Sunday, September 11, 2011

Nearly Notorious

One of the advantages of expressing feelings through the written word is that there is no rhyme or reason that can be assigned to your muse. Watching the electronic God that sits upon a table across the room from the big fluffy chair that cuddles me in my Sanctum Sanctorum, I found the urge to remind the World Wide Web that I am still in existence. It is close to that time when senior citizens such as me are realistically assumed to be preparing to enter the embrace of Morpheus and his minions.

The program on the tube is a representation of life as it existed when this scribe was but a wee lad in his twenties. Well, to tell the truth, I have never fit the description of “Wee” but I certainly lived, endured, and fondly remember the late sixties and most of the seventies. Life was decidedly and definitively different than current calendar dates. The program had been previously viewed several times and I really thought I was simply killing time before bed. Now I am sitting at the keyboard listening to the Fab Four and wanting to write about this girl I once knew from West Babylon, NY. I have mentioned her before and, unfortunately, have not been able to access her name from the rapidly deteriorating hard drive between my ears. I can, fortuitously, rescue a memory of her eyes.

We met while we were gainfully employed as taxi drivers. The money was terrible and the hour’s even worse, but it sufficed to pay a weekly rent and allowed for enough to enable the noble search all young men required in their quest for female companionship and whatever mind altering, mood changing substance essential to the discovery of true love.

The particular advantage to my spirit that this particular lady offered is that there was no need to wander the pubs and beaches in the execution of the marvelous mission. We got off at about 11:00 pm and the world was, literally, before us to unearth. Pub crawling was not necessary, and quite cumbersome to us as we crossed the threshold into the adventure of discerning if either of us might just be, THE ONE AND ONLY.

We would ride across the bridge across the Great South Bay and park out by the beach. We would lie on the hood of her car while watching the sky and the surf. We would talk about grand ideals, and listen to the FM station playing love songs. We would look deep into each other’s eyes before we embraced. We promised to wait for the gift of intimacy until there was no doubt that we had, in fact, uncovered THE ONE AND ONLY.

This pausing in the exercise of release that most young people in that period served as both a blessing, and a decided disadvantage. This was not something my Neanderthal mentality was properly adept at. I have visions of cavemen and the lack of romance required back in those days. I realize this is a racial memory, but in my misspent youth I was not the judicious and perceptive intellect you have all come to love and submit your time to. Today I can listen to “Here comes the Sun” by the Fab Four and reminisce of the women in my life I have loved. Back in the day, it was much more “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights” by Meatloaf. So why agree to this absurd abstinence?

It was her eyes.

I would look in them and feel safe. I would wonder why the only thing I really wanted to do was see the shine in those sky blue near translucent orbs lit by the moonlight bouncing off the water, and hear her soft voice telling me things I had never heard before. I never found an answer to my speculation.

It seemed as if God had sent an angel to me. She would smile and tell me goodnight when she dropped me off and my heart would ache until I got to work the next day. Then, right at about 11:05, Shangri La would once more open its gates and the rest of reality would evaporate in the face of the magnificent creature that God had allowed me to hang with.

The memory is still breathtaking, and it comes to me from time to time to, I believe, remind me that I am alive. There is much in life currently that is ugly, unpleasant, and foul. One thing that is not revolting is the memory of a love lost in time.

The reality of the time proved not as splendid as the memory. Summer turned into fall, and then winter. It became too cold to sit out by the beach unless we were extremely inebriated. An old boyfriend of hers moved back to town and wanted to rekindle old times. I picked up a decidedly exotic girl in my cab one night and discovered that adorable eyes existed in other woman. We drifted apart and marched on our individual ways. We never did discover the wonders of the flesh, but that was fine. Like I said…it was her eyes.

I love my eyes when u look into them;
I love my name when u say it;
I love my heart when u luv it;
I love my life when you are in it.
You know who you are.


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