I am fast approaching my birthday. On the eighteenth of June, I will have inhabited a place on this earth for forty-eight years. It occurs to me that this is just under a half century. I have issues with that!
I have noticed for the past several years that I get nostalgic just before the big day. This year, I have been downright emotional! Today has been particularly tough, dealing not only with my own insecurities, but those of a loved one, as well. I find that women are easier than men to discuss these matters of the heart with. It could be that men never allow themselves to feel what women do. In a rare instance, a guy can be found who is "weird" enough to get it, to know that place deep inside of a woman where true passion lies, and he is not afraid to open himself to it.
I feel like I am speaking in riddles. Bear with me...indulge me...while I remember Darin.
He was seventeen and I was barely one year older. We were high school friends, it was summer, and I was coming fresh off a broken heart.
It started out innocently enough. He and I drove my parents' car through the countryside one day, as he tried to cheer me up. At dusk, we pulled in to a farm field to watch the sun go down. Lying on the hood of the car, we continued to talk as stars came out and the moon rose. The smell of fresh hay was on the cool night air. A few chirping bugs and a rock ballad on the car radio were the only sounds, aside from our voices.
I do not recall exactly when he put his arm around me. I simply know I turned, looked in to his eyes and we kissed. It was soft at first, then hungry and hard, as though we could force my hurt away by devouring each other's mouths. It was the beginning of a summer long affair, one I have occasionally looked back on with secret delight.
Today, however, more memories of him flooded my mind-and I let them flow freely.
His hair was blond, eyes baby blue. His smooth dark skin covered a very nice build. He played football and swam, and had the stamina to show for it. In a pair of tight Levi's, he looked like a seventeen year old Greek god, Iowa style!
His mother would go uptown almost daily, with his younger siblings. That left the house to Darin and myself. On these afternoons, we would ascend the stairs to his bedroom and put on some music, usually The Cars. We would talk, of course, but before long, we were unashamedly naked and embracing. The heat from the attached garage roof made the room about ninety degrees, and we took it higher from there. God, it was glorious!
When we were spent, sweating and breathless, Darin would draw a cool bath for me. I would lie in the tub while he gently washed my body and lathered my hair. He would then towel off every inch of my tan skin and lead me back to the bedroom. There, he would gently brush and dry my hair, as I soaked up the touch of his hands, once again.
Dressed and refreshed by the time his mama got home, she was none the wiser. Just two good friends talking the afternoon away and listening to some music....
That was nearly thirty years ago. Whatever happened to him after that summer, I do not know. He moved and I never heard from him again. A blip in my history, yet one that I finally found an equivalent to. This one stayed, married me, and fathered our three children. Darin may have first shown me what passion was, but Andy fulfilled it, and still does.
To find this once is a blessing. To find it again-forever-is indeed a rarity, something to be cherished and relished, delighted in and renewed as often as possible.
Yes, birthday number forty-eight is coming, but I can still see seventeen.
Strawberry Wine,,,seventeen....
I have noticed for the past several years that I get nostalgic just before the big day. This year, I have been downright emotional! Today has been particularly tough, dealing not only with my own insecurities, but those of a loved one, as well. I find that women are easier than men to discuss these matters of the heart with. It could be that men never allow themselves to feel what women do. In a rare instance, a guy can be found who is "weird" enough to get it, to know that place deep inside of a woman where true passion lies, and he is not afraid to open himself to it.
I feel like I am speaking in riddles. Bear with me...indulge me...while I remember Darin.
He was seventeen and I was barely one year older. We were high school friends, it was summer, and I was coming fresh off a broken heart.
It started out innocently enough. He and I drove my parents' car through the countryside one day, as he tried to cheer me up. At dusk, we pulled in to a farm field to watch the sun go down. Lying on the hood of the car, we continued to talk as stars came out and the moon rose. The smell of fresh hay was on the cool night air. A few chirping bugs and a rock ballad on the car radio were the only sounds, aside from our voices.
I do not recall exactly when he put his arm around me. I simply know I turned, looked in to his eyes and we kissed. It was soft at first, then hungry and hard, as though we could force my hurt away by devouring each other's mouths. It was the beginning of a summer long affair, one I have occasionally looked back on with secret delight.
Today, however, more memories of him flooded my mind-and I let them flow freely.
His hair was blond, eyes baby blue. His smooth dark skin covered a very nice build. He played football and swam, and had the stamina to show for it. In a pair of tight Levi's, he looked like a seventeen year old Greek god, Iowa style!
His mother would go uptown almost daily, with his younger siblings. That left the house to Darin and myself. On these afternoons, we would ascend the stairs to his bedroom and put on some music, usually The Cars. We would talk, of course, but before long, we were unashamedly naked and embracing. The heat from the attached garage roof made the room about ninety degrees, and we took it higher from there. God, it was glorious!
When we were spent, sweating and breathless, Darin would draw a cool bath for me. I would lie in the tub while he gently washed my body and lathered my hair. He would then towel off every inch of my tan skin and lead me back to the bedroom. There, he would gently brush and dry my hair, as I soaked up the touch of his hands, once again.
Dressed and refreshed by the time his mama got home, she was none the wiser. Just two good friends talking the afternoon away and listening to some music....
That was nearly thirty years ago. Whatever happened to him after that summer, I do not know. He moved and I never heard from him again. A blip in my history, yet one that I finally found an equivalent to. This one stayed, married me, and fathered our three children. Darin may have first shown me what passion was, but Andy fulfilled it, and still does.
To find this once is a blessing. To find it again-forever-is indeed a rarity, something to be cherished and relished, delighted in and renewed as often as possible.
Yes, birthday number forty-eight is coming, but I can still see seventeen.
Strawberry Wine,,,seventeen....
