were driving around
town just because. No real destination, just cruising Sheridan road going
south. As we crested the top of Shadow Mountain Hill, I noticed a truck on the
right side of the road was stuck. Well, maybe the guy needs some help. I pulled
the truck up, turned on the flashers, and went to see if I could provide any
assistance.
The kid driving the truck was
my age, and he was trying to take his girlfriend down the dirt road to the pond
for a little snipe hunting. Ah, yes, snipe hunting. Since I’d been to this
secluded area I understood his dilemma. He’d high centered his truck trying to
get on the dirt road which wasn't hard to do. The borrow ditch was eight feet
wide with a four foot drop. We talked about the best way to get him unstuck and
came up with a plan. I would turn my truck around, place a chain on the frame
and yank him free. One problem. Sheridan is a pretty busy two lane asphalt road
and in order for this operation to succeed, traffic would have to be stopped.
How to do this? I know. We’ll get our girls to stop the traffic. When we
explained to them what we were going to do, they had a look of utter fear in
their eyes. “It's 9:00pm, pitch black, and you guys want us to do what?”
“Stop the traffic. It'll be
okay.” God, boys of eighteen can really be dumb, but there was no other option.
So the girls reluctantly took their posts. Debbie got the worst one. She would
stop the traffic coming over the hill. I would hear about this faux pas a
little later.
The chain was in place, and the
pulling began. I inched my truck forward until I felt it tighten up and then
romped on the gas. He did the same. My truck was pulling as hard as it could,
but instead of going forward, the truck was only sliding side to side like a
pendulum. What a show! Our tires were pouring out smoke, but his truck wouldn't
move. I backed up, got out, and we put another plan together. I would have to
literally jerk his truck out of the ditch and hopefully the chain wouldn't
break or even worse - tear off a bumper or damage the frames. The plan is set,
and we are bound and determined to get him back on the road.
The chain went tight, the
engines were revved, the girls had the traffic stopped, and bang! I popped the clutch. The back of
the truck jumped off the pavement, the tires were squealing and like a cork
coming out of a champagne bottle, his truck bounced out of the ditch and onto
the north bound lane. I was so pumped with adrenaline I didn’t noticed he was
free. I was still squealing the tires and racing the engine until I realized
the truck wasn't moving. WTF? I looked in the window mirror and saw he was free
and clear, trying to get me to stop. I let off the accelerator, backed up to
recover the chain, and check for damage. Both of our trucks survived the night
of potential demolition derby. He was very thankful we stopped to help him and
offered me twenty bucks for the trouble. Told him to keep it. Not a problem. I
might need him to return the favor someday.
Okay, that went well. We
signaled the girls to let the cars go. Debbie got back in the truck, not saying
a word. Man, I am feeling so good! Helped a fellow teenager in distress and
saved him some cash. I'm feeling on top of the world.
Drove about a mile, came to a
red light, and stopped. She turned, looked at me, and said, “Jeff, if you ever
do that to me again, I will never go out with you. Do you have any idea how
scared I was standing on that hill trying to stop traffic? Don't you ever do
that to me again. Do you understand? Never again.” It was the way she conveyed
the message that made it sink in all the way - calmly and quietly.
Her delivery crushed me. Oh
man, I screwed up again. What could I say? “Debbie, I am so sorry. I wasn't
thinking.”
“You got that right. Never
again. Understood?”
“Yes, loud and clear.” God, what an idiot I am.
Yes, her message was received
loud and clear and because I was learning to digest some simple words and
thoughts with her help, we continued to have more fun than the law allowed,
which definitely included parking.
Parking and necking. I really
had to think about how much detail needed to be put in and after much deliberation
came to the conclusion, just the basics. We are in high school. We are young
and most definitely in love, so if a date is schedule for say five hours, at
least two to three hours were set aside for serious kissing and petting. She
had the softest skin and moist lips. Kissing her was indescribable. She could
melt the ice off the truck in the winter when we kissed. We had our share of
run-ins with friends, parents, and local law enforcement.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Feel free to leave a comment.