CAMDEN — At first, a few games were played–nothing as childish as “Spin the Bottle” or “Post Office”–but fun games, nevertheless, that allowed a maximum amount of flirting and touching among the participants.
During one game, I was paired with Morgan and as we finished, he tugged my ponytail and reminded, “I’m still waiting to share that hotdog, Sharon!” I grinned back and nodded without speaking; again clever conversation evading me in time of need. He joined Chuck Miller back at the bonfire and seemed totally engrossed in his duties there.
Later...must have been around 9:00, Sherry and I were sitting with two sophomores making small talk and pretending parties like this were commonplace in our lonely Saturday nights. I was completely caught off guard when Morgan appeared and shoved one of the sophomores aside, amidst much giggling, and sat down beside me. He then leaned over and took a bite from the hotdog I was holding.
“Remember, you promised! So don’t be mad.” I blushed and wondered how I could possibly place my lips on that bite where his had been moments before. Then he destroyed all my sensibilities by grabbing my hand and pulling me from the picnic bench before announcing,
“C’mon, Sharon, Come help me gather more wood for the fire. We still have marshmallows to roast.” He led me away from the group and into the little glade that bordered the pond. We stumbled together over tall grasses and upturned stones searching for long twigs that were barely discernible in the almost total darkness. Of course, I would have gone to the ends of the earth with his warm hand to guide me. Finally, our arms were overflowing and we were headed back toward the bonfire and the sound of music and laughter. Someone’s radio blared Doggett’s “Honkey Tonk Part II” and I thought it sounded like a love song. Just before we entered the clearing bordering the party, he stopped abruptly and faced me. Had he seen a snake? Something else menacing in the night and was turning to protect me? In the next moment, he leaned in closer and a new expression crossed his face. He moved in even closer so I could actually feel his breath. WHY, HE IS ABOUT TO KISS ME! I realized.. I panicked in my naive immaturity. I uttered the first phrases that came to me...”Please, we don’t...we can’t...this isn’t....”
“Please, Sharon...let me...” and his voice was so hoarse I hardly recognized it.
I rushed from the thinning glade--leaving him standing there--back to the clearing, and, trembling, dropped the twigs by the fire. I then rushed over to Sherry who might lend some understanding to what had almost happened.
Morgan didn’t reappear at once and, when he did, he began laughing and talking loudly with his friends. He never even glanced in my direction. He stood next to Cindy Clark who welcomed his unexpected attention. She had already established herself as the star of the party; why not go for one more heart on her belt?
The following half hour seemed to limp by as I tried to make sense of my confused thoughts and to hold my tears at bay. Actually, it had grown later that I thought and the party was winding down. I continued to regret my frightened reaction to Morgan’s advances and was trying to sort out my feelings as others about me began cleaning up the site.
Someone had left a large jar of Frenches’ Mustard on the ground. Needing to do something with my trembling hands, I picked it up and carried it inside the Rogers’ screened porch on my way to their kitchen. As the screened door slapped behind me on its rusty hinges, I heard a movement to my left over by their outside freezer and my eyes darted there. It was Morgan and Cindy caught in a passionate embrace with both looking startled by my intrusion. I came to an abrupt stop with the door still slap-slapping behind me. Frozen in motion, the jar of mustard slipped from my trembling fingers and shattered on the concrete floor, splattering all its vivid yellow droplets all around me.
I fled the porch, letting the door slam behind me once more. Eyes blurred by fresh tears, I somehow reached Sherry through the sea of curious, questioning faces. My audience had indeed been present for my big moment, just as I had dreamed. But the ending of the story was all wrong. My moment of triumph turned to shame.
Later in the car, Sherry assured me no one guessed what had happened to make me cry and that the mustard stains would wash out of my new white pedal pushers. Still, I cried softly all the way to her house and continued to rub at the bright yellow splatters that stained my new pants and shoes.
That night, Sherry and I didn’t talk much. We went straight to bed. As always, her bedside radio played quietly. Johnny Mathis began to sing“Wonderful, Wonderful.” That night, as I lay beside a softly snoring Sherry, I listened to the lyrics, digesting them in my head. Someday, my own true love would come. That night Jon Howard was ‘born’ in my imagination. I named him from a novel I’d just finished. Someday, “Jon” would be there for me throughout every difficult time. He would remain by my side always just as the song said...“Some quiet evening I sit by your side/and we’re lost in a world of our own/I feel the glow of your unspoken love/I’m aware of the treasure that I own/And I say to myself it’s wonderful, wonderful, oh so wonderful, My Love.” Yes, Jon would always know the right thing to say and do. And he would stay beside me. I just had to wait for him.
(Brenda miles is an award-winning columnist and author living in hot Springs Village. She responds to all comments at [email protected].)