Today I saw Mrs. Feldmeyer* at a family friend’s birthday. She was one of a handful of people at the party who have known me since my birth, so she will always be Mrs. Feldmeyer to me, and not “Donna” as she has asked me to call her time and again. And, to her, I will always be “Sandy Sue.” I gave her little 99-year-old body a gentle hug, though she assured me that she had no aches or pains.
Later I spotted her son, Fred, standing alone, holding his mother’s piece of cake as she was off chatting. When I came over to him, we hugged, and it was nothing like the careful hug I’d shared with Mrs. Feldmeyer. It was, shall we say, a durable hug, a resolute hug, a hug that counted.
Oh, to be held by a really tall man, a man who, at 70, has aged well, who looks put together in his creased khakis and crisp checked shirt, despite the little puddle of fat developing above his belt.
A man I was in love with for about three hours when I was 14 and, if I were to be honest, may still love, on some level.
And if I were to be honest, I always look forward to hugging Fred the couple times a year I see him at some family function or another.
I was glad when Fred hugged me that I was wearing a thin chiffon blouse and that I had less back fat than when I saw him last. And, if I were to be honest, I planned my outfit this morning for just this moment.
As the party was winding down, I sought out Fred, who was wading through the throngs of almost identical wool coats in search of his mom’s. We exchanged pleasantries, the how are yous? that mean nothing, the fine, yous? that obscure everything.
And then he said, “Keep losing weight. You look great!”
And I heard, “You are fat.” I wondered if he was making a then/now comparison, lithe teenage me as opposed to settled matron me.
You might think his comment would make me angry, but I figured he was just being stupid in the same way my husband and nearly all men are stupid, and that if Fred’s wife had been there, she would have elbowed him, but good. Most guys just don’t get what landmines remarks about weight are.
And instead of saying, “Yeah, keep working on that gut. You look great!” I tell him about my improved health and start reciting numbers: blood pressure, triglycerides, glucose, and such.
And he says, “That’s what it’s all about.”
Wow, is that really “all it’s about” these days?
I say goodbye, wish him and his family well, but as I walk away, I call out, over my shoulder, “Can you believe we’re talking about blood pressure?”
And then I time travel back to a snowy Sunday afternoon when Fred and I were together, and I wonder if Fred is ever, like me, transported back to my parents’ basement, making out on the Danish modern couch my mom had recently reupholstered in noisy orange vinyl.
A day, 52 years ago, when two virgins shared electric French kisses. Only kisses. My very first kisses. Kisses that made me feel like I never had before: a pulsing, hiccupping, backflipping sensation that left me breathless and startled and eager . . . and afraid my parents would find out.
The next day, on the school bus, in algebra class, at the library, I could harken back that feeling just by closing my eyes and replaying the kisses, creating a covert insurgency under my pleated mini-skirt.
I hope Fred remembers that day, that he thinks about it every once in a while, that day when we were both so very young, necking on a vinyl couch and discovering what all the fuss about. When it was definitely not about blood pressure.
And oh how I wish I could still be so easily turned inside out just by closing my eyes and remembering.
*Some names and details have been changed to protect the dignified middle-aged people who would rather not be reminded of their youthful indiscretions and their association with me.
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Oh my goodness, I love this – even down to the postscript. What a joy to read!
Thanks for all you have done to help me develop as a writer.
Thanks so much for reading and responding. I am glad you used the word “sweet,” which is the tone I was aiming for.
TIME TRAVEL…
Wow, your reminiscence is similar to the story lines in two of the Oscar nominated shorts we are showing next weekend (March 16 & 17) at Memorial Hall – http://www.cincyworldcinema.org/OS19.php. Memories, the ‘what was’ and ‘what if’ and electrifying, cherished and sometimes melancholy moments add richness to our lives. Thanks for writing this Sandy. Hope you, and your readers/friends, will join us.
Sounds great, but I will be out of town. Would love to see them. Thanks for reading and responding.
I love your writing. “Noisy orange vinyl,” “electric French kisses.” You have such a beautiful way with words. Thank you.
These kind words from such a talented writer just made my day. Thanks.
I was right back there…I mean, not “there” as in your basement but there. The wonderful passion of youth. Beautiful writing transports me every time
Thank you, friend.
There are so many levels to the writing but what grabbed me was about “stupid” comments husbands/ men can make and how It comes across.
On a positive note, there is a sweetness to first kisses and a longing for it as a mature (ha) woman. The exploration and wooing that is fresh and unexpected. Thanks for the stroll down memory lane.
On the subject of stupid comments: my husband, sympathizing with me about sitting next to a very large man on the plane, said it was hard for him, and he wasn’t the least broad beamed like I am! I don’t even think I bothered to roll my eyes.
Sometimes when I go back home I fantasize that I will run into one of my first boyfriends (one in particular). I probably will someday, but without the advantage of carefully choosing my outfit! I’ll probably look hideous! Of course your guy aged well–doesn’t that drive you nuts? I loved “creating a covert urgency under my pleated miniskirt.”
Thanks, Ellen. It is so funny that we want to look our best for someone who is nothing but a short memory now. Thanks for reading and responding.
We keep all those memories in our hearts as well as our minds. We keep replaying those meaningful times. Thanks for another trip down memory lane.
Thanks for making the journey with me.
This is absolutely the sweetest. I love it.
Thank you, Lori. I worked hard to try to make it sweet, not salacious. Your comment is very affirming.
Love, love, love the trip down memory lane!!!! Your blog/stories are so much fun to read!!
Thank you, Linda. Thanks for joining me on the journey.
Love this one, Sandy!
Your writing truly creates pictures and wonderful memories💕
Thank you, dear. It honors me that you read it and, in some way, connected with it.
I enjoy all of your pieces. Ready to compile them into a book? Please keep writing!