Chapter Two - That First Inkling

CHAPTER TWO

The Early Encounters
That First (?) Inkling
Those First Dates; Our Shyness Overcome

         That next morning I couldn’t wait to get to school. Don’t get me wrong – I enjoyed school anyway. OK, so that sounds weird, especially for a 17-year-old, but I did. It’s just that now I had an additional reason to go.
         In the days that followed, I watched eagerly as I passed through the halls at class changes, hoping each time for another glimpse of that wonderful, newfound friend that entered my life the Tuesday before. Being on cloud nine, I just couldn’t see how I could overlook her that often in the hall, even if there were 350 other kids running around. Then again, by the same token, spotting her just once was enough to keep me going all day. And I always knew I’d see her at least once before each day was over. We always had one class together - the last one – orchestra. On the rare days she wasn’t in Orchestra class I found myself getting immediately concerned after thinking the worst. I felt as if a piece of myself was missing. It felt strange to feel that deeply about someone I’d met only days before, and I couldn’t explain why I felt that way. I only knew that I did; and it was a very real feeling. I noticed very quickly, too, that I felt very comfortable with that feeling and didn’t want anything to take it away.
         And on all the days she WAS in Orchestra, talk about a way to end your day: sitting directly opposite the one who holds your heart, without interruption for 50 solid minutes. Other than listening to and watching the conductor, that is. I suddenly found it extremely difficult to concentrate on the music instead of a certain musician. Thank goodness for the standard instrument placement in an orchestra: the Concertmistress in the front row, outside seat on one side of the podium, the first chair cello in the second row, outside seat on the other side of the podium, with only one of the viola players between myself and that podium. And since I had to look in front of me to read the music on the stand before me, frequently looking over top of the music to take in another beautiful sight was no problem at all. (A short “FYI” for those of you not familiar with orchestral protocol: the Concertmistress is the lead violin player, and also the second fiddle (pun intended – smile) in authority to the Conductor. If a male holds the chair, the title is Concertmeister or Concertmaster).
         Every possible day that I was able to finish my last trip to the locker fast enough (it and the rehearsal area were on opposite ends of the building), I walked her out to her school bus before I walked out front where mom would pick me up. The ride on the busses tended to make me a little carsick so I had asked mom some time ago to do this for me. Naturally, as overprotective as she was, she was only too happy to oblige. Only if Linda and I rode the same bus would the carsickness have been worth it.
         To my delight there were a few rare days when Linda would legitimately miss her bus in the afternoons. With mom picking me up anyway, we just gave her a lift home on those days. But one particular Friday turned out to be a little more eventful than other days, and certainly not what two shy, quiet teenagers were prepared for. That afternoon we waited outside the front of the school as usual, watching for my mom’s big two-tone green, 2-door 1956 Chrysler New Yorker. “The tank” as she often referred to it. Only this time, my dad’s white, 1964 Rambler station wagon pulls up. We walked up to the passenger side. I stepped up and opened the door.
         “Hi. Linda missed her bus again.”
         “I don’t know where she can sit, Jim. We just came from Norwood and there’s no room unless she sits on your lap. We’ve got the rear section full of cargo.”
         I’d noticed the materials and tools in the back as I’d opened the door. They’d been working at their rental property again. What hadn’t fully registered, until dad’s comment, was that the rear seat was folded down to accommodate the stuff. I jumped at the chance. “Okay, Linda? I guess you don’t really have much choice, though, do you?”
         “I don’t mind. Really,” she said, an excited, pleasant smile slowly creeping across her shy face.
         Mom moved to the center of the seat. I seated myself comfortably and Linda carefully seated herself squarely in my lap, bracing herself against the dashboard with her hands. I gave a feeble excuse for doing so, and placed my hands at her waist to steady her. “I sure hope she doesn’t mind my holding her like this,” I thought silently, almost feeling a little guilty for enjoying it so much.
         “I wonder why he doesn’t just put his arms around me,” Linda thought to herself. “Maybe he will if I lean back and show him I trust him.”
         As we rode, she trusted my hold and leaned back a little. I could tell we both enjoyed the ride tremendously and that each of us was quite disappointed when it came to an end in front of her house a few short minutes later.
         I sat there all the way home trying to remember how it felt when she sat there on my lap, and figure out where I got the courage to put my hands around her waist. Even when I reached my room, that ride was all I could think about. And I couldn’t wait for some similar opportunity to come along so I’d have another reason to hold her. When I went to bed that night, the same thoughts were still on my mind. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to drift off to sleep.

