I remember being fifteen and being what I thought was “in love.” I remember Thomas and his denim-blue eyes and floppy sandy blonde hair, and even his belt buckle with a ship on the front and the grosgrain ribbon. I remember Thomas’s long summer legs entwined with my own coltish and tanned legs; I remember us young and finding the ways of the world and though perhaps Thomas knew a great deal more than I, he was a patient boy, and all a girl could hope for in a summer romance while she is young.
I met Thomas by chance. He was hired to watch the parking lot at the private beach where I used to swim. Making sure no non-tenants invaded the water, he guarded the perimeter for the wealthy of the town and I laughed at him when he told me I could not swim there because I had been swimming there for over a year and windsurfing too, so who was this prep who was so smug, I wondered, to tell me what I could and could not do.
And so our relationship or friendship began. We sat down under the shade of the parking lot’s nearby tree where Thomas offered some of his blend of iced tea and lemonade and I drank greedily, hungrily from the bottle, slaking my thirst. Then we spent the afternoon reading and he read Tennyson to me as we sat on the grass, shoulders touching imperceptibly and I felt the thrill of the new. He seemed to me a soul mate, for who else at our age, or his age even, was reading Tennyson besides me, besides him.
Later, after his shift was almost over, Thomas asked if I would go with him for a walk to the Sanctuary. I said yes, why not, and we crossed the street and climbed the wrought iron fence and began our way up the hill through the graveyard. Problem was the sanctuary was part of the graveyard but you couldn’t get to the sanctuary at this hour. The gates were locked and unscalable.
We settled for the graveyard – an old one with stones from 1700 and 1800 and lots of shady, scented linden trees and the smell of fresh cut grass. There was one grave with a giant monument and chain around the grave itself. Perfect, Thomas said, and pulled me down with him to the fresh snipped grass.
Article comments
1 - Steve
Wow, Sadi,
That was a very personal article to share here. You must be an extrovert lol, unlike me!!
Glad to hear you are happily married with kids now, and not alone anymore. All the best to you.
2 - sadi ranson-polizzotti
hi Steve, actually, i'm a serious Introvert, believe it or not, according to Myers Briggs and many friends etc etc (or few close friends really - i tend ot keep them close and few).... but i am a writer and i write w/ out boundaries... so that's the thing... but no, i'm an introvert: believe it...
thanks so much for the good wishes and hey, right back at ya!!! all the best to you as well.... :) -- cheers, S.
3 - Steve
That's interesting, Sadi. I have heard about that style of writing (no boundaries), not sure I would be that kind of writer myself if I were one (and I've heard that is the best kind to be), though it's not like I have alot of 'spicy' things to write about anyway lol.
You're welcome re. the good wishes, and thanks for yours!
4 - sadi ranson-polizzotti
thanks Steve --- i suppose as i said, we write what we know... but writing behind acomputer is quite different from sitting in front of a whole group or even one person and telling the tale... ya know? best as ever... s.
5 - Steve
I suppose that's true, writing is easier than public speaking for introverts. I'm probably more comfortable speaking one-on-one than writing though, I think. Easier and faster to correct any misapprehensions that may arise compared to something written. If I had a dollar for the times I've been misunderstood on instant messenger lol...though I suppose that's a dialogue rather than a monologue... a little different maybe.
I feel sorry for folks in the public arena, it's so easy to have what you say reduced to sound bites which can distort the meaning of what you said. Context can be so key.
Anyway, looking forward to your next article.