It was the summer of 1973, and I was only 15-years old. A pretty stupid 15, at that. Donnie and I had just piled into my dad’s Olds ’98 on our way to our first church Youth Conference at Randolph Macon College near Richmond. That’s me in the passenger seat. Donnie’s in the back.
I’d met Donnie the first Sunday after my family moved from New Jersey, and he was also in Mrs. Pollet’s 7th grade class with me. We’d been fast friends ever since. Not that this has anything to do with the story, but it does introduce you to Donnie. He’ll play an important role throughout this story.
As I was saying, we were on our way to our first Youth Conference. I’d looked forward to this day for at least two or three years, ever since girls stopped being icky monsters. From what I’d gathered from my older friends who had been in previous years, Youth Conference was full of them. Girls, that is.
I’d never had a real girlfriend, being a dopey kid for the entirety of my existence. I’d mouth-kissed Iris Gerard when I was five, but I don’t think that counts. This conference, I hoped, would change all that.
After arriving in the late morning, Donnie and I went straight to registration, fully expecting to meet our wives.
Yea, that didn’t happen.
Who we did meet was a middle-aged guy, probably about 25, who gave us our name tags, the keys to our assigned room, and a hard time when we told him we wanted to meet some girls. I think we used the word “chicks”.
“You won’t meet any girls wearing those bellbottoms,” he said.
Donnie and I just looked at each other and laughed. What did he know? He was old and bellbottoms were cool. Every girl knew that. They’d be around forever!
Before we knew it it was time for lunch, so we wandered over to the campus cafeteria to grab a bite. That’s when this story really begins because that’s when I saw her for the first time. Long, dark, and wavy hair that kissed her shoulders. Brown eyes (my favorite) that played ballads on my heartstrings. Best of all, she was wearing bellbottoms. Take that, old guy!!
The only problem, and it was a big problem at that time in my life, was that I’d never talked to a girl before. I mean, other than my sister and her dumb friends. And surely not one as truly beautiful as this.
What was a budding Casanova to do? Should I walk over real cool and talk to one of her friends? Should I use the big ignore? Should I just catch her eye, smile, and wink? What would Tyrone Powers or one of those swashbucklers do?
Getting an idea of why I’d never had a girlfriend?
I had no clue what to do, so this hopeful did the only thing he could do. He asked Donnie to go over and talk to her.
The chicken way out? Yea. Yea it was. Without doubt. But at that age it’s the only card I held. Not too different from the hand I play today, but that’s another story altogether.
Donnie and I hemmed and hawed about it for a bit, and by the time we decided it was his duty as a wingman, she was gone.
Newman!
I didn’t see her the rest of that day, but our plan came to realization the next morning at breakfast. We already had the strategy in place, so as soon as we saw her, Donnie went over and fulfilled his responsibilities. He stayed over at her table for what I thought was a REALLY long time. There was plenty of rubber-necking and feminine giggling. All of her friends had to steal a peak at the would-be suitor.
When Donnie finally returned it was with good news. “She said she’s got classes this morning, but she’ll meet you at the campus pool at 3 o’clock,” he said.
“What? Really?” I replied between gasps for air. “You’re…you’re being serious?”
“Yea, of course,” he answered as he rolled his eyes, a slight note of exasperation in his voice. “There was one other thing.”
“Yea, yea?” I blurted out impatiently. “Come on, man! Let’s have it!”
Donnie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. She thinks you’re, uh, cute.”
That’s when it hit me.
I knew nothing about talking to girls.
In my head I was saying, “How hard could this be?” But the trembling in my fingers and knees was telling me this was a big mistake.
I should have listened to the joints.
The rest of that morning was spent in one-hour classes about scripture study, Church history, and classic books, all of which went in one ear and right out the other without finding terra firma. All I could think about was…all I could think about was…uhhhh. Hmmmm.
I leaned over in the 11 o’clock class and whispered in Donnie’s ear. “Dude, what was her name?”
“Who?” he questioned.
I looked at him as seriously as I could and shrugged my shoulders, holding my hands like I was asking for a handout.
“Oooohhh, her,” he said amusedly, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask her.”
I scrunched my eyebrows unbelievingly. “You didn’t ask her?” I shot back with just a trace of shock. “What the heck, man? Why didn’t you ask her? Don’t you think I’m going to need that?”