         “You won’t believe this,“ Linda said, bubbling. “I rode all the way home from school on Jim’s lap!”
         “Slow down, girl,” her father chuckled as they sat at the dinner table that evening (they had just finished). “He’s supposed to chase you, remember?”
         “Yeah, I know,” she blushed, a little embarrassed. “It’s just that this time there was no where else TO sit. The back seat was full,” she explained, still bubbling at the thought of that ride and how she’d enjoyed every minute of it.
         “Let me guess,” her mom continued, “he put his arms around you. Right?”
         “Not quite, mom. I kind of wish he had. He put his hands on my waist to steady me, and I think he was kind of hesitant about that at first. So I let go of the dashboard and leaned back to let him know I didn’t mind his hands being there. But he never did put his arms around me.”
         “I’m thinking he’s as nervous about all this as you are, honey. Just give it some time. OK?”
         “I’ll try, mom, but it’s not easy. I’m just now finding out what all these feelings are like when other girls have known for years. And I like it.”
         “I know, sweetheart, but you don’t want to move too fast; if he’s as shy as you are you could make him nervous about saying things or even doing things like putting his arm around you. Try to wait for him to make the moves, honey.”
         “Right, mom,” Linda said, feeling only slightly more at ease about the way things were going with Jim. “I do wish he’d do something, though. It wouldn’t have to be much. I just want to know what it feels like when he gets a little affectionate."

         I had been able to persuade my parents to let me drive myself to and from succeeding orchestra rehearsals. This had been the case ever since the Tuesday night we gave Linda that first ride home. I’d had the car myself the very next Tuesday; and, needless to say, I provided Linda’s transportation as well.
         Before two weeks had passed from that day, I was invited to Linda’s home one Saturday to meet her family and play some pool. Eagerly I agreed. Not only was I certainly eager to play pool after an absence of years, but it also gave me still another chance to be with this wonderful girl, and for longer than just a few fleeting moments, which is all we had had up to that time.
         Naturally, Linda answered the door when I arrived. She took my hand and led me, rather proudly, down to the family room of their split-level home to just as proudly introduce me to the rest of the family.
         “Well, Squeek, who’s this young man?”
         “Dad, this is Jim Williamson. Jim, this is my dad, George Hart.”
         “How do you do, sir?”
         “Just fine, Jim. How are you doing today?”
         “A little nervous, but other than that I’m OK,” I said, wondering how easy it was going to be to make conversation. He seemed nice enough, though. Easygoing manner. That let me relax just a little, which felt good.
         As our conversation continued, I found out that George was an engineer at a local electronics facility. He struck me as a very warm person, and so did her mother Virginia, who was strictly a housewife now, and her younger sister Marcia who was in the 5th grade. Linda then said that her older sister, Suzanne (Suzie) was married and no longer living at home. (Before long it would become openly obvious to me that they were indeed a warm, caring, close-knit family. Not to mention how fortunate Linda was to be a part of it. I would find myself wishing, as time passed, that my family had been like that.)
         I noticed that George walked with an openly noticeable limp, and that his right leg appeared to be shorter than his left. When he was standing his right foot was always on the toes, his heel in the air. (Linda would tell me later that his right leg is about 3 inches shorter than his left one as a result of having scarlet fever as a child.)
         "Jim,” said her father, smiling, “I should tell you that Linda happens to be my ‘mid-dle-aged’ daughter.”
         “Dad, please,” Linda said, also smiling, and looking a little embarrassed.
         That one took me a minute but I think I figured it out. I didn’t get the chance to say anything, though, as her dad chimed right back in, still smiling.
         “Well, you are, Squeek. Suzie’s older than you, and Cork’s younger. That puts you in the middle. So, you’re my ‘middle-aged’ daughter.”
         “I like that,” I said, smiling at it myself.
         “You would!” Linda laughed.
         “Jim, would you like to know why we call her ‘Squeek’?” her father asked.
         “Yes I would, sir,” I admitted. “I’ve been wondering about that the last few minutes.”
         “I thought so,“ he said, smiling. "I saw that puzzled look on your face when I called her that. As a youngster, about 2 or so, her laugh was more like a squeaking sound rather than a chuckle or a belly laugh. The harder she’d laugh, the worse the squeaking sound. Sometimes after she’d laugh we’d call her ‘Squeek’, and the name just stuck with her.”
         “I’ve gotten to like it,” Linda admitted. “It’s kind of an affectionate name now,” she added, looking warmly at her dad.
         “That it is, honey,” he said as he returned that look. “For all of us.”
         Linda told me, later on, why they’d started calling Marcia “Cork”. Seems as a younger child, whenever she was responding favorably to something they said and she was really enthusiastic about it, she didn’t just nod her head “yes”, it would go up and down at such a rapid pace that it looked like a piece of cork bobbing in water.

