Love Stories. Today, a fifth episode of A Summer to Be Remembered by Bob Mitchell: She Loves Me and I Love Her. Enjoy your day, Yareah friends. Art is Everywhere!
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We could smell the cotton candy, open-flamed burgers, deep fried French fries, and grilled hotdogs. The boardwalk was flooded with merry-makers, young and not so young, occasionally calling to one another along with the shrieks and tumbling cars of the rides. We smiled and looked deeply into each other’s eyes. Her eyes were the color of a bright summer sky. Our lips couldn’t get enough of the other’s.
How long we huddled there has evaporated from my memory. But the next day we met to go to the beach. Hand in hand we dashed to the beach, frolicked a while in the sand and surf, but soon returned to our beach towels, she on hers and I on mine, extended end to end so that we faced each other and could hold hands across the edges of the towels.
As we held hands she asked innocently, “Bob, how old are you?”
“Twenty-one, I replied, a little too quickly, just having had a birthday. I blundered on about how complicated it was being a third year college student, but only a sophomore because of changing colleges and majors. As I talked she lowered her head. Wondering if I said something stupid, I abruptly stopped babbling about myself and asked her, “How old are you?”
She lifted her head with the dignity of a princess and looked me straight on the eyes,
What? My stomach knotted. Sweat beaded on my forehead as my insides froze. Everything started swirling around me. I was thinking about proposing to her—we loved all the same things, and she’s crazy about my voice, the first person to tell me how much she loved my singing. What a support she’d be!
Robert! For God’s sake, hold your horses! She’s still in high school—with two or three years to go. Are you crazy? She’s jail bait for you…
No! Stop it! How can you sully our love with such talk? She’s not bait… She’s… so young… so radiant… so charming… intelligent… beautiful… fun… and:
She taught me how to Kiss!
She loves me. I love her. What do I do now?
At that thought my central memory core crashed. I cannot remember anything about her after that beach incident other than that I wrote to her after she went home. I do not recall receiving an answer, but if I did, I would have destroyed it a year or two later after I married Joan. I agonize today about how I may have treated her after this revelation, and pray that I wasn’t mean to her, or insult her in any way. If there’s any blame, it’s mine. She loved me as much as I loved her.
More: Next Thursday. The End