The Love Bug Days

 

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No, I'm not exactly talking about that fascinating species of March flies. Those are the little insects which partner up, male and female, and fly around in tandem, lazily doing their suicidal thing in orgiastic swarms along the Texas Gulf Coastal highways in early spring and late summer. Then I got to thinking, strangely and completely unrelated or not, that the period of time bookended by lovebug emergence and reemergence happened to coincide with the rise and fall of my first little elementary school love affair. (More about that in a minute.) 

Apparently lovebugs (the insect Plecia nearctica) are attracted to automobile exhaust that has been exposed to the ultraviolet radiation in sunlight, because it closely resembles the chemicals released by decaying vegetation, where the lady lovebug loves to lay her eggs. Carbon footprint. Go figure. At any rate, a lovebug's love can't withstand the force of a moving automobile, and their splattered little bodies can make an immediate mess of a freshly washed vehicle. I highly recommend everyone have the lovely experience of driving through a swarm of lovebugs at least once in their life. And here's a helpful hint: Have plenty of windshield washer fluid in the reservoir. You will be glad you did!

(Now on with the tale.)

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I'm sure every person has a story to tell about their first crush, infatuation, or love with a member of the opposite sex. This is mine, and we'd love to hear yours.

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I was a young kid in March, 1969, had just turned seven years old, and it seemed like my emotions were suddenly blossoming in sync with the world, and I was becoming alive, like a type of emergence was happening. I noticed things around me in new and exciting ways. Indeed, for the first time in my life, I felt like I was a cog in something turning. It was exactly as Joni Mitchell pondered in her song, "Well, maybe it is just the time of year, or maybe it's the time of man. I don't know who I am, but you know, life is for learning." One of the most wonderful things I noticed through my brand new eyes was Anne, the girl who lived across the street from me. And by golly, it was magical, because she noticed me, too!

Anne and I were already fast friends, since we lived in close proximity and were in the same class at the nearby elementary school. All of the kids on the block were like one big family of brothers and sisters who literally shared each other's parents, yards, and houses, and the freedom we experienced growing up there was palpable. Our block had a large drainage canal running through the middle of it and was bounded on one side by the ATSF railroad line running to Galveston, a section of woods on another side, and a large open tract of undeveloped land on yet another. The possibilities for fun and adventure were endless, and we roamed, ran, rode our bicycles, laughed, played, and pranked each other with abandon. No one hardly ever locked their doors and we came and went pretty much as we pleased. In spite of sometimes being used as punching bags and guinea pigs by the older kids, they always watched out for us younger ones and we looked up to, and tried to emulate, them. I suppose that's how we learned things about boys being boys and girls being girls.

I remember a particularly standout day that spring, an epic day of firsts, one which still echoes through me, and it was the day the love bug bit me and Anne. One Friday afternoon, a couple of the elementary school teachers had gathered us kids together in the library to play records and dance. Teachers get their kicks out of watching kids do stuff like that I guess, in addition to it giving them a break from actual teaching. Anyway, Anne and I were partners and she picked the song "Dizzy" for us to dance to. Our teacher, Mrs. S., placed the 45 on the phonograph, set the needle down, turned up the volume, and we danced... I mean we danced! The other kids took notice, some whispering and teasing commenced, and just like that Anne and I became an exclusive item.

Like those lovebugs, Anne and I had grown somewhat inseparable by the time the bell rang and school was dismissed that afternoon. Ahh, Friday! As we were heading out together to board the bus, we met Anne's older sister, Lynne, and some other kids from the neighborhood and they said, "We're walking; want to come?" Naturally we did, because it was much more fun and orders of magnitude cooler than riding a school bus. It meant a quick dash across the street, a short walk through an adjoining neighborhood and the woods to the railroad tracks, and then about a half-mile down the line to our own neighborhood. So off we went, while the other kids watched with longing from the confines of their buses, no doubt wishing they could be cool like us.

Anne and I walked along side by side, singing, "I'm so dizzy my head is spinning...." We had discovered that we just enjoyed being near each other. Then she told me that her and Lynne and some other kids were going to the movies that evening to see... wait for it... "The Love Bug," and she asked if I wanted to go along. Her mom would drop everyone at the theater and pick us up afterwards. How could I refuse? I would be with Anne, and seeing a movie about a sentient Volkswagen race car seemed like fun. Wow, me and my girl were going out on a date! It was just a small matter of clearing it with the folks. No biggie. My mind boggled as we glid along the trail. We had wings, and our feet no longer seemed to touch the ground.