         Later, as the two of us became involved in our first game, a sudden impulse made itself apparent to me; and as shy as I was, I found it far too strong for me. I was unable to fight it. Nervously, I turned to her.
         “Linda, considering the way we seem to have so much in common, and the way we certainly enjoy each other’s company, could it be… that… we’re in love?” I waited, just as nervously, hoping I hadn’t blown everything with that single question.
         “I don’t know for sure,“ she said, smiling sheepishly, yet with a twinkle in her eye. “It could be, I guess.” She thought to herself, “Boy! Took you long enough, didn’t it? Well, dad, we’re off and running. I’m glad I listened to you, but that waiting was the toughest thing I’ve ever done. But I guess I should remember that he doesn’t even know how I fell for him way back when the rehearsals first started. Anyhow, thanks for being there, dad!”
         “At least she didn’t say ‘no’,” I thought to myself. “With both of us this shy it could take forever. She’s making me work for it and doesn’t even know it." “I love you, Linda,” I said quietly but firmly, looking her right in the eye. It felt good to say what I’d been feeling all this time.
         “I love you, too, Jim,” she said, the grin running ear to ear by now, as the pink glow of embarrassment slowly made itself apparent on her face.
         On that note, we spent the next few hours in friendly competition, ending the match shortly before suppertime. As I left, I somehow knew that we were both on top of the world and that we would be for quite some time.
         “He finally got around to asking me if I thought we could be in love,” Linda proudly announced that evening as they sat in the family room.
         “And what did you say?” mom inquired.
         “Oh, I just said ‘It could be, I guess’. But it sure was hard not to let on any more than that!” She smiled at her mother. “Are you sure this is the way it works?” she asked; though she already knew the answer.
         “Yes, that’s how it works, “ her mom reassured her. “I caught your father, didn’t I?”
         “Right,” Linda chuckled as her dad gave her a nasty look with a twinkle in his eye.
         “And as soon as I said that, he looked right at me and told me he loves me!” she said excitedly.
         “And??” her mom asked, obviously wanting to know what happened next, and knowing full well that her tone would lovingly lift Linda’s spirits even further.
         “And, Linda resumed, blushing, “I could barely look at him, but I did, and I told him I love him, too.” She shivered with joy at the reflection. “And it felt really good to say it!”
         “Honey, I can tell your feelings are very strong,” said dad, warmly. “Does that bother you?”
         “Yes, a little,” she admitted. “Because I am falling deeply in love with him,” Linda continued seriously. “And it’s a feeling I’ve never had before. I don’t know how easy it’s going to be to handle it.”
         Her father walked over and sat beside her. “Don’t know whether you’re coming or going, do you, Squeek?”
         “No, I don’t,” she said, obviously a little frightened. “One minute I’m on top of the world and the next I don’t know what to do. I just hope his love for me is as deep as mine is becoming for him. But… that could change too.” He put his arm around her. “And thanks for seeing to it that we had that time alone together, so soon, and for trusting me to handle it. It meant everything.”
         “Glad to do it, honey. We figured you’d want it that way, and it was also a chance to show how much we do trust you.” They exchanged hugs and a kiss. Soon, she hugged him again, said goodnight, and went off to bed.

