Chapter 4 – At the Dark End of the Street

While trying to push out visions of home, thoughts drifted on the subject of school and eventually to how Jenny and I’s relationship came to be. You see all of these kids come and go in school. One year they’re in your class, another year they’re not. Then a few years go by and you see them again…and usually don’t care. I remember first seeing Jenny’s face somewhere in my memories of junior high. I hate to admit that even though I thought she was cute, she didn’t strike my fancy at the time. My mind was still goofy and wrapped around cheerleaders.

In 11th grade, Jenny and I had the same English class. It was the first class we were ever in together. In January of ’72, right after the Christmas vacation, we had to do a project on Fahrenheit 451. The teacher randomly assigned partners and I got Jenny. Not really knowing this girl at all, I was initially against the pairing. The blonde seated next to me was my choice; but we had a project to do and no matter what, we were both cooperative and took to the task with vigor. For whatever reason, we wound up not having enough time in class to do the work. So, with the intention of completing, we required more time and I asked for her phone number. I rang her that evening and we planned to meet at the public library on Wednesday nights. It was a day I was free, not having football practice anymore, and Jenny was also available.

Being winter, and knowing she was walking, I picked us up two coffees. We snuck them into the library, found the books we needed, and sat in a remote section near some Biblical texts. Other than some eye glances at each other, we stuck to the task at hand. After about an hour and a half of quotations and research, I posed the question, “You wanna grab a bite to eat?”

Looking down at her papers, “Um, I dunno.”

“I was going to Anderson’s if you wanna join me.”

“I’m not saying no, but how about next week?” giving me a quick, reassuring smile as she answered.

“That sounds great. Can I at least offer you a ride home?”

Still holding that smile, “Okay.”

I drove slow and allowed myself to enjoy her company a little further.

The next week after the library, she held true to her word. This time, actually in a place we could talk, I figured I’d run the gambit of questions, trying to get to know her. Instead, she surprised me with questions of her own.

“You’re on the football team, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Does that mean you date cheerleaders?”

“Well…I’ve dated one.”

“What was she like?”

“If it says anything, I’m not with her now.”

“Do you date any normal girls?”

“What do you mean by normal?”

“Well, I suppose no one’s normal per se, but you know, average, regular girls?”

I was almost embarrassed to admit it, “Actually, I’ve only had one real girlfriend.”

“Only one?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?” What a way to be put on the spot.

She aimed her eyes down into her chocolate milkshake, “I dunno.” After a pause, “Don’t you want to ask me what kind of guys I date?”

Not really, but, “I didn’t think it was polite to ask a lady such a question.”

In a British accent, “So I’m a lady am I?”

“Well, if you’re a guy, then you’re the cutest one I’ve met.” It surprised me, and her, I said she was cute. That was something I wanted to keep to myself, at least for a while. I laughed pretty hard, opened my eyes, and saw Jenny staring back at me from her glass shelter. “Sorry, I guess it wasn’t that funny.”

“Do you really think I’m cute?”

“Yeah.” I said it earnestly. I had been working with her and subconsciously eyeing her the whole time. Selfishly, I knew I had. For some reason, I was drawn to her. She was pretty, but a lot of girls were. Maybe it had been that for the first time I met a girl with substance. There was a quality to our interaction.

Neither of us knew where to go from there. Either embarrassment or anxiety or lack of experience in these matters held us back. Next week was the last Wednesday we’d get to work on our project before it was due that Friday. Fortunately, on cue, we met up and got it done. Afterwards, we again went to Anderson’s. We were both nervous and it was plain to us that we were upset this was the last project night. Quietness plagued the lack of conversation. I neurotically looked away from her, trying to come up with something to say that wasn’t going to drag down our mood. Couples seated around us didn’t seem to struggle like I was. I wanted to tell her I liked her but didn’t know what she’d think. And in Jenny fashion, which I hadn’t learned yet, she broke the ice, “So, we’re still meeting up next week, right?”

Pleasantly surprised, “Sure!”

Picking at her food, “Well, we don’t have to unless you want to.”

“Jenny…I’d really like to.” Her eyes met with mine and she gave a big smile.

The core of those conversations looped through my mind. All of this sort of happened without delay. Other than doing our presentation together, we didn’t communicate much the next few days. On the following Wednesday, she handed me a note in class. Everyone except the teacher saw her do it. They inquisitively looked at her, then back at me. Ignoring the students, I opened the note: “Meet me in the 200 hall after school.” And we did just that. I walked her to my car and we sat in the school parking lot not knowing where to go or what to do.

Stupidly, I blurted out, “We got an A- on our paper.”

“Well…that’s pretty good, right?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You think we work well together?”

I shrugged, “Seems like it.”

The only things I could come up with that we could do involved being outside, which wasn’t a good idea since we were sure it would snow that night. Jenny said she really didn’t want dinner, so I got coffee, some donuts, and drove to the creek to sit and talk.

The car’s lighter liked to stick and delayed a cigarette ritual. Jenny cracked the window to allow her smoke to exit the car, but hurried through it because the freezing air was starting to get to us. To prepare herself for the conversation to take place, she kicked off her boots, tucked her feet under herself, and turned to face me with her back pressed against the passenger door. Jenny and I talked about our families, our life, who we thought we were as people, society, the Vietnam War, Richard Nixon, and how ridiculous we thought the Mary Tyler Moore Show theme song was. Then that got her talking about music, which seemed to be an incredible passion for her. As she rubbed her hands together, “I like the hippie music because it’s from an era not long ago when things could have been perfect. They were for a short amount of time before the tide rolled back out to sea.”

After sitting for a few minutes, wrapped in the woolen blanket I gave her, Jenny was still cold. She edged over my way, partially sitting on the center console, and when she leaned her left side on me, I wrapped my right arm around her. As I took my eyes off her and looked back towards the creek, a light flurry polka-dotted my windshield. In unison we watched winter’s magic, then turned our attention towards each other. I noticed how she was scented in perfume, shampoo, and tobacco. Once our eyes met, so did our lips. That remarkable scene led to our first kiss and is why I agree with Jenny that us being together was destined. Not to be campy, just that the moment felt right and the atmosphere was there, like something out of a movie or poetic verse.

Jenny admitted she never thought she’d be with a football player. My teammates were surprised when they heard Jenny and I were seeing each other. They didn’t see the connection, probably because they never looked for one in their own relationships.

“What’s with this girl I hear you’re dating,” Coach sternly asked me once. His Strother Martin drawl was calling me out and echoed in the locker room.

            “What do you mean, Coach?”

            “Well, is she cute?” He hovered over me as I tied my laces.

“Yes sir. Very much.”

“The boys don’t seem to like her and it’s got them all riled up. They want to know why you aren’t going steady with that Lindsay Fletcher girl. You know she likes you, boy?”

“Yes sir, I know she likes me,” finally making eye contact with him.

“She’s going places and making something of herself. Do you know how many young men your age would kill for a girl like her?”

“I’m sure plenty, but Jenny’s my girl. The team will just have to live with that. With all due respect, sir, I do my job on the field. That’s all anyone should worry about.” I didn’t care if Lindsay was the class secretary, how many clubs she was on, or how rich her family was.

For some reason, they had a cow when Jenny wore my Varsity jacket to school. It started when Amy Stills, a cheerleader, complained to her boyfriend, nose tackle Jim Vargas, about the fashion faux pas and social no-no. Neither Jenny nor I cared. While she sported the jacket, she let everyone know she wasn’t available, on top of, she could take it home and lay with it; which she said she did whenever it was in her possession over night.

Exactly one year later from our first kiss, there is one evening that not only stuck in my mind, but seemed to symbolize the course of our relationship. The snow had picked up and leaving Jenny’s when I needed to wasn’t safe. I called my mom to say I wouldn’t be there for dinner because of the weather. She understood, but asked where I was. When I told her Jenny’s, her mood changed. It was the first of many signs hinting at my mom’s resentment toward her. Others came to me when Jenny was invited to dinner or joined us on an outing. Seeing my mom act this way caught me off guard. Perhaps I should have lied.

Staying indoors, I sat next to my girl on her bed. Jenny put on a record and began talking about the band. One great quality of hers was she knew so much about music and shared as much as she could with me. “This is the Flying Burrito Brothers.” Piano music plays first, “Oh, this is a great song.”

            “What’s it called?”

            “The Dark End of the Street.” It was a haunting tune with a country sound. As I listened to the lyrics, they started to take hold with meaning. It’s a melancholy tune about a secret relationship that two lovers hide from people in town.

            “That’s beautiful. Play it again.”

            Jenny carefully laid the needle back in queue and we listened to it again. She made incredible efforts to properly care for her music. “I really like Chris and Gram’s voices.” She points, “They wear great clothes.” The album cover depicted four men in the desert wearing Nudie suits (honkytonk style jackets) posed with two cute girls.

The more I remember of that song and being with her, knowing the growing difficulty of our relationship, the more it reflects the issues we were victims of. Much is the same with hiding one’s love away, which John Lennon wrote while still a Beatle.

Jenny’s mother Mae really didn’t understand her daughter. A great distance was created between the two, especially after Gilbert, her father, died in a car accident (DWI). His abuse and alcoholic tirades shook the family foundation and left scars on his ladies’ hearts. I barely knew of Jenny back then in junior high. The summer before senior high is when he died. Some say she became a different person and I can only assume she did.

Jenny’s quasi-outcast role in school kept her friends to a tight knit group. My social brothers didn’t date girls like Jenny and my parents didn’t know the parents of girls like her either. My family was too prim and proper for that. They wanted their son, a varsity football player and member of the honors society, to date a girl with similar criteria, like Lindsay Fletcher. Instead, I brought home an average girl in a low-cut t-shirt who came from a family where money was tight. By average, I don’t mean looks. She was hot. My dad was won over more than my mom. Mom, well she never got over the cheerleader I dumped the year before and hoped Jenny would be over with before she had to address her sentiments. “Girls like that break your heart, Eric.”

