Remembering the Moon

It was a warm mid- October night. The stars were out and the full moon was shining brightly over the trees. The moon was so bright, I didn’t see the need to turn on any of the lights in my backyard. The light emanating from this perfectly round satellite peered through my window as if it was giving me a message. As I looked up, all the memories of him came into my head. The thoughts were so vivid; I actually felt myself reliving every moment. As I took a deep breath and exhaled I could see his face. I heard his voice and felt his touch. I thought, could this be a sign? I had read and seen so many love stories throughout my lifetime; but none were like mine. Should I write down my story for all to read?

I remember seeing the movie The Bridges of Madison County and said, “Oh my God, what a story, the story of a woman who met her soul mate, the love of her life and let him go away.” I cried for days. Then I saw another movie that had the same impact on me, Titanic. The older woman told the story of the love of her life. At the end she was with him in the place where all dreams come true. Is this what happens to some of us? We meet our true love and some obstacle crosses our path and we lose them? Or do we just give up? Is love so much work that we need to find solace in another? Or do we just abandon all hopes and stop believing? Are some of us so lucky that we wake up every morning thankful for the one we found? Or do we just pretend?

My memories needed to be written. So, I walked over to my desk, put on my much needed reading glasses and sat down at my laptop and began to type.

The year was 1967. The United States was in the beginning of the Vietnam War, The Beatles were on the charts and Motown was producing some of the best music ever. My high school was in the middle of a large urban neighborhood busy with cars, buses and elevated subway trains. Across the street, there was a beautiful university, whose stone buildings were covered with ivy. The students wore navy blue and burgundy business type uniforms and always seemed to carry lots of books. A reminder to the students in my school that if we apply ourselves, we too could walk the halls of this noted university or similar institutions of higher learning.

The high school was comprised of young people from different cultures. We had students whose heritages were Italian, Irish, Jewish, Hispanic, and Black with a smattering of other international cultures. The students also represented cross sections of different socioeconomic levels. There were students whose parents were professionals like doctors, lawyers and educators. Others came from two income households where both parents worked to make ends meet, in addition to a small percentage of students of single parent homes.

We had very few student conflicts in our high school. Our biggest concerns at the time were the Vietnam War and graduating. Many of the students knew each other by name or their cliques. These cliques or social entities were well developed. We had jocks, high achievers, misfits and loners. Yet, the largest percentage of the students maintained average grades, aspiring to graduate and begin their lives in the working world. There were a few that couldn’t finish school due to family responsibilities or academic failure and would eventually drop out. It was New York City in the late 1960’s.

I belonged to the high achievers, whose goal was to get into college. There was never any time for a social life except for the occasional sweet sixteen or after school activity. Of the sixty plus honor students in this clique only a handful dated. I personally didn’t associate with anyone outside my group, it just didn’t interest me. I was too busy maintaining my grades and participating. Who had time? There certainly were many handsome boys in the eleventh and twelfth grades, but I just didn’t pay attention to any of them. My philosophy was about to change in my junior year.

I remember the first time I saw him. I was sitting in the back of my eleventh grade Spanish class. It was the middle of the fall semester when students were moved around depending on academic standing or transfers from other schools. He walked into the room as the second bell rang. Walking directly to our teacher, Mr. Gomez, he handed him a piece of paper that I assume was his class schedule. The teacher pointed to the last open seat near the front door and indifferently motioned with his hand for this newcomer to sit. He quickly sat down and placed his books on the desk. He didn’t raise his eyes to look around the room, something you would expect from such a good-looking young guy. Instead he attentively stared at Mr. Gomez who was teaching the class the conjugation of verbs.

I sat in the last row of the classroom where the only view of him was the back of his head. My seat was five rows behind him, so I was unable catch his eye during class. The thought of dropping a book or talking to my neighboring classmate loudly crossed my mind, but that would have disrupted the class and I didn’t want to do that. Instead, I remained silent and tried to concentrate. When the class ended, my mysterious guy walked out without turning his head. I was so…. disappointed. I wished he would have glanced up just once. As he left my view I could feel my whole body fill with nervous energy, something I never felt before. You see, I was sixteen years old and had never been kissed. I never had a boyfriend, never held a boy’s hand, never did anything. I was innocent in every sense of the word.

Some of the girls in my school were exploring life’s pleasures while the others were saving themselves for marriage. It was the beginning of the sexual revolution; free love, the pill, freedom! I was holding onto the latter. I would save myself for marriage, a moral point of view that was drummed into me by my mother since birth. Then a thought came into my head, he’s the one. The one for what you ask? The one to be the first to hold my hand, kiss me and maybe love me. Well, why not? Don’t you believe in love at first sight or at least lust at first sight?