         I don’t have any idea which of us won the match that day. By the time I left, I didn’t care about that. I’d won a much bigger victory: over my initial shyness, and in winning the love of my life. But the real challenges were yet to come.

         The performances for South Pacific were scheduled for the last weekend in March, on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Monday nights: the 24th, 25th, 26th and 28th. Naturally, I drove to the performances and provided Linda's transportation.
         At the last few rehearsals, everyone in the musical had been making a fuss over the coming cast party, which was to take place following the Saturday night show.
         The last week or so from that time to the performances went fairly quickly, with school, rehearsals and homework. My problem was, I was eager to get to the performances, but at the same time I didn’t want the time to rush away because the remaining rehearsals were great times to see Linda, and I wanted all those I could get.
The dress rehearsal, that Tuesday night, was a real joy. We went through the entire performance without stopping, and I’d been waiting for that for a long time. I enjoyed every minute of that, and was very sure I’d feel the same about the performances to come. I started feeling as if I didn’t want the show to end after just the four nights that lie ahead.
         Thursday. Opening night. As always, I provided Linda’s transportation. We arrived at the school about 7:15 P.M. The performance was to start at 8:00, but that really wasn’t as much time to us as it may have seemed to our families, and others. Last minute preparation, such as tuning our instruments, replacing any broken strings, checking all the light bulbs on our music stands in the pit, and other “little” details, ate that time up quite rapidly.
We filed into the pit from both sides of the auditorium in a flawless procession at 7:50 P.M. and the curtain went up right on time.

         By the time that first show was over, I had had tears in my eyes for some time. It’s a good thing my instrument wasn’t in the woodwind or brass sections, where you use your mouth to drive the instrument; as emotional as I’d become it would have been impossible for me to keep playing. I’ve always been a sucker for really, really great harmonies in music, whether instrumental, vocal or a combination. And that show had some really great ones in all three categories. And being a part of that sound that was coming back to my ears for 2 hours or so really got to me. I had said it that Tuesday, and on this night I knew I meant it: I didn’t want the shows to end. And now, Linda’s presence in my life was the primary reason, but it was no longer the only one.
         That first curtain call came. As great as it had all sounded to us, the audience applauded enthusiastically, but remained seated. So much for my naïve hope for four straight standing ovations.
         I had always been too nervous and shy to ask a girl out, and found myself moreso now, owing to the special feeling I held for this particular girl. But finally, after many agonizing minutes of courage building, the words came. Linda and I had stopped to talk for a moment as we put away our instruments before beginning the ride home. I hastily placed the cover over my cello and the instrument in its rack, after which I eagerly waited at her side while she carefully put away her violin. As in the past, she then turned toward the door to begin the walk to the car. I placed my hand on her shoulder, restraining her for one fleeting moment, to make good use of that courage I had acquired with such difficulty a few short minutes before.
         “Linda,” I said quickly to commit myself as I searched for the words, “would you go to the cast party with me Saturday night?”
         “I’d love to,” she said happily, trying to keep herself from appearing over zealous. She found that last task quite difficult. So it was settled.
         Word spread like wildfire through the student grapevine that Linda had a date for the cast party. Between classes Friday, someone came up to me and said, “I hear you’re going to the cast party with ‘Roach’.”
         I’d heard that name off and on throughout the year, but never quite knew whom they were talking about. Now I did. I had wondered what they were referring to, and now that I knew, and I also knew what she was really like, and how we now felt about each other, I didn’t like the attitude he had. “Yes, I am,” I said firmly. “What about it?” The guy didn’t say anything; just walked away; surprised at my reaction, I think. My attention to her was starting to cramp their style. I couldn’t help but smile; I loved the thought. But at the same time I found myself wondering why it was that (seemingly) everyone in school except for me kept putting her down every time they had a chance. And why that awful nickname? Oh, well, whatever the reason, they shouldn’t do it, so it was kind of nice to know I gave them a mental hotfoot.

