ABOUT THAT SUMMER

The old man sat in the sunshine, reminiscing. He remembered when he was young, growing up in the 1960’s - a time so different from today. Somehow more innocent, more open, despite the things going on around them – the Vietnam war, racism, the fight for women’s rights. He had gone to school, had friends, taken part in sports (though he had not been very good at them – he was the studious type). Looking back, he realised he was what would now be called a nerd – the word didn’t exist back then. Skinny – he had shot up in height but hadn’t gained the bulk and muscles he was hoping for.

He had met a girl when he was seventeen, one of those glorious summers when everything seemed warm and bright. Afternoons at the beach, the blindingly brilliant white sand reflecting the sun into his eyes, making him shade them with his hand. The girl in a miniscule red bikini, her long blonde hair dark and lanky with the seawater, smiling at him, gleaming white teeth in a golden tanned face. Gloria, the beautiful Gloria. He’d lost his heart that summer. They’d spent the whole summer together, holding hands in the sunshine as they walked along the beach, the hot sand burning their feet. They swam in the blue-green white-capped surf, him playing the fool to make her laugh. Looking back he could not remember that it had ever rained or that there had ever been grey skies that summer.

They had met when he collided with her in the street. He’d been daydreaming as usual – he had no idea what he’d been thinking of at the time, probably nothing in particular. Certainly he hadn’t been looking where he was going. She’d been carrying some packages and they’d fallen to the ground, scattered everywhere. He apologised profusely and tried in his awkward way to help her pick them up. And she had smiled at him – such a smile – warm, amused, friendly. He’d lost his heart at that moment. He’d heard about love at first sight but thought it was just something writers had made up. Now he knew different. He was making ready to walk away – he knew he had no chance with a girl as beautiful as that – when she said ‘Well, you’ve helped me pick up my packages, but I think you at least owe me a sundae for colliding with me.’ And that smile again. He hadn’t known what to say, but she had spoken for him. ‘I know a place just around the corner. It’s nice.’ And of course he’d gone with her, and bought her a sundae. Strawberry, it was. He’d had chocolate. And they’d talked. For the rest of the afternoon. And then she’d had to go. He was about to let her leave when she said – ‘Well, aren’t you going to walk me home?’ He nearly fell over himself in his eagerness.

From that day on they met often. They spent times in a small café talking – about life and music and the world. They both loved the Beatles (of course – everybody did) and the Beach Boys and the Animals – and Bob Dylan. She was as much a fan as he was, both of them blown away by his talent and his message. They were both worried about the Vietnam war – they believed it was wrong to force young men to go and die in a war so far away. And it affected them personally - he was likely to be conscripted, and she had brothers who were eligible. They both read voraciously, and discussed literature at length, arguing and laughing together. And they were both frightened – a nuclear war seemed so likely, a war in which for the first time in history, all life on Earth would die. Not if, but when. There were enough nuclear weapons to wipe out all life on Earth several times over. Sometimes she would cling to him in fear. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen to us.’

But the sun shone and life went on. Perhaps it would never happen. Perhaps good sense would prevail, though when they looked at what was happening in the world they doubted it. Their time on the beach, their time together, was overlain with a fear, buried deep, that they needed to enjoy life while they could because they could never be sure how much of it they were going to get.

He was tall and thin – skinny, in fact – and he disliked stripping down to his trunks and exposing his scrawny chest. He used to joke – ‘I’m the original 96-pound weakling!’ but he was embarrassed when he compared himself with the other young men on the beach. But somehow she didn’t care. They spent golden days together. They went to a beach concert, sitting on the sand, hand in hand, listening to a second-rate band playing covers of famous hit-parade songs. They loved it. They kissed for the first time, and it was as if they’d been together forever. They went dancing and were together the whole evening. He bought her sundaes – always strawberry - they were too young to drink alcohol, and anyway he didn’t want to spoil anything by getting drunk. They walked home in the dark, a crescent moon above them with a bright star near it, that seemed to be some kind of omen. ‘That’s our star,’ she said. ‘It’s so beautiful – it must mean something about us – that we’re meant to be together.’ He couldn’t help but agree.

‘Marry me,’ he said one night. ‘Marry me. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’

‘Don’t you think we’re a little young?’ she said. ‘We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us.’

‘I don’t care. If we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, I want to spend them together.’

‘I don’t know. I love you too. But we hardly know each other.’

‘We’ve got the rest of our lives for that. I want to get to know you. I want to find out everything about you – what you like, what you don’t like, your favourite foods, clothes, everything. What you think about, what’s important to you. Everything.’

‘I can’t answer you now. This is all very sudden. I need time to think.’

Then came the terrible, terrible argument. Angry, bitter, hurtful words from both of them. He couldn’t remember what it had even been about. Something silly, unimportant. But suddenly everything was wrong between them. She stormed off in tears. ‘I never want to see you again! Stay away from me! Don’t come around any more! I hate you!’ His heart was broken. At the age of seventeen, his world had come to an end.

*************************************************************************

‘You look very thoughtful, honey. What’s going through that head of yours? You haven’t forgotten Martin and Chloe are coming over this afternoon with the grandkids, have you?’

‘No, I’m getting up in a moment and put on some decent clothes. I was just sitting here thinking about that summer when we met. Do you remember that terrible argument?’

‘How could I forget it! I was so upset and angry! I never wanted to see you again! But looking back on it I can’t even remember what it was about.’

‘Neither can I. All I know is that it nearly destroyed me. I was so in love with you. I thought my life had ended.’

‘And we both sat at home, devastated. I was so sorry for what I’d said. I thought I’d lost you.’

‘And so was I. And I didn’t know what to do.’

‘And then we bumped into each other in the street. And we both wanted to be the first to apologise.’

‘Yes. And here we are, after all those years. I do love you, you know. I always have.’

‘Yes, I know. And I love you. I always will.’ A touch of moisture in her eye. ‘Well, this isn’t getting us anywhere. I need to get something ready to feed the kids.’

‘I’ll help. Anything you especially need?’

‘No, you go and get changed. They’ll be here soon.’ She smiled, gently stroked his head. ‘It’s been good, hasn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes. Better than I could ever have imagined. You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’

‘Get away with you!’ she laughed. ‘We’ll be late!’ But she smiled as she walked to the kitchen.