I took some codeine last night for my cold, and went off to dream about my life, and in my dreams, I met Donna D, my first love, she taught me many things about love, I actually went on FB and searched for her in my dream, the first time I have ever done that, she is not there, I’m sure her name is different and Donna was too sensible and busy to spend much time yakking on Facebook. I could not find Donna on Facebook, which is fitting, she was always mysterious and elusive. And we are not, after all, all connected.
Donna was beautiful, thin, devoutly religious – Catholic – with sparking green eyes, a dazzling smile, a great sense of humor. I was quite stricken with her. On our first date, I suggested she just say yes. Don’t overthink things, I suggested. But she didn’t think too much about it, she just said no. I asked her to go out with me to the prom a million times, she said no a million times, then finally said yes. I took two jobs to save up money for a Tux and dinner at the Knife And Fork, Atlantic City’s best restaurant. She warned me that her father didn’t like anything about me – I was Jewish, I wasn’t an athlete, I was strange, I wrote for the school paper, he thought I had ideas about having sex with her. Her father was right about every single thing, but I didn’t tell her that.
When I came to pick her up, I was sweating profusely, nervous, excited, her father glowered at me a good long time, warning me that I better have his daughter back by 11 or there would be hell to pay, I mumbled my assurances, of course sir, yes sir. Donna looked gorgeous in her blue dress, the corsage I bought her high up on her shoulder, i remember the perfume she was wearing still. We went to the Knife and Fork, we both thought it would be cool to smoke a cigarette, it was such a cool thing to do then, I miss my cigarettes still, I brought out my pack of Winston’s, gave one to her, took one for myself and then I took out my new Butane lighter and reached over. I didn’t know there were different settings, and a three foot burst of flame shot out caught Donna on the right eyebrow and singed the eyebrow right off of her – no burn or injury to the flesh. A passing waiter saw her smoldering eyebrow and heroically poured a pitcher of water on her head to douse the smoke.
Donna was unharmed – save for the missing eyebrow – but quite a soggy mess and in tears. Dinner aborted, and I brought her home, hoping she would change into another dress. Her father took one look at us, and slammed the door in my face. I thought of all that money and so many dreams washed away by that pitcher.
After that, I had to meet Donna secretly, I sometimes walked her close to home after school, or at least a few blocks near her home. Catholic girls, I was to learn, like Jewish girls, have particular ideas about sex, many of them enjoy it and like to have it, but have very strict and particular ideas about how and when and what. It was never simple. Nobody wanted to be tagged as a “fast” or “bad” girl, although I had no problems with that.
Three months after the prom fiasco, we dated again, this time I took her to a spot under the boardwalk in Ventnor, New Jersey. I don’t remember the line I used that night – Maria is shocked at this, she now thinks I am one of those men who uses lines on women, this is true also – but I do remember we were kissing quite intensely and Donna’s shirt was unbuttoned and I remember thinking I had died and at the gates of heaven, this was my entire goal in life and I was just about there when a blinding light frightened and shocked both of us.
“Get dressed,” thundered a gruff voice, “we are taking you home.”
The Ventnor police had arrived, they didn’t have much else to do, they had caught us in a torrid embrace, and as was the custom in that uptight town, in the midst of an anti-necking under the Boardwalk campaign, they took both of us home to Donna’s house, told her parents what they had found and seen where they had found and seen it, whereas her sputtering and enraged father made a move to grab me and throttle me, but the police intervened and I fled.
Soon after that, we both went away to college, I know Donna went somewhere in the South, I went to Washington, D.C. There was no Internet then, of course, reaching people was a different experience, I did send Donna a note professing my love, hoping we could see one another, it seemed a brave and noble thing to do, the world was stacked against us, I loved the idea of risking my life to pursue my heart. Some weeks later, I got a nice note from Donna, wishing me well, advising me she had a new boyfriend, the Catholic Quarterback of the football team, her father loved him more than she did. “Be well, Jon,” she wrote me, “some things are just not meant to be.”
That was a powerful lesson, in itself. I learned that night that I loved women, that acceptance was a part of love. I’m sorry Donna and I didn’t have more time together, she was – is, I am sure – a great girl, but I learned that love endures and if you don’t give up on it – the father was a great symbol for the obstacles life sometimes throws up to love – you can get there.
Donna, wherever you are, I hope things worked out for you. You deserved the best. I have no apologies to make for unbuttoning your blouse, but I am so sorry about the butane lighter and the dress. I don’t have too much codeine cough syrup left, I wonder if the nurse-practitioner will give me more.