Do you have a story you want to share from First Tuesday Write and Read?
Post it in the comments section below to share what you wrote. You can also respond to other writers’ story posts. Consult our Feedback Guidelines if you have questions about giving or receiving feedback.
If you need help with how to post your story, click here and here.
14 Comments
Dorothy M Weiss
“Stardust Memories”
Franklin K. Lane High School , Brooklyn New York, 1957. I was a cheerleader on our school’s cheering squad. He was the Captain of the basketball team from a different school, Andrew Jackson High School in Queens, New York. Our basketball teams competed for the High School Championship trophy. We fell in love. He was handsome, with a great personality and was a fabulous dancer. He was my prom date. Our puppy love lasted through our college years and we did indeed get married.
Ah, first love. It didn’t last. We were young and foolish, each unwilling to surrender our career goals for the other —–but — at least smart enough to go our separate ways, cordially, and start anew.
I never looked back and didn’t think of this past moment in time until today’s writing class prompt was given to us. My high school prom is still chrystal clear in my memory. I can still hear the music from the band as we danced. Hoagy Carmichael’s song, “ Stardust Melody” and that refrain, “ Sometimes I wonder why…….. “ My best friend Audrey was Queen of the prom, and I was one of her attending ladies. She was beautiful. We all were beautiful, young, proud, carefree, confident, filled with great expectations of life.
Memories are amazing. They are frozen in time, it seems, just waiting for us to pause, look at them again like a photograph, a snapshot. Someone gives us a key, a prompt, and off we go straight down memory lane. It’s magical!
Thank you Patricia for the prompt, and Tanya and Terry for your cordial critiques helping me unlock this memory, and write this story.
Ricki Aiello
It was 1967, and I was graduating from Glastonbury High School. Gowned and properly tasseled, I searched the crowd of parents, grandparents, and other family looking for my dad. Of course, he would be there to see me receive my diploma. He wouldn’t come and go without seeing me achieve my four year accomplishment, would he?
Just two days before, my grandmother, Dad’s mod had died. She was the one I was named after, though to be honest, I always felt closer to my mom’s mom. There was to be a wake for Mama and Dad, as one of her six children, was expected to be there. He had told me he could do both – see me graduate and right after, leave for the wake. But, the speaker was taking forever, and the ceremony presenting our diplomas wouldn’t begin until she stopped talking!
I took another look across the fenced in area in front of our high school. It was a beautiful June day and late enough the afternoon for the sun to be hidden behind the tall structure throwing a long shadow across the open field filled with the nervous movements of the audience as they sat in the folding chairs facing the stage. I was in a graduating class of some 180 seniors. One advantage I had was my name began with an “A”. I would be one of the first called up to receive the leather-like covered folder with the impressive diploma inside.
By the time the ceremony had ended and I joined my happy family, my dad was not there. I couldn’t help the look of disappointment. Mom reached over and said, “He had to leave, but he said he is so proud of you.” We shared a look of compassion and sadness and then did what all the families around us were doing; we celebrated. The next few days were going to be difficult, but we had this moment together – Mom and me.
Carole Mayback
Sweet story, Ricki. I like that you had a moment with Mom.
Vern
Very touching. A great story of your compassion and empathy for your dad. Your maturity, even as a high school senior is evident.
Dorothy M Weiss
Ricki,
Your graduation day experiences touched my heart. Pain, disappointment, prelude to adulthood, – and our Moms who are always there for us, — and our Dads too. Impossible to be in two places at the same time. Attend your Mother’s funeral/wake or your child’s graduation? Like being between a rock and a hard place.
Well written, clear, feeling and emotion, beautiful descriptive phrases. Thank you for sharing/writing this story.
Cheryl
Lunch Date By Cheryl Floyd
Dating Kenneth had its challenges. Attempting to spend as much time together as possible became our main goal. Since he was a senior and I a sophomore our schedules did not correlate. He came to my locker between classes, walked me to my next class and we still wanted more time together.
“Lunch time,” he said, “We can eat lunch together, I’ve got it all figured out.”
“Kenneth, that’s crazy, they won’t allow us to sit at the same table. Seniors with seniors, class with class. You know that.”
“Wait, honey, I have it. If we bring our own lunches we are allowed to eat outside at the picnic tables behind the gym.”
