Music…

Promise Me

Show Me

The Cover Girls

and Words

It’s been so very long
Since you held me in your arms this way
And all this time that you’ve been gone
I’ve thought about you each and every day

So now you’ve returned
And you want to try our love again
But frankly I’m concerned
That you will hurt (Hurt me) like you did then

Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.

It was the summer of 1986.  Looking back, I remember very little from that summer.  Everything from the moment I graduated high school until the time I started college was little more than a blur.  I occasionally waited on tables, although I wasn’t very good, pathetic actually.  I may have had more jobs, though I don’t know where or when they might have been.  There was also my first real car, a 1966 Mustang, painted metallic blue; I loved that car, although she broke down more often than I care to admit.  I remember dancing the night away at parties, occasionally until the sun rose.

Mostly, I remember July 5, 1986; it was the day I met her.  I don’t remember many details about that night; only that it was a mutual friend’s birthday.  Funny, I don’t even remember his name anymore.  We sat at a Denny’s, among us, both of my sisters and both of hers.  We talked for some time; I was somewhat surprised to have her attention.  She was of mixed Honduran and Chinese heritage, and I… I was enchanted and quite helplessly so.  And thus, it started, an emotional roller coaster that lasted years.

It was sometime during the summer of 1990.  It was a party that she and her sisters threw.  They held it at the same place where we had attended so many other parties.  Naturally, I attended.  She was a drug; her mere presence was something I ached for.  She was stunningly beautiful, and naturally, quite popular.  This party, like other parties we attended, alternated between two types of music.  There was the typical dance music; being in Miami, it often had a heavy Latin influence.  It was the music to which we would dance wildly, played so mind-numbingly loudly that we couldn’t hear each other.  Then there was the slow music.  The music couples would long for; the music I normally dreaded.

I remember the first time she and I slow danced… years ago.  My heart raced as I approached her; my voice slightly trembled when I asked her to dance.  She graciously accepted; if she noticed my nervousness, she didn’t show it.  We danced to Wham’s Careless Whisper.  She held me closely, with her arms around my shoulders wrapped in a soft embrace.  We swayed almost mindlessly to the rhythm of the music… among all the other couples on the dirty dance floor, each of us isolated on our own little island.  I was oblivious to everyone else, spellbound by this young woman.  She whispered something I can’t remember.  We continued exchanging words softly and rock gently to the music.  I could feel the warmth of her body through our clothes… the slow rhythm of her breathing.  And then, as quickly as it all started, it ended… the music… the dance… and this little slice of heaven.  Now it was nothing but a mere memory.

To my dismay, a series of ballads started.  The song Promise Me, by the Cover Girls, started playing.  There I sat slowly working up the nerve to ask her to dance.  While I looked away for a few moments, I heard her voice.  She had approached me and was standing immediately before me.  She declared she wanted to be a good hostess, and she asked me to dance.  I don’t quite remember the exact words I used in my state of excitement and surprise.  I remember accepting as I took her hand and was led to the dance floor.

We found our place on the dance floor.  She rested her hands upon my shoulders as I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her closer.  We spoke for a few moments about nothing in particular, rocking softly to music. I was mesmerized by her voice; it had a hint of a Spanish accent, incredibly sexy.  I was intoxicated by our closeness… the scent of our bodies, a sweet mixture of perfume, hairspray, and perspiration… the warmth we shared where our bodies touched… the very feminine form of her body, which tormented me as we continued swaying gently to the rhythm of the music… the dampness of our bodies from the perspiration… the almost tangible caress of her breath upon my neck each time she exhaled.  I wanted to somehow record absolutely everything and commit it to memory.

Unexpectedly, she started to sing along softly. [promise me, that you’ll never go away] Her voice was scarcely over a whisper. At first, I wondered if I had actually heard it… or if I was quietly losing my mind… but her sweet voice sounded again.  We then danced more to the sound of her voice than the music that surrounded us. [it’s been so very long… since you held me in your arms so tight] I pulled her a little closer still; part of me wondering if they were merely the words to the music, or maybe, hopefully, an expectant plea from this young woman. [what you must do to prove your love is true…] Yes? Indeed, what must I do? [Is give me a guarantee that you’ll love me through and through] We continued dancing this way, as I silently hoped she wasn’t just singing.

And thus came the excruciating end.  The music stopped.  Her hands fell from my shoulders; I released my embrace.  The warmth of her body lingered upon my own.  Her scent dwelled upon my clothes.  We exchanged cordial goodbyes.  Then, she simply walked away… taking a little piece of me with her.

