The year was 1978. I was ten years old and feeling like a grown up girl as me and my friends piled into the back of our Pinto station wagon. It was dark outside, truly nighttime and we were going to the movies! Just us girls! The plan was to be dropped off at the Villa Theater – which was soon to be the last of the real theaters with only one HUGE screen and a seating for 1300 people. This theater was magical, complete with a rich velvet curtain that draped the screen until the commercials started for the concessions stands with the marching ice cream on a stick dude leading the other treats around. Sadly, they have turned that magnificient place into Adib’s Rug Gallery. But I digress…
The year was 1978. I was ten years old and feeling like a grown up girl as we climbed into the back of our Pinto station wagon. I had delayed my birthday party this year, specifically for this incredible event. The energy of the group of girls caused a giddy headiness to fill the car and the anticipation was agonizing. We were going on our first official “Girls Only” outing to see a double feature with the hottest hunk to hit the screen, John Travolta. Someone had gotten wise about Saturday Night Fever, had edited it to a PG rating and had re-released it with Grease. We were breathless with the restless waiting.
We piled out of the car, adjusting our clothes and feeling awed by the dazzling marquee and blinking lights. We sat beside one another holding hands and swooning over how handsome John Travolta was in Saturday Night Fever. However, then they started Grease and our worlds exploded in song and dance. We bounced our legs and swayed with the songs, surely creating a distraction for anyone behind us. But, we didn’t care. We were ten! We were there! And we were in love with the entire experience.
We tumbled out of the theater together, tripping to the car and climbed inside. With all the windows rolled down we sang all the way home at the top of our lungs…
I am all grown up now and miss the days when I was ten and all seemed right with the world. When I could climb into the back of the station wagon with a bunch of my girl friends and have not a care in the world. Even now, when I hear the first deep notes of that song and the drums, I stop and smile. I am young again, with the air going through my hair.
Now, when I listen to it, though, it never escapes my noticing how differently Danny and Sandy approached the whole scene. Danny enticing his friends with hints at lurid details, “We made out under the dock and she was good, if you know what I mean.” Down-dooby-doo dooby-doo dooby-dooby-dooby Down-dooby-doo dooby-doo dooby-dooby-dooby Sandy being all sweet and doe-eyed about “strolling and drinking lemonade and staying out until ten o’clock.” Down-dooby-doo dooby-doo dooby-dooby-dooby Down-dooby-doo dooby-doo dooby-dooby-dooby
Tell me more! Tell me more!
It never ceases to amaze me how differently men and women approach matters of the heart vs. matter of sex. My former husband just recently shared a joke with me that seems appropriate here: Women think they are so smart. They fake an orgasm to have a relationship. Thing is, men fake entire relationships to have an orgasm.
And, there, you have it. We are so very different. And that becomes really apparent when the temperatures rise and the stories begin and Summer dreams, ripped at the seams. Bu-hut… OH! Those Su-um-merrrr Niiii—hights.
http://www.youtube.com/v/OWSjy1t8A5o&hl=en&rel=0&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca
