If they didn't know better, people would swear you were joined at the hip. Aside from gym class you were stuck together like glue. Thick as thieves. Two peas in a pod - all that.
You were best friends - you practically grew up together - you've known each other since 4th grade - you never thought of each other as boyfriend and girlfriend - you just didn't look at each other that way. When you got curious she would punch you. When she got curious you would make faces.
You both tried - daddy kisses is as far as it got - when you were thirteen you finally went "exploring" - you felt creepy - she felt creepy - felt like incest - you both laughed like you were nervous. You left it alone.
And then came high school - all the awkward and gangly went away - the kids you were grew up. You weren't looking at each other like you used to - you stopped telling each other secrets - you stopped riding your bikes and started riding the bus.
But you still thought she was your buddy, your pal - you never thought about making a play for her. You were just friends. Maybe not.
Somewhere around Grad Night she got serious. Lip lock and tangled tongues - holding on for dear life - pressed tightly like the world was ending - holding on like the very last time.
And it was. She went away to college. You wound up in a uniform in a place with a name you couldn't pronounce. Letters regular and then drifted off - phone calls went missing - parents moved away. You forgot about her, except for holidays. Memory pleasant and vague - fading with years.
Not till later - not till much-much later - 20 year reunion - somebody showed you a photo - the two of you. You clueless and she couldn't wait any longer. All those signals - flying crazy around your head. Hit by a wall of stupid and missed opportunity. No one knows what happened to her. Shrugged shoulders and nodding heads. Rumors - heard somewhere somebody said something - can't remember who - lives in Portland - had Cancer - married three times - read an article. Another regret to toss in the file cabinet - the one overflowing. Never too late to have a good cry - might've been happy - might've been a different life.
And somebody digs up a tape of KHJ, February 25, 1967 - Real Don Steele - fills the dance floor - finally it falls into place.
YOU ARE READING
It's April 1965 - You're Gonna Start A Band - People Laugh - You Don't.
Short StoryYou're a teenager - You live in L.A. - Your future band - you envision Gazzarri's, you'll settle for dances.