Symphony for a Jersey Girl - September 2002

Symphony for a Jersey Girl -
(or I was never really in freehold in 1975 - so no one I know from Freehold would ever take part in such activities - especially with me!)
(Also this is the third, and so far last, in the "27 years ago" trilogy. Also see (only if you want) past postings titled "27 Years Ago" and "Tony and Frank and Me.")


Early October evening
1975
Sitting on a couch on your parents enclosed porch
In Freehold, New Jersey

We can hear your parents chuckle at some stupid TV sitcom
But we have other things in mind:
Listening to the radio playing quietly behind us and
Heavy petting…
We both were in a frantic purr…

This had really gone
Playfully
Much further than a front porch session should
But your breasts, hips, thighs, stomach, neck –hell… everything…
We soft and welcoming to my touch
I loved halter tops
And low cut jeans
And your hand on my lap

We looked in each other’s eyes
“how far could this go?...”
We could have jumped in the car
and hit the beach
but that would have been too easy
your parents were only a room away
and they still sounded pretty occupied with the television

still hot
still close
still undecided on what to do
until “Thunder Road” came on the radio
and that made it a fete a compli
(hey, it’s Jersey, 1975!, I bet this happened a lot!..)

with a jacket and blanket tossed over the lower half of our bodies and enough clothing adjusted to make it work, you positioned yourself on my lap and we were together…

I bit on the sleeve of a jacket that was tossed on the back of the couch because I feared that I would make enough noise to distract your parents from the television show they were watching
(although we certainly had to be putting on a more entertaining show!)

You playfully bit onto a piece of the jacket as well and started a little tug of war. We tugged that jacket to the end and let it drop to the floor when we were finished so we could kiss some more.
We were in no hurry to move.
I didn’t give a shit who might have walked in.
I was just content having you close enough so I could count all your wonderful freckles.
It really could have lasted forever, but it was over as soon as we heard your father move from his favorite chair in front of the television.

We quickly readjusted and moved outside to the front steps and hard a few cigarettes.
We were in our own little world talking.
We talked on your front steps a lot back then.
I loved talking to you.
Your voice mixing with the breeze
As it blew through the trees
was soothing.
Everyday, it seemed, we talked on those steps about everything
Including future dreams

None of those dreams touched on
What would be the reality of the next 27 years
Bills, mortgage, finding a job, keeping a job, finishing school, sometimes working two jobs, loving you, sometimes not liking you- but still loving you, and raising kids.

And now, 27 years later, you fear that you are old
You’re starting to think that you look old
And that makes you feel old
Nonsense!
The lines – the few lines – on your face
The lines that upset you so much
To me, they are like a roadmap
Each leading to a piece of the world we shared
A reminder of where we’ve been
That’s what I see
Those are good lines.

Sure, we don’t look the same as we did way back then
(I was 155 pounds then)
And, over the years, we found that the time we have for each other
Let alone for ourselves
Grows less and less
But some things don’t change
I still love the sound of your voice,
Even though you are convinced that I don’t listen to a word you say

And, at times, we seem to go full circle
Like the other morning
A chilly October Connecticut morning
2002
We held each other
We kissed each other
We touched each other
We looked in each others eyes
“how far could this go?”

The kids were a room away
Preoccupied with television
Actually, they are oblivious to everything
When “Arthur” comes on each morning

So we made love
And this time I bit a pillow
so the kids wouldn’t hear
but there were no cigarettes afterwards
We were up making the kids’ lunches for school
and getting ourselves ready for work

But everytime I look at you
Whether it is looking at you while
We make love
Or if I just take a minute
To watch you cook,
Read a book,
Or interact with the kids at home,
I don’t see the same thing you do
I don’t see old
(like Carey Grant tells Loretta Young in “The Bishops Wife”, “The only people who are old are the ones that were born old.”)
That’s not who you are.
Don’t let those age lines – those few lines -
Get INSIDE your head.
I look at you and still see that girl
On the front steps in Jersey
Beautiful, energetic and young.
That… is really you