Chapter One - That First Meeting

CHAPTER ONE

That First Meeting

         “You know, dad, there’s this guy that plays the cello in our pit orchestra. I think I kind of like him. I don’t know what he thinks, though. I can’t tell if he’s noticed me looking at him off and on or not,” Linda said at dinner one evening.
         “Well, you’ve only been rehearsing for what, two or three weeks now?”
         “Yeah, three weeks I think. This IS still February.”
         “I know it’s hard, honey, but give it time. Just keep your eyes open so you don’t miss it when he does see you. That should make waiting a little easier.”
         But a week later her feeling was even stronger.
         “Dad, waiting for him to see me is even harder now. I’ve managed to put my violin away and leave fast enough so it’s not obvious to him that I’m hanging around hoping he’ll see me, but it’s taking a lot of effort to leave that way. I think the only reason I’ve been able to do it is because I’m afraid I’d give him the idea I was after him if I didn’t leave then, and I know that would probably turn him off. Being scared of that gets me out of there.”
         “Sweetheart, I know it’s hard, especially for you. Like you said, he has to make the first move. But once he does, then we go to work to make sure he keeps on noticing you, if we have to. There’s always a chance we won’t even have to do that. Once he sees you, he may react just like you have been these last two weeks. But if we need it, we’ve always got the upper hand. Remember: if he doesn’t notice you, someone eventually will; and if he does, don’t forget that “the guy chases the girl till she catches him”, right?”
         “Right,” she said, smiling. “I just hope he notices.”

