Lovers by the Lake Part four

Chapter Four

Paul’s question stopped Amy in her tracks. She jerked upright and stared off into the distance. Only the sounds of the forest and a gentle breeze rustling through the trees disturbed the silence. Slowly Amy turned to look Paul in the eyes.

“I’ll answer you while we eat,” she replied and handed him a plate filled with the catch of the day.

“From what you just said, I can tell you were not as callous as I started to think you were. Hearing about all your sexual triumphs, I was trying to understand how you turned out to be the gentleman you are. You seem to have been deeply moved by the death of Kennedy. So now I know you really had a heart, even way back then. Even if you did not want to admit it. Oh, good God! How could anyone ever forget what they were doing that day? Yeah, I can remember all the details to this day.” Amy choked out the last sentence between stifled sobs.

Well, as I remember, it was just one more boring day; I was wrapped up in the routine of the daily grind. It was just after the morning fifteen-minute break. Even with the extra time to go to my locker, I was almost late to class, because the stupid locker door decided to get stuck. As I rushed down the corridor I heard someone cry out.

“Oh, my God!”

At the moment I did not know the reason. I thought someone dropped their books or spilled something. Running late, I did not have time to investigate.

Out of breath, I made it to my assigned seat just as the final bell rang. I was panting for breath. It was a really nice sunny day.

Larry, the class clown, slid into his seat behind me.

“Kennedy has been shot,” he whispered in my ear with an uncharacteristic tone to his voice.

I just ignored him, as I always did. He was always doing something stupid to attract attention, and I was sure this was just one more of his stupid attempts to get me to turn around.

The lesson plan for the day called for a film. The instructor had just turned on the projector and darkened the room when the school principal spoke on the intercom. “We have just been notified of the death of President John F. Kennedy,” the principal said in a voice choked with emotion.

The words stabbed deep into my heart like icy daggers. A tidal wave of shock crashed over me, leaving my body numb. In the darkened room, I sat like a zombie. Long minutes passed slowly. I could feel nothing, do nothing, until the first tear burned down my cheek. That first tear was like a bomb, busting open a great dam, releasing a torrent of hot tears rolling down my face. In the dark, I sobbed as my tears gushed out.

I knew I wasn’t alone. Even the big, macho football players could be heard sobbing. No one could believe the news. It was just too awful!

“School is recessed until Monday,” Choked the principal after a few minutes’ pause.

I ran all the way home to watch the coverage on TV. When I got home, my mother was crying. I felt comforted because Mother was at home. She was one of the few mothers in the area who did not work. The knowledge she was there gave me strength.

Even after thousands of replays on the TV, it was impossible to accept that Kennedy was dead. We sat on the couch until Father came home. He took us in his arms and held us tightly. He stood there like a mighty oak tree to give support. It was the closest I ever felt to my parents.

During the following days, there were many TV reports about Kennedy’s life. Many of his speeches were played over and over again. I pulled out a small box filled with letters from Jeff. In one letter he told how he was on guard at the Brandenburg gate and heard Kennedy proclaim, “Ich bin ein Berliner.” I imagined I could actually see Jeff in his dress uniform, standing in the background, as I watched the replays of that historic speech.

“So, you see, I was deeply moved by the death of Kennedy. I’m sure everyone alive remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing. Major events affect our collective consciousness and shape the way we perceive the world. There are thousands of smaller events we encounter daily, shaping us into who we are,” Amy proclaimed.

“Yes, it was like that in my town, too. It was such a shock to everyone,” Paul agreed.

“Well, I’m started now, so I’ll continue on through my high-school days,” Amy continued.

My life did not end, though I thought it would. Normality returned, or whatever passed for normal. I really did not have time to think much about Jeff or Sam. School was still school, but now I had to take the SAT test and apply for college admission.

“Wow, you mean you really had to pass a test to go to college? I mean, I remember the bookworms doing things like that, but jocks got scholarships,” Paul interjected.

“Well, I am sure the jocks at my school didn’t have to do much work to get into college, but us mortals were required to toe the line and pass the tests,” Amy retorted.

I did not have time to think about life and what I wanted out of life. I felt compelled to do the things expected of me. Mother put a lot of pressure on me to be more social and attend all the dances and parties associated with my last year in high school. My parents knew how much I loved to listen to music.

I remember the Christmas after Kennedy’s death; I got a portable transistor radio. I remember it so well. It was about the size of a lunch box—Barbie pink—and it required two nine-volt batteries. All my girlfriends were so jealous. They always invited me when they were going out to the park or beach and insisted I bring the radio.

