Looking Backward

Friday night, my wife and I attended a gallery opening, something I normally am not inclined to do.  I had no expectations that I would know anyone and doubted the artist would remember me, although I am a big fan of her work.

When we arrived, the gallery was already so crowded that people were spilling out into the parking lot.  Nevertheless, we pushed ahead through the throng until we were inside.  As my wife endeavored to get a peek at the artwork on display, I dutifully followed along behind her, oblivious to my surroundings.  Then I heard a woman’s voice call out, “I think I see my old high school flame!”

Turning in her direction, I was surprised to see a woman looking at me.  Her face looked vaguely familiar and a name leaped to mind, but I waited for her to say it.  I was afraid I might be wrong.  I also was thinking of the Spike Jones song, “My old flame, I can’t remember her name,”  sung by Paul Frees in imitation of Peter Lorre.  I couldn’t believe anyone would refer to me as “my old flame.”

“It’s me, Amber,” she said.  She took me by the hand and started pulling me in the opposite direction.

Memories began flooding back.  To put things in perspective, I was president of the audio-visual crew.  Seriously.  A nerd’s nerd – socially awkward and shy.  And Amber was the first girl I ever asked out on a date.  We got to know each other in speech class when she asked to borrow my copy of “Tom Jones” (the screenplay of the Tony Richardson film).  Which she promptly lost. But it was an opening.

I felt  Amber was the artiest, most sophisticated girl in our high school.  And after I heard her sing, “Girl From Ipanema,” I worked up the courage to ask her out.  We went to see Richard Burton and Claire Bloom in “The Spy Who Came In From The Cold” at Cinema East.  She seemed stunned by the downer ending and as we left the theater she found a bench, sat down, and said nothing for several minutes.

That summer, I went on vacation with my parents.  We drove to Seattle and back.  Along the way, I sent Amber a postcard every opportunity I got, providing her with a running commentary on my trip.  I believe I called them “The Postcard Chronicles,” or some such thing.

I hadn’t seen Amber in 43 years, but I had thought about her from time-to-time, hoping she was well.  Now, one of the first things she said was she had been thinking of me lately – and that she still had my postcards.  We introduced our respective spouses and briefly recounted our lives since we had last seen one another.  Before we parted, Amber said, “Let’s not lose track of each other this time.”  She then added, “Do you have a website?”

A timely question.  Just this week, I had registered the URL davidmeyers.biz and had spent a number of hours constructing a website, including this blog.

“Yeah,” I said, and gave her my card.

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