“Really? I don’t know, “ I hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Sure, I have friends who hate the cafeteria food and they started bringing their lunches. Let’s try it.”
Later at home, I told mama our plan. She shook her head, as she usually did with my ideas, and said, “It’s up to you, but you have to make your own lunches. Maybe it will save a little money on lunches.”
The next morning, I put my favorite bologna and mayonnaise sandwich in a paper sack with some potato chips and I stuffed it into my purse.
Kenneth met me in the hall at my locker before lunch. He wore the biggest smile on his face, “Come on, let’s go!” He grabbed my hand and led me down the hall almost running others down as he headed toward the front door and the gymnasium.
My heart raced with excitement feeling his fingers wrapped around mine, both caught up in the excitement of doing something so out of the ordinary so we could be together.
I had eaten school lunches in that cafeteria since first grade. Two of the lunch ladies were practically relatives; their daughters were married to my older brothers. My lunch ladies would wonder if I was sick. My whole family, all five of my brothers had eaten all their school lunches there. I felt like a delinquent stealing out of the cafeteria line and running into the daylight and out of my norm.
Gone were the sounds of my friends chattering away among the slamming sounds of lockers, joking and jostling past the library and principal’s office on their way to the cafeteria where the delicious aroma of fresh baked bread would greet them.
I wanted to be with Kenneth; it excited me to think we could sit close together on the same bench for lunch with our bodies close together, his arm ever so lightly brushing mine as we ate and talked. My heart pounded harder and questions ran through my mind. Was it really okay? Would the principal come around the corner of the gym and tell us to separate and go meet our classmates? Had Kenneth really checked to make sure we weren’t breaking a rule? I didn’t like breaking or even bending rules. But he loved pushing rules to the limits and of course that excited me more. I loved him and of course would follow him. Little did I know how much trouble he could lead me into, but on that day, he led me to lunch outside of the familiar wall of the school cafeteria from known territory to the unknown.
As we slid onto the bench together, he let go of my hand and eagerly dove into his paper bag lunch. “Oh, no, not spam,” he grumbled, “Mom knows I hate spam.”
His mother may have thought that spam sandwich would drive him back to the school cafeteria, but she didn’t realize my love for her son. I offered him a trade, I gave my love my beloved bologna sandwich and I ate the spam.
Dorothy M Weiss
Kudos! Cheryl, your story is packed with delightful, delicious, fun-filled action. Complete details. Vibrant imagery. I enjoyed reading your story.
Carole Mayback
Parties Unlimited had Consequences by Carole Mayback
I was so lucky to have a fun job in high school. Working with some of the cutest and funniest guys in school, I remember having a crush on all of them! I started when I was 14, in 9th grade. I looked up to Paul Wolman and Pete Eisner. They had graduated from our school and were still doing parties, even after college – in fact, they were the entertainment at my own coming of age party when I was 13. Not everyone gets to work for a party company as their first job ever! We were Parties Unlimited, and we were fun. I loved singing into the microphone when they let me. To start, I was the lowly tech who plugged in all the lights and sound equipment. I think I was called a “mixer” because it was my job to dance with everyone to get the party started! Then I flicked the switches on the light boxes to the rhythm of the music and put up all the lights in the room when the DJs wanted to conduct a trivia contest. Later, when I could drive to our gigs, I became a Disc Jockey (DJ) and could sing as much as I wanted. We played 45s and for fun played the flip sides. Cut the Cake’s B-side was Pick up the Pieces, and it was just as good as the A-side, if not better. Later we moved to cassette tapes, and had to get all new sound equipment. Kids did not care. If the beat did not slow down, no one noticed. Everyone danced and screamed and yelled until the bittersweet end. We DJs had a few catch phrases we relied on at every event. I still remember at the end of each party, we all said together, “We’d like to thank Melissa for making this party possible, and we’d like to thank Melissa’s PARENTS, for making Melissa possible!”
