I remember the first time I saw her. I was stunned. She had hair that flowed like a tigress’s mane. She had a classic hourglass figure that wouldn’t quit. She had deep brown eyes that you could get lost in. And a musical voice that I could listen to all day. I was smitten. Her clothing was avant garde pop 80’s, and I would learn that she never wore the same outfit twice. I just had to have her.

She was way up in the socio-stratus of the school. I was the jeans and leather wearing fast car driving long haired dope smoking punk. I didn’t stand a chance I was told. Yet I had to have her. I made sure to sit next to her in classes and have conversations with her daily. At first she resisted, but soon she thawed. Finally I got the nerve up to ask her out on a date. I brought her a red rose from the garden, screwed up my verve and asked. She said yes. We went to Franchesco’s Hole in the Wall Italian restaurant for dinner, which was way out of my budget.

I picked her up in my two tone ’72 Chevy Impala, blue with one green door. The green door was a Christmas present the year before from my parents following my getting broadsided on Dundee Rd. The car had no real exhaust, so it was kinda hard to have a conversation while driving. She sat close to me, snuggled up for the 20-minute drive.

Note:

I published this piece way too early. I left way too much out. There was a whole lot more crazy that happened in that 10 months than I initially remembered. When I am done re-writing it I will re-post.

Scott- 11.22.25