Author’s Note: If you want to add extra depth while you read, please play “Summer Skin” by Death Cab for Cutie. It’s on my mixpod at left. Just click on it. If that's too esoteric for you, well.....I'll never know the difference. :)
K-Squared
I think it was a quiet, overcast Sunday afternoon, and K-squared was at my house; I can’t remember why, but we decided to walk to Minyards to get some Bluebell.
We had a sweet tooth…both of us.
So we made our way past our huge Magnolia and walked up my street toward Plymouth.
My street was shady and green until we reached the end where some newer houses had been built. The yards of those houses never seemed to flourish…at least in my memory. I think at least one lacked topsoil because I remember little limestone chip stony patches peaking through the sparse lawn.
One dark brown and one strawberry blonde, I see us with heads bent closely together while making our way up the hill. We were most likely sharing secrets, but I can't be sure. However, I know we talked as we walked because we always talked as we walked (I’m a bit upset I can no longer recall the words). Yet we were comfortable and familiar to each other as only youthful, longtime friends; maybe the words didn’t matter.
The words were just words.
We reached Plymouth and turned left and directly started downhill. We blithely crossed busy, busy Jefferson (taking our lives in our hands, but so unaware of it in our youth) and then navigated around the cars in the parking lot.
We entered the store and headed toward the freezer section; I’m sure we shivered a bit because the freezer section is always cold.
If I remember correctly, Bluebell only recently began selling pints, so they were a bit of a wonderful curiosity for us. We each picked our favorite flavors, took the little tubs to the register and paid up. I’m guessing I bought mint chocolate chip or rocky road. I’m not sure what K-squared would’ve purchased, but more likely than not...it also had chocolate in it because I think she liked chocolate…like me.
While clutching our treasure tightly, we trudged back up Plymouth toward a small scruffy park located outside a fenced water reservoir like a mini volcano just out of reach.
The park had no name, but it did have some swings and a slide and a merry-go-round and a lot of dead weedy grass. Sometimes, it had those horrible spiky stickers we call 'burrs' in Texas, but we managed to navigate around any such obstacles to the swings.
The swings, tall and metal-ish, had those plastic letter-u seats which hug your bottom when you sit in them. We were getting a bit big to use them, but it didn’t stop us.
So we planted ourselves and took out our Bluebell; we must have packed up some plastic spoons from my house because I remember one or maybe both breaking while trying to dig into the ice cream. But we were persistent in our quest to consume our sweet snack and managed to continue eating with little short-handled, mini shovels.
As we ate, we talked about things only girls talk about (so I’m not sharing them with you as I didn’t share my ice cream with K-squared back then).
I’m positive we felt slightly guilty for each consuming whole pints. I’m not sure if she was on a diet, but I was (ridiculously) always on a diet. Yet we didn’t feel misguided enough for it to stop our progress. I imagine us acknowledging our sin with guilty little smiles and slightly sardonic laughs but continuing on.
So we talked and ate and went back and forth on our little “u” seats and with our words.
We were the picture of park friends.
Super-T
It’s a snow day, which normally in Dallas means an 'ice day' with a little snow, but today we actually have a good bit of snow on the ground. On these days, if we aren’t required to go anywhere, we stay inside because the roads are BAD.
Needless to say, I’m bored.
I can call my friends, but I can’t get to them....and they can’t get to me.
But I have a gamble of an idea.
Super-T lives just a few blocks away. Maybe he’s as bored as I.
So I ask my Mom if it’s okay to call to invite him over for hot chocolate...and to watch TV or make a snowman...or something.
I can’t believe I have the nerve to call him, but somehow I dredge it up.
I’m slightly bemused by my bravery.
And, miracously, he agrees.
Perfect.
When we were little, by the way, we were friends. We played together. He, Queen Butterfly and I would play 'Batman and Robin' with our mothers' kitchen aprons as capes. We would zoom around the house with our makeshift costumes flapping out behind us and vanquish bad guys. Unfortunately, because I was the youngest I was always Robin. Queen Butterfly was Batgirl and Super-T was Batman, so unless I wanted to be a bad guy I had to pick Robin which was a huge downer for me.
In truth, I think I picked Cat Woman a few times, and I can’t recall, but I hope I got my revenge on Batman and Batgirl (if only once).
Back then, we were all goofy as only small children are allowed to be.
Anyway, Super-T and I have since grown apart, but we've been slowly starting to interact a bit more over the last few months.
And he’s no longer goofy, but I think he thinks I’m still goofy.
I am goofy.
He rings the doorbell, and I open the door to find him all bundled up and carrying flattened cardboard boxes.
So I’m guessing we’re not watching TV after all.
Yep. We’re playing in the snow!