By the time we emerged from the woods and reached the railroad, my hand had found Anne's and I helped her up the embankment to the tracks. Now we were on the last leg of our trek, being careful to avoid the little puddles and clumps of tar on the ties. Moms hated it when we got that stuff on our shoes and tracked it into their houses, so we usually made a contest of who could walk the farthest on the rails without falling off. Progress was slow, because as some boys are wont to do, we stopped often to throw rocks at the glass insulators on the telephone poles which lined the railroad right of way. Sometimes we'd manage a lucky throw and see a chunk of green glass splinter off and fly into the brush. (By the way, if you are ever in an antique store and find one of those insulators with a piece missing, now you know why!)

As we continued our march homeward, out of the blue our friend Mike, a fifth-grader and a couple years older than us, pulled something out of his sock and held it up. "Look what I have! I got it from my sister's purse last night," he announced, grinning like a thief. In his fingers was a crumpled, poorly rolled joint. There wasn't much to the thing, but it was the genuine article, and Mike also produced a book of matches from his sock and proceeded to fire it up. Much coughing and giggling ensued as we passed that sad little reefer around, each giving it a puff or two until it finally disintegrated and fell to the ground. I seriously doubt any of us got stoned, but you can never really tell for sure about these things. Hee, hee! The very idea of trying pot for the first time was a high in itself, and in the afternoon sunlight Anne's face suddenly glowed and began to look quite beautiful to me. Today we can all honestly say, unlike a certain former president, that we did inhale.

We reached Mike's house first and all slipped inside through the back door. His mom smoked cigarettes, so we figured that would mask any lingering odor we carried with us from the pot. Smart kids, huh? Mike's mom always had the best snacks, too, so it was Cokes and Oreos all around. No Kool-Aid and none of that home-baked stuff at Mike's house. We plopped down in the living room in front of the TV, Anne sitting next to me on the couch, and managed to catch the last few minutes of our favorite soap, "Dark Shadows," before we eventually drifted off to our own abodes.

My family had just finished supper and I was all cleaned up and ready for the big evening at the movies. Mom handed me $4 to add to whatever change I had in my pocket and told me to have a good time and to be a gentleman. I'm sure the details of the "date" had been discussed earlier between the mothers. Honk, honk! Anne's mom was ready to roll, so I ran across the street, jumped in the front seat of the station wagon next to Anne, and off we went. Lynne was in the backseat with her friends Debbie and Marla, and a couple of boys, David and Russell, who also lived down the street. Since it was a Friday night, there was a good line of people already at the theater waiting to buy tickets, but we got in shortly, managed to get some sodas, popcorn, and candy, and found our seats at the front before the film started rolling. It seems like a movie ticket then was around $1.50 and popcorn and candy around a quarter. I hardly remember anything about the movie, but I'll clearly never forget holding Anne's hand and snuggling up cheek to cheek with her while we laughed and watched the show. I wasn't quite brave enough to try putting my arm across her shoulders like I saw the older boys in the theater doing with their girls.

Lynne dropped a dime into the lobby pay phone and called to let her mom know the movie was over. While waiting for our ride, we milled around outside the theater on the sidewalk, talked with some other kids we met there from school, and peered into the neighboring store windows at the displays. It was a clear, warm night, and a not quite full moon floated high in the sky. My mind was on Anne, the way she looked, the way she smelled, the way she talked, and the way she made me feel being next to her. These were special feelings I had never experienced before, new emotions that put me on top of the world that night. Soon, Anne's mom pulled up to the curb and we all piled into the station wagon for the short ride home.

I was supposed to go straight home after the movie, but it wasn't terribly late yet, and Anne and I sat outside on her front porch glider and sipped Cokes. We talked about the day, dancing, songs, friends at school, walking home, the wild albino billy goat that supposedly lived in the woods, but no one ever saw, silly Mike and smoking the joint he had stolen from his big sister, the movie, what we were going to do tomorrow, like maybe ride our bikes over to the Dairyland drive-in for some ice cream or something. We looked up to the stars, gazed at the moon, and I had the urge right then to put my arm around her, so I just did it. Anne kind of looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes and smiled. Then our lips met in a gentle kiss, the type of tiny kiss one might expect between two seven-year-olds, but it was a kiss nonetheless. My first kiss and her first kiss—our kiss—a timeless yet once in a lifetime, one of a kind special moment we will forever share.

I slept very little that night and could think only of being with Anne. The remainder of the school year and summer vacation were packed with fun and punctuated with hugs and progressively longer kisses... more movies, dancing to records, riding our bicycles, swimming, playing in the woods and along the railroad tracks, watching TV, stargazing, and generally doing all the things kids did back then, many things which are pretty much unheard of today. By the end of summer, a new boy named Todd had caught Anne's eye, and our magical journey into the world of first love was over.

According to the way life usually goes, Anne and I drifted apart after high school, but we've remained friends, and I still call to say hello and talk with her on occasion. Invariably, the conversation settles on some happy memory of the youthful romance we shared in the spring and summer of '69. Those are the days we refer to as The Love Bug Days.

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