Nostalgia might be my favorite…I love to find a good memory and roll around in a little bit. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing…it means the ride has been really good, right?
I was about two glasses of wine in tonight when I broke the Bob Seger out over a game of rummy in my home town. I’m only 29, a good generation away from most Seger fans, but I’ve never really relished in my own era’s muscial stylings. I like the stuff that bleeds.
The second time the chorus of Night Moves rolled around I was there…lost in a memory that made my fingers ache for the QWERTY board.
It wasn’t November, wasn’t the least bit chilly. It was however, seeping wet…just thick humidity everywhere. A late April night, maybe May…I was newly 17, working at the local Chick Fila, and dreaming about who I’d be now (and I’m totally not her yet). My bleached hair was piled messily on my head, and I was angry about having leaned against a wet rag on the counter at the sink. My shoes are sliding everywhere…that floor was so damned greasy.
It was about the time of year the manager started propping the back door open, letting those famous southern scents of impending summer dance through the door…and there was a boy…the one with the big blue eyes. Every time my back was to him I wondered if he liked the way my ass looked in those God-awful pants they made us wear. I felt like I looked like a science teacher…a really obnoxiously tanned science teacher. He flirted with me anyway, and I loved it. Maybe he had a thing for tanning bed addicts with a knack for biology…
I revisit that memory often, and I’ve not the first clue why. Maybe it’s that it was the end of innocence or the beginning of everything I know now. I wish I had one of those lines that last ages to describe it, but I don’t. I just have Bob Seber and half-soured wash rags. I just have Spring nights. I just have the feeling that lives in me that still jumps up and down at the magic of it all. There’s nothing better than when the memory pops up and says hello to me.
There is a happy ending though…this time period didn’t die a memory. I still know that blue-eyed boy. Turns out he did like my ass in those pants…so much so, he gave me his last name.