It was later that same summer. It was another party… the next party.  It was held at a different place, farther away.  I was feeling sick, but still planned to attend; I would be going with other friends.  I simply had to see her again.  On the way to the party I became worse… feverish.  By the time I arrived, I was barely able to keep my thoughts together.  There she was on the dance floor; we exchanged quick greetings.  I went to one of the tables and there I sat miserably for the entire party.  I was torn between wanting to be with her and not wanting her to see me this sick.

When the next set of slow songs came, I didn’t approach her.  I couldn’t.  She was approached a number of times by other men, but turned each one down.  And so this continued for the remainder of the night.  Was it my turn? Was she waiting for me to approach?  Maybe I should’ve at least sat down and talked to her.  Maybe we should’ve talked more about what we felt for each other.  Maybe I was terrified of coming face to face with that which I longed for many years.  And thus the night ended for me this way, in a quiet whimper.  I thought to myself, there would always be other parties.  There weren’t, not like this one.  The party was over.  I broke my promise.

Shortly after, I finally worked up the nerve to call her, a number of times actually.  Time after time, she turned me down.  After many years, the chase was finally over.  Each dance we shared over those years was simply a step on a much larger dance, one that lasted four years and spread over a dozen dance floors.  This song was finally over.  It was time to release my embrace and watch her walk away.

For those years, she was part of my every thought… of my very being.  I had convinced myself that I truly loved this young woman.  I never uttered those words, and certainly not to her; it would’ve broken the fantasy.  I fell madly in love with a woman whom I didn’t know.  I didn’t know what she wanted out of life.  I didn’t know what she was passionate about.  I didn’t know what her favorite color was.  I simply didn’t know her.  How dare I?  I was a boy gambling with his heart, completely unaware of the stakes of the game and I lost. Maybe we both lost.

Many years have passed since that crazy summer, including many years of growing up.  I’ve lost the foolish idealism and naiveté that I had back then.  Somehow, I doubt I’ll ever feel precisely that way about anyone again.  In many ways, I miss those days.  I miss feeling that certain about all the wonderful things I felt for her.  I miss thinking that somehow my heart and sheer determination would be enough to overcome those obstacles.  I miss believing that it was magical; that somehow we were fated to be together.  However, the grown-up in me now understands and appreciates how hard relationships really are. Perhaps my sentiments are best expressed by the following:

El amor hay que alimentarlo todos los dias con esas pequeñas cosas que nosotros ya perdimos.

-Palito Ortega, Prometimos No Llorar

It’s in Spanish.  It translates to, “Love must be nourished each day with those little things we’ve lost.”  I don’t consider myself a cynic, but I’d like to think of myself as a realist, which certainly means at least part of that spell is broken.  Obviously there are many things I would do differently now, but that’s another story, for another time.

It was the winter of 1997.  I was back in South Florida for my vacation.  I managed to track down one of my high school teachers; she taught mathematics and computer programming.  Although she has since stopped teaching, she still worked for the department of education.  I was delighted to talk to her on the phone and made plans to have lunch with her.  We met at the restaurant and sat down for lunch.  It felt quite strange to call her by her first name; it wasn’t something I had really thought about. [Nancy?]  We caught up on everything… what we have done since… who we still kept track of… It was incredibly fun.

During this time, two women walked into the restaurant and approached the hostess.  They were waiting to be seated.  One of them bore a striking resemblance to this woman from my past.  As lunch continued, I could not keep my eyes off her.  At least I had the decency to explain this to my old teacher, who wasn’t on vacation, and thus had to get back to work.  I picked up the bill and walked her to her car.  We exchanged e-mail addresses and also told her I would be checking to see if this was the same woman.

I returned to the restaurant looking for this mystery woman.  She had been seated, but I managed to find her table.  I approached her and asked.  What are the chances?  To my pleasant surprise, it was her.  We talked for a few minutes.  She mentioned that she thought it was me, but wasn’t sure since I now wore long hair.  We exchanged business cards and e-mail addresses.  Ironically, there were recently a number of us, in the same group of friends, who talked about getting together soon, that very night as a matter of fact.  As it happens, a number of us ended up dining together and dancing that night, including her and myself.  During the course of the night, I came to discover I really I didn’t know this woman.  [She likes basketball, which I never knew…]  And perhaps more importantly, I found that I no longer felt the aching need I felt so many years before.  It was still quite wonderful seeing her.  She was just as charming as I remember.  I’ll always be very fond of her, but that fire has burned itself out.