My Real Memoir
I’d fallen in love with the entirety of girlkind in second grade. A third-grader had seen me skin my elbow, and tenderly rubbed my shoulders as she escorted me to the nurse’s office. That was all it took. Even at 23, I’d gladly have skinned my elbow every day in exchange for rubs. True, those rubs often took the form of what 21st-centurians would call friends-with-benefits. But deep down I was hungry for The Big Love, the one that would finally give my life meaning. As the old Nat King Cole song “Nature Boy” said, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” And I believed it.
But, meanwhile, I’d settle for rubs.
And then I met this girl. I was putting the final touches on my soon-to-open school of the arts when she walked in. She was only eighteen, but everything about Star—her long lashes, her willowy figure and airy voice—said “Summer of Love 1967.” She was smart and funny, and repeatedly touched me as we talked. Rubs! I began touching her back. Things were progressing rather nicely, I thought, when Star let slip that she was still in high school. Wait—what? It turned out she was only fifteen! My passion instantly curdled. I apologized. She apologized.
Star soon became my assistant, volunteering in exchange for free classes. She excelled at everything she undertook: acting, singing, and especially dancing. Years later, she told me that her mother had groomed her and her sister to be paramours to older men. Mom had taught them that love was an exchange: womanly charms for security. So Star had to learn, as did I, that…
Real love is a gift, not a transaction.
Meanwhile, like a multiplex, our little Institute of the Arts opened with hits and misses. My former infatuation Melissa taught Creative Beginnings, an intro-to-the-arts class for kids (I drove the bus). Joe from my now-defunct band The Daily Planet taught drums. Painting, Pottery, Voice, and Guitar classes were popular, as was Ballet, but then the teacher quit. And meanwhile, everyone was hot for Jazz.
So I advertised, and found a diminutive fireball named Ellen who became a dear friend and our much-loved new ballet teacher.
And then I met this girl. Janet, our new Jazz teacher, had the face of Olivia Newton John before The Pink Ladies and the body of Olivia Newton John after The Pink Ladies. But she was married. So we hung out. Platonically. A lot. And when our newly-formed Jazz Ballet Company needed a male dancer, Janet asked me to pose evocatively while real dancers leaped around me.
Then one night after rehearsal, when Janet and I were well into our second bottle of Blue Nun, she told me she’d left her husband. She admitted she’d hated marriage, and cheated on him. A lot. Once with a stranger. In a library. Next to a photocopier. Whoa. I admitted (Plato be dammed) that I’d been attracted to her since the moment we met. She rubbed my shoulders and said, “Me too.” Rubs! Still, we agreed, nothing should happen until she was divorced.
And then we went to her place.
Was I in love? Dare I be–with a woman who lacked the fidelity gene? I was definitely in lust. But love? And then, while Janet was in Hawaii sampling beaches and beach boys…
I met this girl…
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
I found your memories wonderful and narrated in an engaging and fascinating way💙
Aw, thank you, Luisa.
You are so very welcome, Mitch!
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I’m waiting for the next one!!
Nice honest memoir. I look forward the next installment
Thanks, Anne.
Your memoir made me think of country singer Johnny Lee’s song “Looking For Love in All the Wrong Places.” 🙂
If he hadn’t written it, I would have. ;>)
Goodness–how many girls before we get to Trudy?! (Never mind. Maybe you’d better not answer that question in case she’s reading these memoirs! 😊)
Well, I met Trudy nine years after this, so, yeah, maybe I shouldn’t answer that, Nancy. ;>)
You definetly have a flare for telling a story. Looking forward for the next…
Thanks, Pete.
Your memoir is very engaging. I like the way you drew me in. Lots of girls. Mr. Romance.
;>) Thanks, Chris.
Friends “platonically”, but then “never mind” 😂
I love your real memoirs, Mitch.
Aw, thanks, Iman.
Brings back many high school memories for myself. Somewhere in the background I can here Barbara singing memories like the corners of my mind…
Funny you should mention that, Rasma. “The Way We Were” was, in fact, the #1 song in 1974, the year I’m writing about.
which year did prince say to party like it’s
This is a fun story and all, but the thing that really impresses me about this chapter of your life are the entrepreneurial “chops” it must have taken to start and run your own business like this. Well done, sir.
Thank you, Anonymous. But, honestly, while I was creative and innovative, I lacked a lot on the business side, and the school only lasted a few years.
Gees, reading this i’m reminded how young you are…
summer of love ’61
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