The year was nineteen sixty-two.
First day of the second semester.
Freshman year. Bishop Egan High.
Levittown, Pa. Lunchtime.
I transferred over the holidays.
Boys sat on one side of the cafeteria,
girls on the others. They looked alike.
Penguins in dress-code uniforms,
Hard to tell one from another.
Yet, as luck would have it,
I sat mere feet from the prettiest girl
separated by a three-foot abutment.
Her name was Chris and at first glance,
through to graduation, I dreamnt
she would eventually be my girl.
For three years, we chatted daily.
I toted her books to her bus.
Afterward, I'd thumb a ride,
smiling like a Chesire cat.
Better yet, Valentine's Day,
nineteen-sixty-five arrived,
a highlight of our years together.
As the dismissal bell rang,
she stood by her locker,
egging me ever nearer.
Then, with a wink, she lifted
the hem of her uniform,
above her knee, showing me
the base of her pantaloons,
arrayed with a field of hearts.
I felt like Pepe Le Pew finding love.
My heart pounded. It tried to escape
while she and friends shimmied away.
I attempted to catch a breath of air
while standing in a puddle of sweat.
The climax to an imaginary romance.
For every high comes a low,
arriving with a should-have-known,
expected, temporary breakup.
She agreed to meet at a game.
The weather was rotten.
A cold rain was falling, and
as I entered the stadium
in a Bobby Vee sweater,
Snidely Whiplash stood ahead,
with my first and never-be date,
convincing her of mercy's virtue.
They strolled away hand-in-hand.
Disappointed and soaking wet
I ventured to the confectionary
across the street, laying my cardigan
on an ice-cold ice cream chest.
An hour later, feeling somewhat dry,
I lifted my then-frozen-stiff sweater,
lowering my indignation even lower.
I thought I would never feel worse,
and I haven't, but learned "love can bite."
.
|