The sound was deafening. I know because I was there. Our speakers were 6 feet high and about 2 feet wide. I was standing right next to them for most of the time. We had a live drummer and my partners, Michael, Steven and I had to yell into each other’s ears to communicate while the songs were playing. The Bee Gees, The Spinners, Earth, Wind and Fire & Donna Summer …
The rooms I remember best were at the neighborhood Quality Inn. The first floor meeting room was large enough for the kids to dance and had a little conference room at one end where the parents could have their friends for their own little party. The affairs were usually catered with deli meat platters and submarines. The soda was flowing from the 2 liter bottles into red solo cups. I specifically remember leaving those parties at the Quality almost unable to hear my friends. The ringing was so loud. I remember the empty feeling of the music stopping and the lights coming up in the room. Part of the emptiness was the lack of sound. Just white noise accompanied by a high-pitched constant “jingle” sensation in my ears.
Sometimes we were lucky enough to be partying at the wealthy people’s houses. You know, the ones with a pool in the backyard. Baltimore in the 1970’s was kind of a sleepy town (not dead, but not really hopping either) and the most fun was had at these big affairs with champagne and wine and lots of parents joining in dancing with the kids. A sweet 16 or a 13-year-old coming of age party. Steely Dan’s Aja outside at the pool deck of a huge stone mansion in horse country for a sweet 16 celebration with lights flashing, everyone dancing, and working up a sweat. Some people landed in the pool, but we ran a pretty tight ship. Things rarely got out of control. STILL my ears were ringing at the end of the night, even though we were outside. I noticed it as soon as the music stopped. Every time. Out of my control.
Unfortunately, I normalized it. Truly, I thought it was not important. It usually was gone by the next day. It was the price to be paid for having a great time and being paid to do it! We came home every time, natually high from the evening’s excitement and chilled out watching Saturday Night Live (SNL) in our refurbished basement, eating a 16” pizza Michael, Steven and I picked up on our way back to my house.
We had some cool toys. Mom and Dad had bought the VCR when I was 13 or so. The first movie we purchased was “Heaven Can Wait.” Then we started purchasing blank tapes so we could record shows like SNL because I invariably fell asleep after the Weekend Update with Jane Curtin and Dan Ackroyd. Those actors continue to be my heroes and their skits were so funny, we are still imitating Gilda Radner’s Roseanne Roseanadanna, Steve Martin & Dan Ackroyd’s Wild and Crazy Guys, “No Coke, Pepsi,” and John Belushi’s Samurai Psychiatrist.
I loved Parties Unlimited and did not want anything to jeopardize my ability to do parties, so I pushed it out of my mind. I did not even remember my ears ringing … until … about 10 years ago my hearing had noticeably degraded. Not long after we moved in together, my now husband, pointed out that I really should get my ears checked. Hmm. I remember my Dad suggesting I have my hearing tested when I was about 15 or 16 because of how loudly I talked on the phone. Back then I had perfect hearing, but now … it was not so perfect. Just one year prior I had taken the hearing test at the ENT’s office, and was told I had lost some hearing, but not enough to do anything about it. The following year was a different story. I will never forget how the tech said, in the most compassionate voice, “It’s time.” I think I cried. Time for me to start wearing hearing aids. I remember how sad I was, and how I thought this was the worst thing ever. It took me several months to get up the nerve. Oddly, in the interim, I met a man, friend of my husband’s, who actually worked for Siemens selling hearing aid technology. He told us where we could go for the best deal, and that the quality of the devices was just as good as at a Doctor’s office, but half the price!
The most poignant moment in this process was the day I came home from the box store with my new hearing aids. I was sitting in the living room with Mr. Big, our notorious B.I.G. orange cat, and saw his ears perk up and he looked out the window. With all doors and windows shut, I was amazed that I could hear what had caught his ear – the birds outside! I could hear the birds singing. That was miraculous.
Dorothy M Weiss
Carole, love your unintended consequences music and DJ experience story. Your writing flows freely and carried me right along with you. Vivid descriptions, and great attention to detail. Reminded me of my own singing and dancing days and my first pair of eye glasses to correct my vision. I cried. Now you hear the birds singing, and I can now see them and the beautiful butterflies and lady bugs on the flowers in my garden. It is miraculous. Thank you for a well-written memory.
Sue Mosolf
Sue Mosolf
Like reaching an anchored wooden raft on a lake, writing class kept me afloat during my stormy sophmore year.
Dorothy M Weiss
Thank you Sue. Poetry, pure and sweet. Profound. Makes me want to know more about that writing class and that stormy year. You certainly caught my attention. Suspense, mystery, survival. I can hardly wait for you to satisfy my curiosity with the continuation of your story. Precise, concise, amazing short short story.
