I’m still thinking about that upcoming reunion and … the dance. Arlene assures me they won’t make me dance, but I’m not so sure I can trust her. Anyhow, it all reminds me of my childhood pal, Barry.
He’d have no trouble getting a cute girl to “like” him, but keeping “true love” alive for more than a few weeks was a different story. I wondered sometimes if the gals drew straws to see whose turn it was to sweep him off his feet and slam him to the turf.
Anyhow, when he didn’t show up at my house on Saturday morning, I’d trot over to his house, and as I approached his room… I’d know. The evidence was in the voice of Bobby Vintoncrooning, “Blue on blue, heartache on heartache; and I find I caaaan’t get over losing you.”
Barry would be on his bed staring at the ceiling, and being sensitive to his pain, I’d offer my condolences. “Really? Dumped again? Wow!”
The Bobby Vinton 45 would scratch to an end, and the next record would drop. Backup singers, would sing, “I can’t stop loving you,” then, the voice of Ray Charles would belt out, “I’ve made up my mind; to live in memory of the lonesome times.”
“Ah, jeez,” I’d say. “Getting hot already. Wanna go to the pool?”
Barry, as if on cue, would roll away from me, and stare at the wall. “No,” he’d sigh.
I’d watch him, grinning, and he’d finally roll back and glare at me. “You’re an ass hole, Mashburn.”
I’d say, “Yeah, but… I’m good at it!”
He’d fight it, then smile, jump off the bed, and start looking for his swim suit.
Being thirteen was so cool.