Yesterday I was driving across the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel on my way to a Bon Voyage Fete in Virginia Beach for a dear friend. (Cue: Bobby Daren’s version of “Sailing”.) I have traveled Eastbound across this particular connector countless times filled with thoughts of sun filled days stretched across bright colored beach towels on the sandy shores, building sand sculptures and body surfing the brownish green waves. But yesterday as I headed towards the tunnel that allows ships docked in Norfolk to pass out to sea, my car window open to allow the salty fresh air kissing my face, I glanced to the left towards the Naval Base and a rush of phantom excitement came over me. It was as though I passed through a time warp to a warm June day in between my Senior Year of High School and my Freshman year at Boston U when I was speeding in my 1974 Ford Mustang convertible towards a day or two of heaven spent with a dashing young sailor whom I will refer to as Trent for the sake of decorum.
My entire being recalled the tingling of every cell in my body that earmarked the thrill of anticipation. The Cheshire Cat smile that emerged across my face when I saw his ship from the bridge because it meant I was close and getting closer to someone who was waiting for me with equal enthusiasm. The freedom of youthful carelessness rushed through me- certainly I had called in sick to my job in order to race down to the beach at the last minute to see Trent for a few days of irreverent bliss. It was all there for a moment.
I thought about Trent and how ridiculously handsome he was. A gorgeous specimen of a man with chiseled features, dark straight hair, flashing blue eyes and the muscular frame of a boxer. The broad smile on his face when I arrived at the ship. How he showed me around and showed me off to his shipmates. Two years older and a little dangerous (he had dropped out of college to join the Navy- something that was unheard of at my prep school and he was a boxer of sorts) he was quite popular and being with him made me feel important and special. But other than growing up in the same town we had very little in common except a frat-like penchant for drinking (Bourbon & Coke was his poison of choice), a love of dancing (and I mean ballroom – all the men in his family were fantastic dancers) and an animalistic appreciation of each other… so, sadly, relationship did not last long.
Though it was a pleasure to remember that moment and to reminisce about my old flame it made me sad that there is not someone in my life at present who gets tingly in anticipation of seeing me and I wondered if I will ever feel like that again?
Perhaps the fact that I can recall it so vividly is a good sign that it can and will.