At age 13 I really wanted to have a crush on someone. I was ready. Carol Joy had had a crush on someone from Bible Camp. I was enamored of Victoria Holt, whose impoverished heroines took up lives as governesses, yearned after the young blond lord and were saved by the dangerous dark character whose true love trumped the evil machinations of blond pretender.
I looked around. A fellow named Garry occasionally showed up at the church scouting group night. He was about 18, wore sleeveless t-shirts, and, though all the kids loved his wild and crazy ways, a hint of disapproval surrounded his appearances. Had he fallen out into the World? Did it have anything to do with the tents that had been put away damp or were more exciting sins eliciting the tangible disapproval of the elders? I didn’t know or care. I was smitten.
I promptly wrote him a letter in which I somehow managed not to confess I had a crush on him. I merely asked him if he would be my pen pal and chatted. To my complete and utter surprise, he wrote back, thus sealing the deal. This wasn’t just an ordinary crush. This was true love. I put his letter under my pillow and wrote back.
Luckily, I somehow had the wisdom to keep the undying love part secret, and it died away pretty quickly, to be replaced by an unusually persistent friendship. Over the next few years, he occasionally showed up at church—though always after the service was over—and gave me an (exciting) ride home in his pickup truck. My mother liked him a lot. She was not one of those disapproving elders, so he showed up at the house other times too, and she was fine with me going off to play basketball with him at the church school on Tuesday evenings. She was right about him. He was the perfect gentleman, though he was mercilessly critical of my inability to do a lay-up from a mid-air position.
I’m not sure my mother would have approved quite so much had she known about Garry’s wild and crazy driving style, but I somehow had the wisdom to keep this to myself as well. I loved it. It was thrilling. He zipped in and out of traffic, passed everyone, zoomed around people at stoplights, did 65 mph on the side streets, and managed to keep up speed on packed rush-hour highways. In short, his driving was completely obnoxious and dangerous. I completely trusted its competency. My teen-age boys learning to drive would be thrilled if I was as oblivious and trusting now, but I am slightly more risk averse in my old age.
Later I loaned Garry $400 to buy an ice cream truck. While I was working downtown as a temporary typist, I sometimes went to buy an ice cream from him as he could often be found near the Sears Tower, an illegal but lucrative location that earned him both a lot of money and lot of tickets.
The last time I saw Garry was probably 30 years ago already. My brother and I dropped in to see him at his apartment. He answered the door with a gun in his hand, but was happy once he figured out it was us. He had filled almost the entire front room with a platform bed construction so that the floor under and around it could be completely covered with motorcycle parts.
I’ve lost touch with him now. At my mother’s memorial service, his mother told me that he didn’t speak to her at all, and that he had become a bitter man. I hope this is just a rumor spread by disapproving people and that in reality he’s still wild and crazy, recklessly launching himself forward into life.
Beautiful capture and cool story- I don't understand why he became bitter-maybe it's just a rumor- am sure he's a sweet guy, he used to sell ice cream ,right?;)
Nicely captured tree love. I have one, and only one, heart on a tree. It worked for about 20 years, but then I guess someone cut the tree down. Cool story, as usual.
It is always surprising to find out where some friends end up, and I must confess as I read your description of his antics behind the wheel, a Parent's worst nightmare
@swilde yes; a couple years later, when I was living in Boston he dropped by my parent's office and gave them the cash. Guess I should have worked that into the story.
I am so glad you have participated this month. Your stories always are fun to read. I too used to love Victoria Holt and the dangerous dark hero saved by true love for the pure young heroine
I had a crush on Villo Maurique. Yes, that was really his name. He was blond! And he was often in trouble. Apparently there was a mishap in the science lab one day involving water and a rather messy clean-up. The buzz was that Villo was responsible and I was totally convinced that he had to be innocent. Sigh...he wasn't the first nor the last boy I was wrong about. Proving Ms. Holt's books may have had some truth behind them. Great story!
October 1st, 2014
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