The freedom of Jenny’s spirit also attracted me to her. We liked to have fun, go out, and be teenagers. Though the hippie movement died by the new decade with Manson and the carnage at Altamont, she was a close second to being a hippie herself. She missed it only by a few years. Jenny’s attraction to me was knowing she could share her passions in life, especially because I wanted to learn about them. Psychologically, here was a male giving her attention and love, something never previously a factor in her life. Every album she bought or drawing she did, she brought to me as if to say, “Look at this. Look what I did. Aren’t you proud?” Much as a child would to a parent. And my presence comforted her.

On our last night in California, “I sleep better over here.”

“Because you’re here and not there?”

“No, because I’m with you. We can sleep together like a real couple.” Had she been borrowing my Beach Boys albums? I smiled and pulled her close. With her staring at the ceiling and clutching at me, “You mean so much to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you. You guide me, love me, protect me, and allow me to be me. You’re the only person that does all that.”

“I love you too.”

“I really cannot bear the thought of going back to all those gruesome faces and dealing with it. I don’t want to go back home.” My throat tightened as I knew she’d eventually say that.

“What are you suggesting?”

“We’re coming back here, right?”

“Sure, one day, of course.”

The next morning we headed back home, saying goodbye to our new friend the West.

Without knowing, I was very quiet on the car ride back. I was too deep in thought to bother with interacting with my surroundings. Going on an hour of almost total silence, “Jenny, how about this?”

“What’s that?”

“My scholarship isn’t paying much for school. The cost for State would be a huge burden on my parents. Maybe I can talk to them and see what they think about me attending community college in Los Angeles County.”

“What about me?”

“You should attend, too!”

“I don’t have anyone paying my way.”

“We’ll work on it once we’re back out here.”

            We continued to stay where we could each night, including a couple of nights in the car – the only nights we didn’t make love during this venture. Once in town, I tried to figure out how I was going to convince my family that I found a new “home.” No matter, they weren’t going to like it. I just had to break the news the best way possible. The only way that they knew I was serious with this was to bring Jenny to the house and discuss it.

            Once I got home, my family and I did the typical discussion of how the trip was, if I had a good time, and then onto my future. It was then I asked if Jenny could join us for dinner tomorrow night. So, the next night, I picked her up and we had a formal dinner. We had some light conversation afterwards. Then when the four of us settled into the living room, I drove the stake into their heart.

“I’ve asked Jenny to be here tonight for a reason. There’s something we need to discuss.”

My mother put her hands over her ears, “Oh no…she’s not…”

Jenny spoke sharply, “No, I am not!”

“And you’re both not getting married are you?”

            “No, Mom, we’re not.” Apparently, this was going to be rough. “Look, I want to discuss my future.” I look over at Jenny who’s grinding her thumb nail on the tips of her fingers, “Well, our future.” For the next ninety minutes, I felt like a prisoner at a parole hearing, trying to convince the board I wasn’t crazy and that my plea was legitimate. The torture only ended when my father piped in.

          “Eric, this obviously means a lot to you…both of you. I was your age once and had similar ambitions. I’m sure I could pull a few strings, make some phone calls, and see what’s possible. There are no guarantees, got that?”

I was shocked, so was my mom – both for different reasons. Dad continued, “But, if this doesn’t work out after the first semester, then you’re coming back home and paying me back the cost.”

Anything was better than a “no.” Jenny and I spent the next month and a half sort of goofing off. We did get part-time jobs to save up some cash. I also made sure my parents knew my gratitude. They had been talking to Jenny’s mom, knowing she’d be alone now, and got her involved in different community circles. Everything went smoothly, all we did was brace for the takeoff.

In August, still with American Graffiti in my head, the Camaro was loaded down with our clothes, assorted belongings, and of course: Jenny’s record player and albums. Excited and raring to go, we were more pumped about this journey than our first. This time we knew the long road ahead. We knew the sun would chase us and would win. And for Jenny, we’d say hi to the Holiday People again.

“You were so gorgeous laying there in the height of elegance and poise. Your naked body strewed across the bed, wishing for a pleasurable act to transpire. The tender, sleek skin felt cool and soft against me. Gently kissing you. My hands desperately roaming and grabbing all of you that I could touch. The surge of emotion and feeling rushing through our bodies when our most intimate of moments begins. Our bodies fill with blood and need. Our minds swimming in a passion of primal thought. You want to be wrapped by your woman’s body. Take each other down the secret path, along the shaded trail, the most romantic feat of them all. Deep inside me, in my embrace, in our trust and love. Sharing such a beautiful moment only with you. To make love, you must love who you are with, otherwise it is just recreation. And with all of my heart and soul, I love you, Eric.”