“Gentlemen!” said the instructor, loudly.
After he stopped looking at us, Donnie said softly, “I just didn’t think about it.”
Now you know one reason why Donnie had never had a girlfriend, either.
Lunch came and went and instead of getting closer, that three o’clock hour got further and further away, like watching a Goofy wristwatch. Time was going backwards. Three o’clock just would not come.
And then it did.
And I was terrified.
It was 2:30pm when Donnie suggested we mosey on over to the pool.
What? Now? You mean, go over, and meet this girl? What will I say? What will we talk about? Who invented liquid soap and why? All pertinent questions that popped into my head a half hour before tee time. I was not prepared. I’d left my golf bag at home.
“I don’t know what I’m going to say or anything,” I squawked at Donnie. “I don’t even know her name!”
“Relax, man!” he replied. “it’s going to be fine. Just ask her what her name is. That will get the ball rolling. See what a favor I did by not asking?”
I looked at the ground to be able to concentrate and the five-watt bulb in my head flashed on. Donnie was right! It was perfect! All I had to do to start a conversation was ask her her name.
Ok, I thought, I can actually do this! I’ve got one question for her and that will start the rest of my life with her!
Arriving at the pool, we pushed open the door and walked semi-confidently inside. She was sitting on the bleachers looking even more beautiful than I remembered. She hadn’t seen me yet, so I did one last breath-check, and with trembling hands, I looked at Donnie for some strength. Anything, man. Just a good word like, “You can do this” or “Go get ‘em tiger” or something like that.
Donnie winked at me and said, “Don’t screw up!”
Thanks, bud.
To this day I don’t know how I mustered the strength to walk up the bleacher steps toward her, but I did it. It’s something I’ve thought about for a long time, and I’m quite proud of it. At least once in my life I was strong. Stupid, but strong.
She looked at me and smiled as I walked over to where she was sitting. I could barely take the ten or so steps it took to get there, but I did it. And I smiled while doing it. Oh, yea! Casanova move on over.
When I reached her, I smiled and stuck out my hand, hoping she’d grab it and we’d have our first physical contact. All I had to do was ask her what her name was. Only it didn’t come out that way.
“Hi,” I said. “What’s my name?”
WHAT?
What’sMY
name?You IDIOT!!
What are you DOING?
Play like you’re dead!
Have a heart attack!!
Do something!
Anything! Don’t just stand there!!
Only, I did.
And it was ok.
She laughed and thought it was cute.
She grabbed my hand and pulled me down next to her on the bleachers. I stared into those hauntingly gorgeous eyes for about an hour and fell madly and inextricably in love. It seemed like 5 seconds. This was the most fantastic girl who’d ever been created.
When it came time to go to dinner we parted and went our separate ways, but not before sharing telephone numbers and addresses.
Turns out that she lived in Roanoke, which was only about 35 minutes from my house. We actually dated (I use that term very loosely) for about a year and a half. My dad had weekly meetings in Roanoke about a half mile from her house. So, every Thursday night I’d ride along, and she and I would visit while he was busy. We’d go over to the ice cream shop or go see a movie or something like that, always walking because we were both too young to drive. Sometimes we just sat around and talked. It took me about six months to kiss her, and even that was a mistake. I tried to kiss her on the cheek, and she turned her head at just that instant. Wham bang, right on the jaw! Iris Gerard, eat your heart out!
As I said, this lasted for about a year and a half. Then, one Thursday I went up with dad and walked over to her house. I knocked on the door and her brother answered. He told me that she’d moved to West Virginia to live with her grandmother. She just unceremoniously left town and I never saw her again. I never found out why she left, either. To this very day I don’t know.
Several years ago, I tried to look her up on Facebook, just to reconnect and answer that one nagging question. But I’ve never found her, and that question is still there.
And that’s ok. I’m happily and inseparably married to the love of my life with three beautiful kids, and those halcyon days are a speck in the rear-view mirror.
But they still bring a smile to my face when I look back, and sometimes I laugh. I hope I’m not as big a dope as I was back then. My wife would probably tell you otherwise. And so would my kids.
But I’m happy, and that’s all that matters.
And by the way, her name was Kathy.
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