“Hey man, my cousin is having a party tomorrow night, and my mom says I have to go. My aunt and uncle are out of town, so mom wants me to go keep an eye on things, not that I could do anything, if things get out of control,” my best friend Dave said one morning. “You wanna come and help me?”

Hell yes, I wanted to go help him. I almost never got invited to parties.

I was a hyperactive skinny geeky guy. Girls never were interested in… well… anything with me. I had not yet even had a real date, except for the time I went to the drive-in to see Elvis, in Rubberneckin, with my buddy Don, because he wanted a driver for his 57 Chevy. So he could sit in the capacious back seat, with his girlfriend Pat, and make out and stuff while I drove. In fact, Pat had set up a blind date for me with a friend of hers. I drove us to her friend’s house. Don said to just pull up at the curb and briefly toot the horn, because Judy’s dad worked graveyard shift and would be sleeping. So I did.

Out of the front door of the small run down bungalow walked every man’s dream girl. Judy was petite and slender, with blonde hair teased up high. She had a very short mini skirt, a sleeveless white sweater top, and white Go-Go boots. Pink lipstick and blue eyeshadow. She looked like a slutty Nancy Sinatra. Perfect. My heart sped up so much that I thought I was gonna die. A real dream come true. 

She walked out to the car where I sat grinning, and bent down and looked into the passenger window at me. Then she turned to the back seat, looked at Pat, and said, “No thanks, Pat, I’d rather stay home,” and turned around without a word to me, and walked back to her house and went in. After I had sunk down through the seat and into the pavement from complete embarrassment and anguish, I started the car and drove Don and Pat to the drive-in, where they did not watch Rubberneckin.

So, Daves cousin’s party was Saturday night, and I picked him up in my beat up blue 1963 Simca, and he directed me to his cousin’s house. We went in, and there were maybe 20 people there down in the basement, dancing and talking, music from the Monkees was blaring from the stereo. The lights all had red light bulbs. I walked by a mirror, and glanced in it, just to see if I was looking my best, and screeched to a halt. I was in the middle of adolescence, and was beset by raging acne which I had been battling with Clearasil and washing it with Lava soap to dry out my oily face. The red lights somehow made my zits disappear. Amazing.

A tall pretty girl came over, and Dave introduced her as his cousin Ricka Magly. She was so pretty that I didn’t even wonder what kind of name Ricka was. Ricka smiled at me, shook my hand, and wandered off talking to others, being a good hostess.

I got a coke, and wandered around, watching people dance. Most of the kids there were from Withrow High School, a rival high school to Anderson High, where I went, and I didn’t know anybody. I kept circulating, smiling at people, and as a slow number came on the stereo, I found myself standing beside Ricka, so I asked her to dance with me.

I have to say here that I am the world’s worst dancer. Ever. My marginal sense of rhythm never seems to make it to my feet. In later years when I married my college sweetheart Jenny, she attempted to teach me to dance, and after three or four times, admitted that I just don’t get the idea of dancing, and never brought it up again.

But this was a slow song, and even I could shamble a box step, so after Ricka nodded yes, I took her in my arms, and staggered among the other dancers, thrilled to have a beautiful girl that would dance with me. It was not too painful for her, even when I stepped on her foot twice.

Throughout the evening, when a slow song came on the stereo, I would find Ricka and ask her again to dance. She was such a girl full of grace, that taking pity on me, she never said no. I was in heaven. She looked good, had a great smile, and smelled wonderful. I immediately fell head over heels in love.

As the night wound down, and I was ready to set a date for our wedding, a large football player guy came in the door, and Ricka ran over and jumped into his arms, and kissed him. She introduced him to me as her boyfriend. Brad.

Crushed, and reeling among my shattered dreams, I managed to get through the rest of the evening without crying, and Dave and I left for home as the party was breaking up. So much for love.