It seems like music was more important to girls than boys. We would get together, listen to all the latest hits, and practice the new dance steps. The old songs were still fun to listen to, but the death of Kennedy seemed to have affected our moods. We used to only listen to groups from the United States, but after the death of Kennedy, I remember listening to more groups from England.

My parents did not watch much TV, but the Ed Sullivan Show was a must-watch. They loved the variety, comics, circus acts, ventriloquists, and musical performances. But I remember how upset they were with the way Elvis Presley danced around. I really loved the show, too, mostly for the music performances. The Beatles made their first US appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show the first week of February 1964. Watching them on stage change me and my taste in music forever. I never could understand the way so many young girls went completely crazy over them, but I loved every song they wrote. I always brought a big stack of their forty-fives when we had sleepovers.

“What, you watched that show?” Paul exclaimed. “I don’t even think my parents watched it. Oh, sure, I might have seen it once or twice, but it seemed so corny. I am sure I was either with a girl or out with my buddies at that time.”

“Well, now you know what went into my background and why, to this day, I still love the Beatles,” Amy continued.

The school dances were a big part of growing up in my area. I took advantage of every opportunity to go dancing. Most of the time, I went without a date. I always said it prevented me from being tied down to just one partner, but the real reason was no one asked me out.

All the little sock hops in the gym were fun, but there was really only one dance, the senior prom. By Christmas time the senior prom was about the only topic my girlfriends talked about. Most of them were going steady and did not have to worry about a date. They were busy making plans for “after the prom,” like driving down the coast to watch the sun come up on some romantic beach. A few were openly talking about spending the night is a motel with their boyfriend. I have to admit I was shocked about their openness.

As the date for the prom approached, I was getting concerned. No one had invited me. I really did not want to think about the real reason I was not popular. Over the years it seems some sort of poison gas surrounded me. I was called an “intellectual.” It must have scared most of the guys away. I just never seemed to attract guys like most of my girlfriends.

Just when I thought I would have to attend the prom solo, I got an invitation from a guy named Robert. I knew him from study hall. We talked in class but never very much. So his invitation came as a big surprise. I accepted because he was the last resort. It never occurred to me I might be his last resort. All I cared about was I would have an escort to the prom. I’m not sure who was more excited, me or Mother.

Mother took me shopping. Together we picked out the perfect prom gown. After going through every store in town, we ended up back at the first shop to buy the dress I looked at first. We passed it by the first time because it was rather revealing. The strapless design of the gown required me to buy a new strapless push-up bra. I was happy to have Mother there to help me select just the right bra. I even bought new high heeled shoes and dyed them a rich salmon color to match the gown. When we got back home, I just had to try everything on again.

I got all dressed up and danced before the full-length mirror. As I danced, I started humming the tune “I’m So Pretty” from West Side Story. I felt like one of my romance novels had come to life. Mother was happy to see me so excited about going to the prom.

On the day of the big dance, Mother spent long hours fixing my hair, helping me get dressed, and putting my makeup on just right. While she was busy primping me, she cautioned me about how guys thought girls owed them something for taking them out. She was most adamant when she warned me to be careful and not do anything I would be ashamed of the next morning.

Her warnings and her fear were now making me confused. Mother was so eager to have me go out, but then she make it sound like going out was somehow sinful. It all seemed so confusing. I never thought her warning might really be the voice of personal experience.

Mother never felt comfortable talking to me about sex. It was a subject simply not discussed. When she tried to have that mother-daughter talk, it must have brought back too many images of experiences she did not want to relive. She just could not face the horrors of her youth. I only learned many years later about what happened to her when she went to her prom. She came home bleeding from the painful penetration forced upon her by her date.

When mother went to school, girls did not report date rape. Back then, there was no such term as “date rape.” In those days girls were forced to accept the burden of guilt. In some way the girl must have provoked the boy. Maybe it was the clothing she wore or the way she moved when she danced. Maybe she drank too much. Maybe she led the guy on. It was never the boy’s fault. After all, the boy paid for the tickets, took her out to dinner in a fine restaurant, and even bought her a pretty corsage. So the girl was expected to do something in return to “earn all these gifts.”

No, Mother could not bring herself to confide in me about how she was raped. All she could do was make unspecific general statements about being true to one’s self, leaving me with even more questions than answers. The questions in my mind continued to accumulate. Would the suffering of one generation be passed along to the next? Would the chain ever be broken?

