School had just gotten out for the summer and I was glad it was over. My sophomore year had been my first year in high school, junior high was 7th – 9th grades back in the day, and the transition had been traumatic. Although my junior high was big, nothing could prepare you for a class of over 1,000 kids. I had been swallowed up, and it was good to be at the beach with a couple of close friends, just soaking up the sun.
We didn’t though. My friends and I were not into glamour that much and so we spent lots of time in the water not worrying about getting our hair wet or mussing our mascara.
I remember the black two piece swimsuit I was wearing that by today’s standards would be considered very conservative. And as this was just the beginning of the “Itsy Bitsy Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” days, it was fairly conservative even by the standards of the early sixties.
The year was 1963 and I wasn’t old enough to get a driver’s license yet, so my friends and I had taken the bus. I think it was a little less than 15 miles, but the bus didn’t go to the “cool” beaches of Orange County. Rather, it dropped us off in downtown Long Beach near the old Pike amusement park and we had quite a walk to Linden Beach. But there was sand and surf and that’s really all I cared about.
I hated to see folks carry their entire patios to the beach, so we came with sparse supplies: a beach towel, some coco butter, and a couple of dollars to get something to eat.
And we never brought bottled water, but I don’t remember ever being thirsty. Still can’t figure that out. Is it in the air?
Anyhow, I was laying on my back, eyes closed when someone said, “Hello.” I opened my eyes to see quite a good-looking boy standing next to me. I glanced about and saw a couple of his buddies taking it the exchange. My friends were probably also watching, but I didn’t look in their direction. Rather I met his eyes, which were a brilliant blue, and said, “Hello.”
Mind you, I was not the flirty type. I’d only been on a couple of dates and those were to chaperoned school dances. And though I had a mad crush on a boy who lived across the street, he only saw me as one of the kids who played hide and seek until the street lights came on. Besides, as a senior, he would never have given me a second thought. I did dream, however.
Still, I was new at this, but before long, the young man with the gorgeous blue eyes sat down beside me and we talked for a while, but it must have been close to the time we needed to leave because I don’t remember our going in the water again. And, soon, we were headed back to the bus stop.
On our way, we would pass the Pine Street Café, a typical 50s style diner, and my friends and I would usually stop in for something. So, we all went in. I ordered a piece of coconut cream pie. He didn’t order anything, and I’m pretty sure I paid my bill after sharing my pie with him. That should have told me something, I think, but I chose to ignore it. Besides, it may have given me the wrong message because, as it turns out, John was, if anything, a good provider.
We finished up and went to the bus stop. He and his friends waited for us until we got on the bus. They had driven down, and may have offered to drive us home, but we knew it wouldn’t be right to accept a ride from virtual strangers.
My friends and I lived in Lakewood while he and his friends lived in Norwalk. I googled it recently and found out that it’s only about 15 minutes by car. But, back then, without a car and without a license, it seemed like an impossibly long distance.
When I got home, I told my mother that I’d met the boy I was going to marry. And I think I sang along with Darlene Love and her song of a similar name from then on.
Although I don’t remember, I must have given John my phone number because this began the anxious waiting-for-the-phone-to-ring agony for the first time in my life. I cringe every time I watch the movie, “He’s Just Not That Into You” because I was crazy obsessive about him. Why?
To this day, I have no idea. Why do we obsess? Why did I obsess? I was 15 years old. What was I worried about?
Perhaps it doesn’t matter. We grew up a bit. Got married. Had a family. And lived, well, maybe not happily ever after, but we had a good life. And I will always remember June 20th.
No comments:
Post a Comment