         Tuesday, March 8, 1966. The rehearsal area was fast becoming empty, dark and quiet as the throng of students left the building for the final time that night. It was 11:00.
The evening’s practice for the pit orchestra to be used in the school’s upcoming musical production of Rogers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific was over. Until tomorrow’s orchestra class for us strings; until next Tuesday night for the others.
         I carefully placed my cello in its fabric case, zipped it up and put it in the rack with the other two, then walked the short distance to Mr. Wilson’s office to use the phone. Virgil Wilson had been the orchestra conductor for as long as any of us could re-member.
         By the time I got there, most of the kids who also used this phone had evidently made their calls, as there were only two ahead of me. As I entered the open doorway, one of them was just completing a call. Hanging up the receiver, he departed. The girl who had been waiting stepped up to the desk and, raising the receiver, dialed a number. Soon she hung up, not having said a word to anyone. I stepped forward and stood at her side.
         “Busy?” I asked.
         “Yes,” she replied.
         “Let me call my dad, then you can try again,” I offered. “That should give enough time for your line to clear.”
         “Okay.”
         I picked up the phone, called and told mom to have dad come and pick me up. He knew where by now, because we had been rehearsing for almost a month, and he’d picked me up at the same exit every week. When I finished, the girl tried her call again, but this time was unable to even get an outside line. I noted her puzzled, yet worried look.
         “My father’s picking me up. Would you like a ride home? It might save you some time.”
         “Thank you,” she said politely, yet happily, with a hint of a smile on her face.
         As we walked from the office to the outside to await my father’s arrival, I had my first chance to get a really good head-to-foot look at her. Being 17, I made excellent use of that opportunity, and that was all that I needed.
         I noticed right off that she wasn’t the usual raving beauty the other guys were al-ways after. But I had a feeling. A sensation. For some reason this ordinary, unobtrusive, extremely shy young girl held an attraction for me.
         She appeared to be about five feet tall, give or take a little, her coal-black hair in a Beatle cut. Her complexion was just on the dark side, but on her it looked great. As shy as she was, there was still a sparkle in her eyes that just wouldn’t quit. By most boys’ current standards, she was slightly big-boned, and therefore, by default (to them) not the prettiest thing in the world. They usually went for the Twiggy or Dolly Parton types. This girl was neither one; she came in just about halfway between the two ends of that scale, and she had a figure well worth mentioning. She had a little skin problem, but what teenager didn’t? In an amusing way, I felt confused; I figured only a handful of guys would take a second look at her, but at the same time I couldn’t understand why that small a number. To me, she was cute, very cute. And that quiet, shy, unobtrusive, hesitant manner she had just served to draw me even closer to her.
         Somewhere in the conversation I told her my name. I had noticed her in the orchestra some time back, as she sat almost directly across the stage from me. I felt quite sure I knew her name. An image of her face had stuck in my mind quite well because I had recently noticed a strong resemblance between her and another girl who also plays the violin. And “twins” have always stuck in my mind for some reason. Maybe the crush I had on a girl in elementary school who was a twin started it. I’d never really thought about that until now.
         As we waited near the parking area circle, we talked about the school, and the orchestra in particular. Things like the way I was denied the lead cellist’s position the year before, even though Mr. Wilson felt I was better qualified and my attendance record was better, because the other kid’s mother was on the faculty. How Mr. Wilson had noticed Linda's ability when she was in the 8th grade, and sold her parents her violin for just $100 to show his support. And how we both sincerely enjoyed being a part of that beautiful sound. Then dad’s car appeared, so we walked over.
         “Dad, this is Linda Stankorb,” I said as I opened the door. Linda tried to say something, but I didn’t give her a chance. “She can’t get hold of her folks. I said we’d give her a ride home.”
         “Sure,” he said.
         As we rode, Linda was able to get my attention; and she had a perfectly good reason.
         “My name is Linda Hart,” she corrected me.
         I could feel the heat of embarrassment running up into my face. “I’m shy enough as it is,” I thought silently. “And when I get up the courage to start a conversation with a really good looking girl, I embarrass myself by getting the name wrong.” I had realized when she said her name what had happened. Linda Hart. Linda Stankorb. Both Sophomores. Both play violin. I had a 50-50 chance of getting the name right and I blew it.
         “I’m sorry,” I said, looking for a way to melt through the car floor and disappear.
         “That’s OK,” she said. You’re not the first one to mix us up, and we do look a bit alike.”
         “You can say THAT, again,” I said, relieved.
         As we talked for the short duration of the trip to her home, she laid her head on my shoulder. It had been a particularly tough rehearsal. Inside, my feelings soared. I tried my best to “act normal” so I wouldn’t scare her off. I must have succeeded because she didn’t raise her head until we arrived at her home. As she alighted on the driveway, we said goodnight.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” I quickly asked.
         “There’s always orchestra,” she said, shyly smiling. “Thanks for the ride home. I really appreciate it.”
         “No problem,” dad and I said in unison. We waited until she got safely in the house, then went home.
         All the way home I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I kept going back and forth from how great she looked and how wonderful it felt when she had her head on my shoulder to how I looked like an idiot when I got her name wrong. “Well, I can’t have done too much damage,” I told myself quietly. “At least she knows I’ll be looking for her tomorrow, and she didn’t seem to mind that. I better be a little careful, though; she was really shy, too, and I don’t want to scare her off.”
         Linda carefully, quietly closed the front door behind her in case her little sister was asleep upstairs. But she knew her parents would be waiting up for her and she was never happier that they did that every week.
         “He noticed me! He noticed me!” she called as she flew into the family room. She had obviously forgotten that her sister might be asleep.
         “No wonder you didn’t hear us say ‘hello’,” her dad said, smiling broadly.
         “And he even gave me a ride home!” she continued, still on top of the world. “Well, he and his dad did,” she corrected. “And I laid my head on his shoulder all the way home and he didn’t seem to mind!”
         “Whoa! Slow down, Squeek. Uh… why don’t you tell us about it?” dad offered, smiling as he seated himself comfortably, implying that he was ready for her undoubtedly lengthy description of this fantastic event.
         Whereupon she proceeded to do just that. She laid out the whole glorious evening, from the uncooperative phone in Mr. Wilson’s office, through the conversations while they waited, right up to the time she came in the door. And she saved the best for last:
         “And he acted nonchalant about it, but I could tell he was looking me over. So I made it a little easier for him by facing him as we talked and his face said he liked what he saw.”
         “What about you?” asked her mom.
         “Yeah, well, I did look at him a little,” she said shyly. “Dark brown hair, blue eyes, and I think he’s about 5’ 8” or so.”
         “Just looked at him 'a little’, huh?”
         “Hush, dad!” she laughed, a little embarrassed. “But what I really liked was when he introduced me to his dad as we got in the car. He introduced me as Linda Stankorb,” she said, laughing at the recollection. “I told him as soon as I could, and he said it probably happened because he thinks we look a little alike and he knew both our names.”
         “Well, what now?” her father asked, lighthearted warmth showing in his voice.
         “We’ll be looking for each other tomorrow,” she beamed.
         “Now that’s what I call progress,” her father said, taking in the joyful look on her face and smiling. He thought to himself, “Times like this make all the problems of being a father look trivial, and the job itself totally worthwhile.” Then, softly, he said, “Remember, honey, if he asks you out you should tell him…”
         “I know, dad, I know,” she said quickly. “I just don’t want to think about that right now. He’s the first one that’s ever looked at me like that. I want to enjoy it for a while.”
         He paused for a moment in deep thought. “Heavenly Father,” he softly prayed, “This is the first chance she’s had for a real relationship. Please don’t let her be hurt again.”


This work is taken from "A Once In a Lifetime Love: An Autobiography of Two High School Sweethearts", copyright 2000, as yet unpublished, by the same author.