         Friday night’s performance was also an excellent achievement, and this time the audience agreed. The grins on stage and in the pit were ear-to-ear as we looked out over that packed house of people on their feet.
         “That’s one (standing ovation),” I said to myself, smiling inside as I left the pit moments later, with Linda right behind me. It was also the biggest part of our conversation as I drove her home that night.

         Saturday. The show, then the cast party. I was so eager that day for the time to come when I’d have to leave to pick her up for the ride to school, and so nervous about the cast party, that I have no recollection now of anything else I actually did that day. Probably because nothing else mattered. As it turned out, I could have avoided putting myself through all that “torture”. But try and tell that to a 17-year-old who’s in the midst of two totally new and wonderful experiences at the same time. I enjoyed the performances so much that I could have gone on with them forever. But not that night. In a new way I couldn’t wait for the final curtain to fall.
         The evening went like clockwork. Preparation. The time we reached the pit. The matchless perfection in timing between the pit and the stage. And our second standing ovation. The final curtain came. Eagerly I hurried to put my instrument away so we could be the first to enter the cafeteria for the party.
         In the crowd of hustling orchestra members emerging from the pit, I had lost sight of Linda. In an effort to remedy that situation, I began a search for her after putting my cello away. She was not in the pit, nor the rehearsal room. There was no sign of her in Mr. Wilson's office or the music library either, though what she could want in there this time of night I really had no idea.
         Immediately after a fruitless search of those areas, I moved hastily to a door at the far end of the rehearsal room leading to a small coat rack alcove, and from there, through another door back to the main hallway of the music wing. The alcove was dark, as no one had hung coats there this evening. A faint, startled sound came from the alcove as I opened the door and felt it strike something before opening a normal distance. I saw a flash of something white, and immediately realized what had happened. Hurriedly, I turned around, closing the door behind me. Seconds later, as it opened again, I spoke.
         “I’m sorry, Linda. I didn’t know,” I stammered, feeling considerably smaller than my 5’8” would indicate.
         ‘That’s all right,” she said, smiling. “I was just changing my skirt for the party. This white one really goes with this top. I just had to wear the navy blue one to have a matching dark set for the pit. No harm done.”
         “Maybe not,” I said, slightly relieved, “but I still feel about one inch tall right now.”
         She smiled cheerfully, and we started for the cafeteria. As we walked, I suddenly thought, “She should have said something to me. I could have guarded the door while she changed. What would have happened if it had been another guy that had opened that door just then? With her current reputation, she could have been in trouble.” I resolved to suggest that she be a bit more careful in the future.
         There were a few fellow students there by the time we arrived. As I expected, most had dates, but there were a few loners. They made their objective the snack table. Linda and I found a round table closer to the rear of the room. The members of the musical combo were still tuning and caring for their instruments onstage as they waited for the majority of the cast members to arrive.
         As the room began to fill, I noticed that no one else came near our table. Not even to comment on the show or ask what we thought about how the performances were going, much less to sit down and join us. In a way, I was glad, because I wanted time alone with her. Yet this particular situation immediately brought with it thoughts of that awful nickname they had given her: "Roach". I knew I was a bit of an “outcast”, because I had never been invited to be part of the “in crowd” my whole 3 years in the high school. I could deal with that. It didn’t bother me, really, because I didn’t even listen to the same music in my spare time that the other guys did, let alone share other common interests. But this thing with that nickname bothered the hell out of me: “Where would a quiet, shy, seemingly introverted 16-year-old girl who couldn’t hurt a fly get a nickname like ‘Roach’?” I asked myself silently.
         Linda and I, with some difficulty, made conversation until the band struck up their first number. Once they began, talking, at least in a comfortable and normal tone, became virtually impossible. As was the case with nearly all modern groups, our “chosen few” were belting out their melodious (?) strains with their amplifiers turned up as far as possible (or so it seemed). My ears rattled and my head swam. My eyes winced at the loud tones filling the large, acoustically live cafeteria. Then I had an idea. I mentioned it to Linda as best I could over the “music” and she seemed to like it. Since we still had the full expanse of the round table entirely to ourselves (as we suspected), we were able to leave freely, without having to make apologies to anyone. “What is it about her that makes other students not even want to give her the time of day?” I wondered as we walked to the car. About five minutes later we arrived at my house and knocked at the front door (this late hour meant it was locked). Soon we had a party of our own. We sang songs downstairs at the player piano, just Linda and I. I was overjoyed to find that she rapidly became as fascinated with the piano as I had become since getting into restoring and preserving the old players as a hobby three years earlier. Again, the time passed all too quickly. At 11:30 we quit singing and I took her home.