Linda Peterson
I found the story about the graduation following the grandparents death to be quite bittersweet, quite skillfully woven. Don’t know if we’re supposed to comment on spelling errors, but noticed Mom was misspelled. Otherwise, a great story! Kudos, Ricki Aiello!
Vern
Senior Prom
Vern Schmitz Nov 3 2020
I believe that Proms are designed to humble the over-confident high school senior. As for me, I didn’t start with a whole lot of confidence in the first place. My experience with girls before high school was minimal. As a farm kid attending a rural one-room school, my association with girls was primarily limited to my sisters.
I was the only person in my class, and half of the school students were my younger brothers and sisters. The routine and work demands of a dairy farm severely limited socialization outside of the immediate family. I would see some girls at Catechism on Saturday mornings and Mass on Sunday, but there were no opportunities for conversations with them.
And now I’m at a boarding school some seventy miles from the farm. It’s a six-month-a-year high school set up to prepare farm kids to take over the family farm. It also allowed them to be available for the spring, summer, and fall fieldwork of their parents’ west-central Minnesota farms.
The girl situation doesn’t get much better at high school, either. There were thirty-one of us in the class of 1962, and we outnumbered the girls two to one. The odds of getting a date were already challenging enough, but I was also nearly a year younger than most of my classmates. I had just turned seventeen. I also was one of those young men that didn’t get his growth spurt until after his high school graduation.
After some hesitation, I approached one of the four or five girls that were not already in some apparent relationship with a classmate or someone back home. After a short conversation with her and getting a solid rejection, I now understood that the West Central School of Agriculture’s potential “date” pool was utterly drained. My self-confidence level was now at a pathetic level.
My anxiety level must have been quite apparent as the school nurse approached me. I don’t believe we had ever had a conversation before, but the pity for Vern must have been communicated from the girl’s dorm to her. She offered a solution, her niece, Beckie, would be my date.
Sight unseen, I had a date. Now, this was a big deal, or at least it was for me. With the most crucial piece of this prom experience in place, I now needed to get the proper attire. I usually got back home at least one weekend a month, and when I did, I picked up my Sunday suit, shirt, tie, and shoes. As far as I knew, that was about all I needed. Fortunately, this was a boarding school, so there was little involvement from the parents or siblings, although the expectations I put on myself were enough to take most of the fun out of this anticipated event. And of course, there was the typical peer pressure from classmates.
I met Beckie and her aunt at the Infirmary. She was about my height, brown hair and glasses, and wearing a conservative light blue knee-length dress. Fortunately, her aunt saved me from immediate embarrassment by giving me a corsage that I could give to her. As we started the evening walking to the Dining Hall for our special Prom meal, the conversation was stilted and a little uncomfortable. She was very quiet, and I was very nervous. It probably was a first-date for both of us.
The evening was a blur or worse. I threw-up after the meal, not knowing if it was the shrimp I had never eaten before or if it was just nerves. I can remember the slow dances. Wedding dances had prepared me for these. I could also do some polkas and waltzes, but I don’t believe my German classmates’ had a hand in selecting the music, so it was mostly slow and Rock’ n’ Roll dance music. Rock’ n’ Roll was not a part of my dance repertoire but became so at Beckie’s prompting. I found that I much preferred Connie Francis’ slow dances to Chubby Checker or Elvis’s loose-jointed dance movements. Moving my body in a relaxed and care-free way was not a part of my family or cultural experience.
No pictures, no limo rides, not even a kiss – and quickly, prom night was over. As I walked back to the dorm, I regretted not being more relaxed and enjoying the prom experience. I wished I would have spent more time getting to know Beckie and not be so preoccupied with a fear of making a fool of myself. Looking back, I hope that I thanked Beckie, and her aunt, for allowing this farm kid this experience.
If growth comes from getting out of your comfort zone, I believe proms play an essential role. At the very least, they provide an excellent opportunity for adolescents to become “humble” young adults.
Dorothy M Weiss
Vern,
Excellent attention to detail. Your story contains illuminating insights. I especially liked your closing words. Growth does indeed come from getting out of your comfort zone. Thank you for sharing this experience. Well written.