20160614 (amor juvenis)

What became of Helen Mary, first

Throb of my adolescent heart?

She is, I hope, still alive; as age

Might have it still beautiful, though

Years may have lined her face,  babies

Revised her figure. Hopefully her

Hair has gone white not the 

Gray of her aunts and mom. 

I wonder if she went to college

And where? We didn’t 

Discuss algebra but I’d bet she

Knew as a girl of fifteen, had I

Asked, “What’s an X-axis or Y?”

She agreed to a movie date and

To give you an idea how young

We were, my dad drove me 

To her house to pick her up

(My parents steadfast in their 

Refusal to let me drive—I 

Didn’t get a license until ’62”),

Then drove us downtown to a

Gilt and red plush first-run theater

For “Porgy and Bess,” in the

Winter of 1959, with Sidney 

Poitier and Dorothy Dandridge,

Directed by Otto Preminger).

I was as socially backward as 

A Catholic boy could get when it

Came to the opposite sex, as

We so clumsily referred to

Women and girls at that time.

I had no idea of what first base

Was in the jargon of the day. I

Had been sheltered so long, was

So slow on the uptake. I tried 

Putting my arm around her but 

Ended up with it perched on the 

Rim of her seat until it went 

Numb. Once the pins and needles

Dissipated I held her hand and

That alone was sufficient for

Transport to another world.

The music provided all the rest

Of the propellant and my heart

Soared with the words, “Bess,

You is my woman now, oh yes,

Oh Bess, you is, you is my woman

Now.” Think of the melody with 

The volume swelling, you should

Get the picture—my breath starting

And stopping, the hair on my arms

Rising, this heady mixture of a 

Young man with a young woman,

Barely understanding the romance

He’d never felt before. Looking 

Back I hope she was impressed.

But back at her house, I lost it,

Overstayed my welcome, left about

Midnight or later. I kissed her lips

As I left, heard her parents grumbling

From upstairs. The evening had 

Been wonderful. I had done no

Wrong, though I was sure my

Parents would call the police.

The bus came finally. Thank 

God it ran at all but if it hadn't

I could have floated home by 

Morning. About 1:30 my father, 

Very unwillingly it seemed,

Read me a riot act. To no avail, I

Was unaware of anything but love

And for the next several weeks,

Penned innumerable decorated

“Helen Mary”s in the notebooks

Of the seven courses I had that

Semester.  But mysteriously to me

We didn’t go out again. She 

Stopped visiting her cousin, my

Friend across the street (which 

Is how we first met) and I never 

Saw her or heard of her again.

It took me a while to understand

How I’d screwed up big time.

Nonetheless I cannot and will

Not erase the memory of 

That first kiss. Which is why

I still wonder what became

Of Helen Mary.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016