         As I drove back a few minutes later, I couldn’t help but think how fantastic it would be if there was a way to slow time down, even if only a little, for those of us in love.
         Sometime between then and Monday’s performance, a beautiful thought came to mind. Now I had what seemed a monumental task: I had to try and muster the courage to carry it through.
Monday was a real emotional conflict. I was going to be with her both for orchestra class and the show, but it was the LAST show. I found myself fighting that double-edged sword from the moment I walked into the building that morning. Unable to wait for the show, but knowing I wouldn’t want it to end once it began.
         That time finally came. As you might expect, our final performance was also our best. Everyone knew it, including the audience, and yes, we got our 3rd standing ovation. I figured that was reason enough for celebration.
         Happily, yet certainly disheartened because it was all behind us forever and had left us only memories, Linda and I retired our instruments for the night, and slowly began our last walk to the car. As we plodded through the chilly evening air, our heads a bit low, we spoke and thought of how wonderful it had all been, even if it had been a lot of hard work. Like the daylong Saturday rehearsals that brought us so much pleasure and brought us closer to each other along the way. And we thought of the fun it brought us both, and, most importantly, how that suddenly uncooperative telephone line in Mr. Wilson’s office had brought the two of us together on that fantastic Tuesday night, just less than a month ago.
         It had all been so wonderful. The rehearsals, though long, had been filled with fun, many with laughs. Sure the hours were long – often from right after school until 11:00 or 11:30 at night (it was the one exception of the year most teachers made for homework). But not only did we enjoy the activity, the music and the idea that we were a part of the fantastic harmonies we heard, we were also together. We were sitting on opposite ends of the room and the pit, yes. But we were together just the same. Even if we couldn’t see each other (though we could), the feeling would have been the same. That’s where the sparkle had been. That’s probably why we both were able to accept the long hours, and most times even look forward to them. Reaching the car, we headed home, our thoughts rarely interrupted.
         As I drove, that “beautiful thought” I’d had not so long ago returned, as the opportunity for it became apparent. But did I have the courage to follow through with it? As I turned into her subdivision, I swallowed hard, pulled up to the last stop sign short of her house, and set the foot brake. My thoughts immediately shifted to the standing ovations we’d received, and the full houses we’d drawn. Time for us to celebrate. I turned to Linda. She looked at me. Not worried or fearful, just a bit curious.
         “What’d you stop for, Jim?”
         “Linda, I’ve got a present for you in honor of our three standing ovations.” I thought to myself, “Boy, does that sound like a flimsy excuse! But I can’t back out now, I’ve committed myself.”
         “You have?” she asked, surprised, and (I think) wondering why I chose that time and place.
         “Yes, I have,” I repeated. “Would you mind if I gave it to you now?” I asked, becoming somewhat more nervous.
         “No,’ she said, curiously wondering, I think, why I had bothered to ask.
         “Close your eyes,” I said softly. I took a deep breath and leaned forward, hoping the sound of my motion wouldn’t frighten her as to what I might do, and that her eyes would then open wide and spoil my surprise. All went well. My motion caused no undue alarm. Carefully, I leaned forward a trifle more and softly, gently met her lips with mine, hoping she could understand my feelings at the time. For fear of offending her, I made it short. “Happy standing ovations,” I said, ecstatic at having had a chance to kiss her. “You didn’t mind my kissing you, did you?” I asked hopefully, a bit scared of the outcome.
         “No,” she said, shyly smiling. “Why should I?”
         “I guess you kind of liked it, huh?” I continued, hoping to relieve my anxiety over possibly having upset her.
         “Uh-huh,” she admitted, now smiling very broadly. Obtaining her consent, I kissed her again. Then I happily drove on to her home.
         “I’d only dreamed of being able to kiss her once this first time, and I got to twice,” I thought, elated, as I drove those final two blocks.
         Walking her to her door, I quickly, shyly kissed her goodnight, and left. She smiled as she watched me plunge into the darkness of night. I couldn’t wait until the next time we were together.

