Last night, I had the most beautiful dream. I was making love with Christopher Meloni, (think Law and Order SVU), and it was marvelous. I didn't want it to end, (what woman would?), but of course, it did. Damn!!!! At least it wasn't a nightmare. It would have been for him, if he was dreaming the same thing, though.
Now, why did I dream that particular dream about him? I think it is because I watched one of favorite movies, "Harold and Kumar go to Whitecastle". It is not a movie for deep thinkers. It is for me a movie that reminds me of my early twenties, where every night was an adventure, and doing stupid, irresponsible things were the norm. I remember climbing into some guys catamaran, and sailing around the Chesapeake Bay, feet dangling in the water, with a beer in my hand. Despite his numerous attempts to show me his living arrangements on board, I declined. He was a very attractive guy, but too full of himself for my taste. When we came closer to shore, the tide was out, so we waded by to the beach.
I remember riding on the back of a motorcycle with an incredibly handsome young man named Star, (it was the seventies, remember?) my arms wrapped tightly around his middle. Later on that evening I discovered he was a virgin, don't ask how, but most likely when I said, what the hell are you trying to do? Then I got to play teacher, and found I could be full of myself too. Was that a pun? I don't' know.
And then I met M. No not Shyamalan, but a young sailor who was part of the group I hung around with. We mostly met in someones apartment, and got stoned, listened to music, and acted like fools. It was marvelous. I guess being away from my restrictive home-life, being on my own for the first time, I went buck-wild. M. and I would go on to have a wonderful relationship, and I loved him as much as a twenty year old heart can. We laughed at ourselves, and I was always amazed that he could lift me over his head. Strong little rascal that he was, he made me laugh. His best friend had a crush on me, and was torn between his friendship and wanting to get in my pants, I guess. Not a polite way to put it, but much more direct, don't you think? I finally told him that his friendship with M. was much more important than anything else, and then he was just mean to me.
I remember when we went to a movie or something, we were so stoned we tried to act normal, which just made us look more obvious. I mean, how long can you stand at the refreshment counter, overwhelmed by the display of snacks, discussing the pros and cons of which item you want the most? "Man I'm really liking those hot tamales, but those m&ms are good too. Shit, there just so much stuff! Man, I'll never figure this out..." How much can you laugh at the "Omen", and not seem a little off? We never considered that probably half of the people there were in the same boat we were in. It was glorious days, full of fun, sand, half-assed work, which mostly consisted of the re-telling of the previous nights adventures, and the sound of the waves. We sat outside our little apartments on the cement, and rejoiced in the cool night breeze that flowed over our bodies, a welcome refreshment to sun-drenched skin.
We were visited by law-enforcement officials a time or two, peeking out the peep-hole trying to hide the evidence and act like law-abiding citizens, with music blaring in the background, most likely Led Zeppelin, and "Stairway to Heaven".
"We received a complaint about the music. You guys have to turn it down a bit, ok?" 'Of course, sir, we didn't know it was so loud. You guys doing ok? Man, we really messed up with the music. We're really sorry, cause that isn't cool, you know. Hey man, can you tell us who called?"
"The lady downstairs." We looked at each other in shock. Damn, she can hear us?!? What have we talked about? Consumed by paranoia, as we searched our minds about topics we had discussed. But we soon returned to our previous activities.
Driving was always a hazardous adventure. Driving over 25 miles an hour seemed too dangerous, while we constantly checked the rear view mirror, expecting to see the dreaded blue lights any second. We were never stopped, but the anticipation made everything so exciting and real.
Where are they now? I have no idea. I got married, to a man who lamented more than once that I was not a virgin. I did too. Why, I don't know, other than the religious background reared its ugly head, reminding me that I had been wicked. We soon moved to Pensacola, and I missed my friends horribly. We lost touch, and other than a few phone calls, and letters, I never heard from them again.
I think back on those days fondly, wishing sometimes I could relive those moments of freedom, the care-free fun seeking existence that surrounded me. But, like, man, I'm an old lady now, so it can't be done. But the stories I can tell!
Why hadn't I met Christopher Melloni back then? Probably because he hadn't been born yet.