Mr. Green Eyes

         My mind drifted away from the Economics teacher's lecture. The clock was moving at a snail's pace. I glanced out the room's back door meeting the green eyes of the cutest guy I had ever seen in my life. He was sitting in the front of his classroom, while I had my favorite rear location. My heart did flip flops. After class he walked across the hall, hand outstretched, to greet me as I exited my classroom. The hand was joined by his other and a quick hug followed. We walked to my next class talking as if we were best friends. I found out that he drove his dad's 1965 green Mustang and he had a job working the night shift at McDonald's out on Van Nuys Boulevard. I was amazed when he showed up at the end of that second class.

         He winked at me and said, "Remember me?"

         We stopped at the edge of the senior lawn. I was mesmerized by his green eyes. He wore a blue pullover which made his eyes look like the color of the waves as they reached the sand. Friday was date night in the San Fernando Valley. We cruised Hollywood Boulevard with the radio blaring on our first date. As we inched at a snail's pace, we adopted Simon and Garfunkel's "Feelin' Groovy" as our song.

         "They are far better than the Beatles," I suggested. He heartily agreed. Our bond was solidified.

         We agreed on everything except the Filet-O-Fish sandwich. I am not fond of fish. I eat a tuna salad sandwich once a month to give my body fish whether I like it or not. I mostly don't like it. I tolerated the fishy breath as I was already in love with Mr. Green Eyes. We made plans to spend summer days at Santa Monica beach. I knew I would burn, not tan.

         The final school days passed. The day came when he drove us to graduation. He parked the Mustang, turned to me, and handed me a light blue velvet box. He promised he would be faithful and love me until the end of time. I promised my love and loyalty. The ring was two hearts, each with a small diamond.

         The summer plans went without a hitch. I drank my first Dr. Pepper, and enjoyed hotdogs sliced and arranged on a homemade bun. I learned to body surf. He dug a deep sand cave where we were shaded from the sun. He would sing loudly and off-key. I drove a 1963 VW Bug. We set speed records driving from Topanga Canyon Boulevard, through Topanga Canyon, hanging a left onto the Pacific Coast Highway {PCH) down to Santa Monica beach. No speeding tickets and no flat tires that entire summer. Lots of hand holding while allowing our bare feet to burn in the scalding dirty white sand. He had he most adorable toes with little tuffs of dark hairs. We would shake it as best we could but ultimately we would find sand everywhere the next day. We never tired of reporting to duty at the beach. Running his fingers through my long hair while I drove home in the dark gave me a fantastic, secure feeling. It was the best summer of my life.

         Shortly before the end of summer vacation, he had to report for basic training, starting his enlistment for two years. On the day before Thanksgiving, at the start of year two in the Air Force, I mailed him a huge package that included the chocolate chip cookies he loved, clothes, and paperbacks. There were toiletries including his favorite cologne English Leather and Snickers candy bars. I borrowed a car to drive the short distance to the post office. When I backed up to leave I hit a parked car. I smiled thinking about this news I would be writing to him about, That afternoon I received an envelope addressed to me where I did not recognize the return name or address. It was a letter from the woman he had been living with for over a year. Written in broken English, I got the message. He knew what he was doing when he came home on leave and said nothing. I came unglued after reading the letter.

         His betrayal tore my insides apart. My guts were twisted in knots and my heart was breaking in huge pieces filled with dear memories. The sand, the beach, and the hot dogs with the Dr. Peppers. It would never be right. I read the letter numerous times. I was so despondent, I did not leave my room the entire holiday weekend. I barely ate a morsel of turkey. I could hardly breathe. What was I to do? Write and simply ask for an explanation. It would be giving him the benefit of the doubt which my mind told me was fair, while my heart screamed no way! I truly could not bear to lose him. Before long I was slipping my Dear John ie: Dear Green Eyes' letter into an envelope, mailing it without the usual spray of Chanel No 5. I met someone new three months later, got engaged, and got married about ten months after the day I mailed the letter.