CAMDEN — Part II of a three part series by Brenda Miles
Sherry slept over on Friday night and she helped ease the passing time. I had been in an out-of-worldly state since that afternoon in the gym when Morgan said he knew I would be at the Weiner roast tomorrow night. AND he’d asked to have a bite from my hot dog! It was the most personal thing he’d ever said to me.
Sherry and I gave each other manicures from the four-polish Revlon set I received at Christmas. I chose a light pink and she chose a rosy color. We looked through my stack of old Seventeen magazines until we found the copy that listed dating tips and possible subjects to mention on a first date.
While doing this, we listened to WNOE in New Orleans and WLS in Chicago. Good songs that put us in just the right mood for the following night. Pat Boone crooned “April Love” and Tab Hunter’s new single “Young Love” followed. It was a night of excitement and feverish anticipation. We finally climbed into bed just before 11:00.
Today, he had spoken to me! Teased, if you will. Would I share my hot dog with him?? You bet! Sometime after midnight I fell asleep with my face swathed in Noxzema, my hair freshly shampooed with Prell and wrapped tightly around brush rollers, and dreams of Morgan Dixon in my head…
Morning came, bright and cloudless, and Sherry and I took this to be a good sign. There were still a zillion things for us to do, greatest of which was deciding what to wear. Though we had talked about it all week, no decision had been made. We went to her house and scanned her closet first. Then we returned to my house to check every possibility in mine. After trying on all our favorite outfits, we went back to our original choices…I’d wear my new white pedal pushers and striped jersey and Sherry would wear the pink and white pedal pusher outfit she’d gotten for her last birthday.
Poor Sherry found a small pimple on her forehead that had appeared overnight despite the Noxzema. Although I assured her it would be hidden by her wispy bangs, she was still in a dither about it. After all, she’d only discovered it by using my magnifying mirror but insisted on applying a heavy coat of Clearasil against my advice. Fifteen minutes later it resembled a tiny hill covered by cracked clay. It made her feel better, though, so who was I to judge?
Shortly after five, we took our baths and began the “getting ready” process. We both carefully shaved underarms and legs and added bath powder and perfume to all “pulse points” just as it instructed in the teen magazines.
As the popular perfume Windsong promised, its scent “whispered our message” throughout the room and most of the upstairs hall. Next, the somewhat-plump-yet-flat-chested Sherry carefully folded half a box of Kleenex to stuff inside her bra. Since my own Maidenform was heavily padded, I decided against further enhancement.
We were dressed and waiting a half hour before it was time to leave and spent these minutes re-reading and practicing Seventeen’s “Tips on Clever Conversation.” Although I resolutely rehearsed all the phrases, I wondered if I would actually be granted the opportunity to use them. My brilliance usually comes after the fact when it’s too late to employ any witty come-backs that pop into my head.
My father was ‘taking’ and Sherry’s father was ‘picking up’ because I was spending the night at her house. We always took turns with sleep-overs. The clock struck the half hour and I gasped deep breaths and begged my crazy insides to behave as we headed out the door to join Daddy in the car.
We arrived at the Rogers’ at 7:45, having read it was important to be “fashionably late.” We found a large group already assembled, milling around the bonfire, talking loudly, laughing and teasing. Sherry and I noted we were two of only five freshmen allowed to join this hallowed group. After taking our offerings inside the kitchen, we huddled together to watch the excitement from a spot just outside the fire’s light. From this vantage point, I could study Morgan plying his skills as he added logs to the fire and stoked the growing flames. To be continued…
(Brenda Miles is an award-winning columnist and author living in Hot Springs Village and responds to all e-mail at [email protected].)