On the night of the prom, Robert showed up on time. He was dressed in a tux rented for the weekend. He wore a white dinner jacket, an ice-blue shirt with ruffles down the front. Black pearl studs and a wide black cummerbund worn above the black trousers with a black satin strip down the legs completed the outfit.

He nervously fumbled with the corsage, trying to attach it to the strapless dress. After a few minutes and much fumbling, Mother came to the rescue and pinned the corsage discretely between my cleavage.

We posed for the obligatory photos before we were permitted to depart. As expected, Robert had made dinner reservations at the local country club. The dinner was wonderful. I felt as if I were living out the plot of a romance novel. We arrived at the ballroom and were properly announced to the gathering as we entered.

The band played all the top hits; everyone danced and had a grand time. As the hours passed, the crowd thinned, and my head was awhirl. Robert seemed to be witty, charming, and a very good dancer. He turned out to be a great date. I even wondered why we never went out together before. Then I remembered it might be my projected image of being unapproachable.

I was having the time of my life and was completely swept away on the magic of the moment. We both laughed and giggled as we waved to our friends on the way to the car.

While we were driving home, Robert slipped his arm around my shoulder. I did not even flinch, after all wasn’t that expected? I only giggled, nervously, when he pulled off the main road onto the little back road everyone called make-out lane. Wasn’t that expected?

Robert found a secluded spot and pulled the car under a tree. Almost before the car stopped rocking from the sudden stop, he pulled me close to him. He held my head and slowly brought his lips into contact with mine. Wasn’t that expected?

Sure, I’d kissed guys before, even did some soft petting on a few of my other dates, but this one was far more enjoyable than all of my other dates combined.

The first kiss was rather timid, and our lips only brushed lightly. The second attempt was bolder as he pushed his mouth hard against mine. I felt sparks, fire, quakes, and butterflies all at once. I found I was pushing just as hard back at him, mashing our lips together hard until the meeting of lips was supplemented by a touching of tongues. The sensation was wonderful.

I felt like I was lost forever in a story-book tale. The kisses continued to fan the flames of passion. Our combined heat fogged the car’s windows. We groped and held tightly to each other as we continued our kissing exploration.

Robert set his hands free to roam over my body. Lost in the thrill of the moment, I writhed and trembled to the touch of his hands. His hand glided over my exposed bodice. I was lost in a long, deep kiss when his fingertips dived under the strapless bra and found my nipples standing hard and erect.

His probing hand did not shock me, or set off any alarms. After all wasn’t that expected? In fact, I only grabbed him tighter and kissed him again and again. I became aware of his other hand on my knee, gently working the fabric of the gown upward until my thighs were exposed. Wasn’t that expected?

My legs started quivering at his touch, and yet I did nothing to resist. His hand continued sliding up the smooth expanse of nylon-pantyhose-clad thigh. Wasn’t that expected?

It was not until he pushed his hand against my crotch and rubbed it against the nylon-sheathed, white, reinforced lace panties that I suddenly understood what Mother tried to warn me about.

My legs slammed tightly together, making him jerk his hand away, wincing in pain. Panic exploded in my brain. I wrestled to fight him off. The magic moment was dead! It was crushed between my thighs and could not be revived. I saw the hurt expression on his face. It was some sort of pained, distorted scowl.

Robert did not say a word. He just started the car and drove me home in bitter silence. He did not even walk me to the door when he dropped me off. At least I was true to myself, or at least true to Mother’s expectations. I did not have anything to be ashamed of in the morning.

I did nothing wrong; yet I did feel shame. I was not sure why. Was my shame because I led him on to expect more than I was willing to give? Was I ashamed of feeling the fire of passion? The number of unanswered questions continued to grow. All I knew for sure was that I would never be asked out by Robert, or any of his friends, again.

Deep within my heart, I knew it was my image of being unapproachable that prevented me from being as popular as my girlfriends. But school was almost over. I could deal with the title of Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, queen of the prudes. After all, that title was better than being considered a slut.

“Wow! You really were not the kind of girl I would date back when I was in school,” Paul gasped between bites of food.

“That is what I keep saying, Paul, and it’s the reason I wanted to have this talk—to get a better idea of what events in our lives combined to form our personalities,” Amy reflected. “I hope you had enough to eat,” she added before she resumed.

I was quite happy not be considered one of the “easy lays” like some of the girls in school. At the same time, I knew most of my best girlfriends were no longer virgins. At least they claimed they weren’t, and why would any girl admit to losing her virginity unless it were true?

