Orange Crush

ORANGE CRUSH

Susan W. Hudson

Sandy and I sat on the grey rock-wall ledge that surrounded Rock Creek Park swimming pool. We scarfed down our creamsicles (“Dreamsicles,” as we called them), as fast as we could without suffering an ice cream headache. We savored every bite. 

These delicious treats were not widely available in grocery stores back then. Ice cream trucks had become popular, but not in rural North Carolina. We could always count on getting our treats at the little concession-stand at the park. 

We were brave, innocent, and rebellious. It was the summer of 1960, and we were rising-8th graders. Sandy had just turned 13 and I would have to wait until October to be a teen. We feared very little and anticipated a lot. But, when the heat began to steal our Dreamsicles, we licked our fingers and giggled.

Sandy and I lived close to each other, and the park was between our houses. As soon as summer came around and the public swimming pool opened for the summer, we started our (almost) daily ritual. 

We dialed each other up on our big black home telephones. I often had trouble because we were on a party-line, and our garrulous neighbor, Mrs. Baker, dominated the line with her inane gossip.  Sandy’s family had a “private” line. As soon as we connected, and finalized our plans, we hung up the phone, grabbed our towels, and started off on our walk to the park wearing our shorts and shirts over our swimsuits. We met in the middle and trudged down a steep, weedy, and rocky dirt path to the park.

We were oblivious to the dangers: copperheads who were prevalent in our neighborhood and were surely close by, untethered dogs who barked and growled at us, other unknown predators. We were young and free and headed for fun.

I came from a poor family. However, I always convinced Mama or Daddy to come up with the  25 cents for me to get into the pool and the 10 cents to get my creamsicle.  In the summer of 1960, our parents ponied up the money for us to take swimming lessons.  Sandy was a little taller than me and several months older. She had just turned 13, and in the fall, I would be a teenager too. She jumped right into the pool as directed by the instructor, and swam like a fish. I had ventured into the instruction area before and my toes barely touched the floor of the pool. I clambered gingerly down the wet metal steps in the shallow end of the pool, made my way over to the instructor. When it was my turn to “swim,” I floundered like a dying fish.

Sandy got better and better at swimming and graduated to the deep end. I ventured down there too but clung insecurely to the side of the pool. She learned to dive. She fiercely ran from the back of the board, spang on the end and left the diving board like a swan. I tried to dive; I slipped on the end of the board, fell and nearly broke my back when I hit the board on my way down. Ouch!

The summer Sandy turned 14 (I would remain just 13 until October) she had a beautiful white swimsuit that accentuated her “development.” I wore a navy blue one with a white stripe across the top that negated my “not-yet-development.” The boys at the pool began to try to impress Sandy with their prowess. One of the most rambunctious boys, trying to impress her, dragged me out away from the side of the pool and left me in the deep water. I knew it was swim or drown, so I swam back to the side of the pool. I soon discovered that I could dog paddle myself out of a bad situation and that I could float on my back until I dropped off to sleep. My swimming improved, but to this day, is ugly.

We returned to school for Freshman year in 1961. Sandy had grown an inch taller over summer, I was still the youngest and one of the smallest in our class. This was the year we would graduate from the “Elementary building” to the “High School building.” We both tried out for the cheerleading squad, and we were both awarded our cheerleading uniforms.

Our world changed that year. We were wrapped up in adjusting to our new schedules, the basketball team, and cheerleading practice. But, we still shared “girl secrets” and often shared our 45 rpm vinyl records. We loved many types of music. She had lots of records, and I had some. We loved the Everly Brothers, “Till I Kissed You,” The Drifters, “Save the Last Dance For Me,” Chubby Checkers, “The Twist,” and many more. My mama loved Elvis, and I think I got a glimpse of her one day dancing to “Hounddog.” I loved Roy Orbison’s, “Pretty Woman,” “and Paul Anka’s, “Puppy Love.” One of my favorites then and now is The Temptations, “Lady Soul.” We were so into boys and music. We waited impatiently for the basketball season to start so we could show off our new skills. Life was pretty good.

Fall flew by; just after I turned 14, I began to focus on one of the basketball players. He was just under six feet tall, olive-skinned with black eyes and the cutest crew cut hair. He was a Junior in high school and had a driver’s license.

One winter night after a basketball win at a competing school, I sat on the cold bus and saved him a seat. When we headed back to our home school and the bus finally warmed up, he put his arm around me. We chatted, and I still shivered. I was madly in love. He said he loved me too. He gave me a charm bracelet for Christmas. We attended his Junior and Senior proms together. I thought we would be a couple forever. 

When my boyfriend graduated from high school and headed for college, he broke up with me and broke my heart. I later married and brought two sons into the world. He married and fathered two sons. We met up for lunch many years later, reminisced, and parted. I realized that he was not the dream I had remembered all these years.

Sandy met and married the love of her life in our senior year. They had one boy and one girl and lived together for over 40 years until death took him from her. The last time I saw Sandy was at our 50th high school reunion. She was still beautiful. 

Our Dreamsicle days of summer will always be one of the best memories of my life. If I could recapture one near-perfect day from my childhood, it would be one of these in the early 1960s. I would be privileged to go to a private pool; invited guests only including, of course, Sandy. I would bring homemade creamsicles from my freezer, sandwiches made from my homemade pimento cheese, and my homemade fried green tomatoes.