We all have that moment in time when life as we knew it changes. Mine was a Saturday night dance at Waymart High School that I learned about from a two line ad in the Wayne Independent classifieds. I believe it was a Valentines Dance that was rescheduled due to a snowstorm the week before. I hadn't really planned to go, I just thought it was interesting as my high school never had dances due to something that happened before my time.
I had planned to spend that night as I did most Saturday nights, go to Tony's, the local teen hangout and check out the action, maybe take in a movie, then get home before my drivers license turned into a pumpkin at midnight. As I was heading into town, I saw an old friend I hadn't seen in a year driving toward me, so we both pulled into the bowling alley parking lot and we decided to do something together. I mentioned that I had seen an ad about the dance at Waymart and we decided that was something to do. I left my car there as he had a beautiful '63 Thunderbird Convertible and was more fun to ride in than my '61 Plymouth 4 door sedan.
While I was hanging up my coat, my eyes locked onto the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her eyes pierced the very soul, her smile could melt the polar icecaps, and I knew then and there that there was such a thing as love at first sight. It was one of those rare feelings that even after a few minutes, I felt I had known her all my life.
I remember that the snow had brought the typical February deep freeze and the temperatures were close to zero, but even in just my shirt sleeves, I didn't feel the cold as we went outside so I could have a cigarette and talk without the sound of a bass drum pounding through the small auditorium. We made plans to go out the following Saturday, and said goodnight.
I had met up with another friend at the dance, and that turned out to be the day his life changed, although it took a bit longer.
The next two and a half years we were inseparable but as often happens, we drifted apart and one day we had the last goodbye. I walked away quietly, maybe too quietly. I never took goodbyes well and still don't.
It was the hardest thing I had ever done, but I knew it was best for her. That began a sharp turn on the road of life that took me places I never thought I would go, to accomplish things that I never knew I was capable of. I got to see some of the most beautiful places that God created. The cathedrals that man created for God. I got to walk the same streets walked by Shakespeare, Goethe, and Michaelangelo. Even had the thrill of sitting in a Tokyo nightclub listining to a Japanese band butcher "The Gleen, Gleen Glass of Home"
All that because of a dance I didn't plan to go to, a girl I doubt I would ever meet, and the need to run from ghosts that haunted every street we used to travel, the places we'd go, the things we'd planned. The white picket fence, the 2.5 kids, working the same uninspiring job until I retired. The lyrics "Big Dreams In A Small Town" pretty much fits the dilemma.
Memories are like old toys stored in the attic. You take them out and play with them for awhile and then put them away for another time. I have so many wonderful memories of that time, maybe more so than any other period of my life, possibly because, as we all know, life happens and we don't have as much time to savor the great moments. You check off your hopes and dreams as the years go by until you reach the point where the only hope you have is being able to remember your own name, or which of the 20 pills you need to take to survive. Thankfully I'm a long way from there, but dreams do run dry.
I don't know how many times February 18th fell on a Saturday in the past 45 years. I can say not very many, probably as few as 3. But it is a bitter sweet anniversary where what is and what could have been, clash head on and either outcome would have been OK. I've seen all I wanted to see, but there were many times as I stood on the banks of the Thames and looked at the Houses of Parliament, or gazed in wonder at the beauty and majesty of the Alps, or stood in St. Marks square in Venice, or climbed to the top of the spire of the cathedral in Strasbourg, that she could have shared it too. It was an amazing time in my life and also sometimes very empty. And a time of great conflict with myself.
So, when Saturday, February 18 passes, I'll once again put my toys back in the attic, maybe forever as this will be the last time, in my lifetime, that the 18th falls on a Saturday.
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