Was there some vast gray area of respectability between prude and slut? I just did not know how other girls seemed to find this mystical place of respectability so easily. My best girlfriends were no longer virgins, but no one considered them sluts.

This question haunted my thoughts, but I did not spend much time thinking about a solution. It seemed to be just one more of the things I did not understand. I really did not have time to think about what all the boys thought about me or my reputation. Graduation was coming soon, and I had to make plans to go on to college.

“Those were just the major events I remember. There are thousands of smaller events encountered daily shaping us into who we are,” Amy said.

With great pomp and circumstance, I did graduate from high school, as I was expected to do. I went on to college, as I was expected to do. I followed all of the rules and always did the things I was expected to do, but I always knew there was something missing.

“After dinner you can fill in more details of your life,” Amy concluded.

“Oh, no! You can’t stop now,” Paul objected.

“Well if you insist,” Amy replied.

During the summer, after graduation, I was surprised to see Jeff at his parents’ home. Jeff looked much more mature than I remembered him. Excitement was burning my cheeks bright red. I fought to regain control of my emotions as I rushed over to strike up a conversation.

“Well, look at who’s back in town! Did you and your brother have any time together? Are you back for good now? What are you going to be doing?” I asked rapid-fire.

“No. I am just home on leave for a few days. I will be departing for Vietnam in two weeks,” Jeff replied.

He tried to explain how it was not easy to visit his brother. He pointed out how Germany is a big country, and the military has restrictions on travel to and from Berlin. He told me about how they managed to spend a weekend together in Munich for the Oktoberfest. Changing the subject, he asked if I was planning to go to college.

I said it was one of my options, but I said it in a voice implying it was not really my plan. I was desperate to find out what his plans were.

“So you’re not home for good?” I enquired.

“The army has been good for me. I made rank fast, and one benefit for going to Nam is I can save money to get a new car even put a down payment on a house,” he beamed.

“When I heard Pam had my baby, I almost went crazy, and I took my first leave from Germany to fly back to get married. She agreed it would be best to get married and let the army pay for living expenses while I was away. After the marriage I returned to Germany. We had a lot of long conversations about our future. She is happy I decided to reenlist. She knows the Vietnam tour is just for one year. That’s nothing compared to the time I was in Germany. She is staying with her aunt in Vermont, and she is waiting for me to come back from Nam so we can buy a nice house up there,” he continued in a casual fashion.

I could not believe what I just heard. Why was I just learning about all this now? There had never been any hint of this in all of Jeff’s letters. Sure, I hadn’t told Jeff of all my dates or about the events on prom night. But I thought getting married to someone he knew was one of my best friends should have been mentioned in a letter. Sam never mentioned anything about his brother’s plans in his letters. Now I stood like Lot’s wife, a pillar of salt, unable to respond. I stood pretending I was listening, but my brain clouded over, unable to comprehend the words beating against my eardrum.

“Well, that sure is a big surprise to me,” I stammered as I fought to control my emotions and fight back tears. I just felt so naïve. My brain struggled to sort through all the bits of information. Like a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces started to fall into place. I could not believe the picture forming.

Why hadn’t I been able to figure this out before? There was the little episode at my party, when Pam and Jeff went missing; Pam leaving so abruptly to live back East; and then the news that she had a baby. Now I realized I had been deceiving myself all this time. I let romance novels blind me to the reality of life. It was perfectly clear to me now. Jeff had never been attracted to me. Jeff thought of me as “just the kid next door.” I was totally dumbfounded. The shock was so great that I wanted to cry, but my tears failed me. Though numb to the core of my soul, I tried to act normal.

In an attempt to change the subject, I told Jeff about how I was planning to go to CAL Berkeley. It was close to home, but far enough away I would be on my own; the distance was a big plus. I was not sure what my major would be, but there was time to figure it out later. All this information was given to Jeff in my most neutral, matter-of-fact voice. I didn’t want to let him know or see how deeply hurt I was. Clearly, all my dreams were in vain.

I did my best to avoid seeing him while he was on leave. The pain was so great that I did not even say good-bye to him before he left. Going to the airport to say good-bye would only serve to rekindle the pain in my heart. I had set my mind to get over the pain of the past and was now working hard to get my college applications completed.

“It seems like you really were more in love with Jeff than you thought. It must have been a real shock to find out about Jeff being the father of Pam’s child. But from what you told me about your background and family, I can understand why,” Paul reflected.

“Thinking back on it, I think you’re right. At the time all I felt was hurt and humiliation. Enough about me for now. It is your turn,” Amy replied.