         As she closed the door behind her, she heard her father call from the family room: “Anything new to report tonight, Squeek?”
         “He kissed me! He kissed me! She fairly yelled as she came bounding down the stairs to join them.
         “I should have waited until you got down here. Then I wouldn’t have had to ask. You look absolutely radiant.”
         “Yeah, I guess it shows a little, huh?”
         ‘You might say that.”
         “Dad, why would he be afraid of upsetting me just by kissing me?” she asked as she sat beside him on the couch.
         “That just shows he cares for you, too, honey. He doesn’t want to do anything to make you mad at him and he had to consider the possibility that you weren’t ready to go that far with him yet.”
         “That far??! She exclaimed, very surprised. “I would have kissed him a month ago.”
         “I know, sweetheart, but he doesn’t know that. Just remember: the more nervous he is about trying something, the more he likes you.”
         “Thanks, dad. That really does help a lot. I have to admit I was starting to wonder a little, ‘cause he hasn’t said anything.”
         “Give him time, honey. He will.”

         Two weeks later my best friend, Dennis Atkinson, and I (we’d been pals since our freshman year) decided to double date for a movie on Saturday, the 16th. We decided to make a dinner date out of it (if you could call it that) by attending the Kiwanis chicken dinner at the school.
         Picking up Linda was our final stop en route to the dinner. While the idea was an economical “dinner date” for high schoolers, we four unanimously decided the economy showed in the flavor of the meal; that it wasn’t much better than the usual cafeteria fare. The only advantages we saw were the size of the portions and the addition of a roll and butter to the deal.
After the meal, we drove to the Mt. Lookout theatre to see That Man in Istanbul. We stayed for only one showing so we could double up at pool for a while at Linda’s.
         We broke up that match about 11:00. On the way home I decided double dates weren’t my style for the moment (not enough time alone together that way, I suppose).
         By now the other kids were teasing both of us. I guess that cramp I put in their old style forced them to try something different. But I was a big disappointment to them. I didn’t react the way they wanted. They couldn’t get a rise out of me. I was too much in love. All their needling did was encourage me to show her even more how I felt, at any time I could. Like defending her when I was around. Very gradually “the word got out” and they eased up quite a bit on Linda. But their nagging would be only the beginning.