However, I’m not sure about the boxes. I’ve never used cardboard 'sleds' before, but we decide to try them out at the end of my street because it has a steep slope...so we slide down the hill a few times; then Super-T declares he has a better idea.
He suggests we walk up to the park near his house to the water reservoir.
“We’re not supposed to climb the fence. It’s not supposed to be safe,” I tell him, but he shushes my objections, and I go along with him because he’s Super-T...and if he says it’s okay to break the rules….then it is.
We walk up my street dragging our boxes and then up Plymouth and, once we reach the park, carefully inspect the fence. There’s some barbed wire at the top, but it’s bent down in a few places. We strategically choose a point to climb and chunk the cardboard boxes over the fence first before we scramble over ourselves.
Then we slide, slide and slide…and hit the fence but, miraculously, fall in no holes...and the reservoir seems to hold up under our meager weight.
We stay there for awhile, and he’s right…no one comes to yell at or berate us for climbing the fence. I guess all the would-be responsible adults are hibernating.
I’m glad we didn’t, I think, as we later warm up our frozen fingers with hot chocolate in front of the fireplace.
Choir Dresses
It’s nighttime. We‘ve been at a school choir concert somewhere and while driving home through Kessler spot some sprinklers going at Stevens Park Golf Course.
I’m not sure how or what prompts our actions or who’s idea it is, but the next thing you know we’re running through sprinklers in long black, witchy dresses.
There are houses directly across the street, but no unexpected light flicks on to startle us….no one peeks out to check on the noise…so we continue on unobstructed.
In our imaginations, we briefly believe we’re children again.
We’re not…but for one fleeting span we forget…and we run through the night-time sparkly sprinkles stealing the water from the grass.
Sweet-S or Car=Freedom=Love
Sweet-S turns sweet sixteen before the rest of us and quickly becomes our chauffeur of choice. Sweetly, she accepts the responsibility without complaint.
She has this adorable, red, reconditioned VW Bug…without air conditioning.
Yet, the lack of air conditioning doesn’t seem to bother us. The car is cool (as in super) and it gets us around.
Seriously…what more could we ask?!
Then one evening she picks us up to go to Young Life which was being held at DC’s house across from the Stevens Park Golf Course.
DC’s house has a swanky view, by the way. Directly across the street is a beautiful portion of the golf green with trees artistically scattered hither and thither. Further away…around a corner and down about a block but still within view, is a grouping of small stone pavilions which house some picnic tables.
From DC’s door, they add to the picturesque scene.
In reality, the little group of buildings has been dubbed 'Pervert Park' by the local teens. I’m not sure how it originally earned the name (and don’t want to know) but think it should be redubbed 'Pot Park' because it currently is used as a haven for our youthful druggie population.
I’m pretty sure the Sin Twins hang out there.
Anyway, we’re driving up to DC’s house and, despite the avenue-like street, parking is quite difficult to navigate. So Sweet-S tries to pull into a parking spot and, I guess, gets flustered because the next thing we know she’s hopped the low curb and hit a light pole...which was sneakily camouflaged with dark green paint and difficult to see in the nighttime.
At this point, I’m wondering if God is trying to tell us not to go to Young Life at DC’s house--or not to go to DC’s house at all--because visiting seems unlucky. Maybe God, despite the fact we’re being good girls to attend Young Life, doesn’t want us in close proximity to Pervert Park because another night I accidentally left my purse on top of the Bug as we were leaving and, of course, lost the house keys; my parents made me pay to have the locks changed.
Okay, okay…I know it’s far-fetched, but it does give me pause for thought.
For now, Sweet-S’s zippy car has an ugly dent in its pretty red door. We pile out to look at it but then quickly start toward the house. It’s almost time for Young Life to start.
******
A few weeks later, we’re driving past the scene of the crime, when Sweet-S becomes discombobulated once again and somehow hops the curb.
She hits the exact same pole.
We shouldn’t, but we tease her…which she shrugs off with much grace.
Yet I can’t help but muse on my earlier theory of divine intervention.
I quickly dismiss the thought and decide it’s something altogether different, but more plausible.
What, you might wonder, is my new theory?
I hypothesize the car and the pole have opposite magnetic polarities and are being irresistibly drawn together.
In other words, the light pole is in love with the Love Bug.
It’s incredibly possible….because the rest of us feel the same way about Sweet-S’s car.
If she hits it again, I’ll have proof.
********
Author’s Note: Thank you to Kristi, Tom and Susan for allowing me to share our stories….even if my memory is a bit faulty so I had to improvise here and there.
Specifically, I would like to thank Kristi for enthusiastically sharing her better memory (You have the BEST stories). I would like to thank Tom for teaching me it’s okay to break the rules every now and then (but please don’t tell my children I said so). Last but not least, I would like to thank Susan (our sometimes unsettled angel) for perpetually being such a good sport. XOXO
