15 March 1984

Every night I lying in bed holding you close in my dreams
The song begins to play on my iPod, it’s melody, the drum, the bass, guitar, everything about it takes me back to what seems like so long ago, a lifetime ago, twenty eight years to be exact. I close my eyes escape in the memory.

My feet are propped up on his dashboard; his hand is resting on my knee. The wind is blowing through my hair as I stare out the window at the moon; it was bright, beautiful, almost full. The stars over the gulf seem to go on forever, millions to wish on, if only I had.

I am lost in the beauty of the night sky, for the first time since January I am feeling comfortable, unafraid around a man. Not thinking, I start to sing along with the Eagles. I feel his hand slide off my leg, out of the corner of my eye I see him reach for the dashboard. The volume of the chorus becomes softer. The realization hits me that I was singing out loud and he was listening. Mortified I stopped and immediately apologize. I explained to him it was a bad habit.

"Oh my God I can't believe I was singing!"

He chuckled at my quiet exclamation. I buried my face in my hands/knees out of embarrassment. I felt his hand rub my back, then push my hair back, trying to get me to relax, look up at him. I was praying he would simply turn the radio back up so we could both forget my singing, my embarrassment. Pretend like it never happened. I was surprised when instead he questioned me.

“Bad habit, no it’s a good one. Why do you sing so quietly? Why are you holding back?”

I can still hear his voice, the confusion as he was trying to understand why I was so embarrassed, almost ashamed that I was singing. When I didn't answer, I felt the car pull off the road and stop. With my head still buried in my hands I asked, "Why did we stop?"

"Just tell me why and I will drive."

When I finally looked up he was patiently staring at me. Our eyes met and he smiled. He raised his eyebrows, silently letting me know he was waiting for a response. I explained to him, when I was younger whenever I sang along with the radio or a record it drove my mom crazy. I was constantly scolded told to stop. My dad didn’t mind but to my mom my singing was annoying. Even my sister on a few occasions told me my constant singing with the radio bugged her. From then on I tried to tell myself not to sing with the radio. I confessed I didn’t realize I was singing, usually I only sing when I am driving alone ... then he interrupted.

“When you feel safe”

“I guess so” I answered, amazed at his correct choice of words.

His eyes lit up, his smile transformed into a huge grin, “I am an officer and a gentleman. You will always be safe with me!”

I shook my head. I couldn't believe how lame his line was, but I knew he was trying to get me to relax, laugh. I teased him, “That was really bad!”

He started laughing, said “No this would be bad!”

He put the car in gear, pulled back on the road.He reached down and turned up the radio. Cyndi Lauper’s 'Time after Time' was playing and he began to sing along loudly. He was a bit off key. I couldn't tell if he was singing off key on propose, to make me feel better or if that was normally how he sang. It didn't matter, he proudly and sweetly serenaded me.

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time

He reached over and poked me, then continued singing.

If you fall I will catch you--I'll be waiting
Time after time

He jabbed me harder, “You know the words, come on. Let it loose. I don’t sing solo”

He playfully pushed me. I finally joined in.

After my picture fades and darkness has
Turned to gray
Watching through windows you're wondering
If I'm OK
Secrets stolen from deep inside
The drum beats out of time
You said go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds
Time after Time.

When the song ended, he turned the radio back down. Then he asked, “Promise me you will sing more, sing loudly and never hide your voice. “
I shyly smiled, confused as to why he would want me to make him such a promise. I answered hesitantly, “Okay I promise.”

He rubbed my leg, turned the volume back up. The rest of the ride to my condo we sang along with the radio, loud, unabashedly and many times off key.

It was heaven, just the two of us, singing, laughing, with the moonlight, the night wind and the stars above as our audience.

March 15, 1984 was a great night. One I will always remember and cherish!

Naked Romance

Last Friday night sitting with friends at Kaufmann’s as our conversations sometimes do it took a sharp turn off of normal. Someone brought up the impending ‘doom’ of Valentine’s Day when one of my male friends stated “Just once I would love to be able to start a letter on February 15 with ‘Dear Penthouse’.” Quickly one of my girlfriends chimed in, “Yeah well I am still waiting for Richard Gere to come carry me away.” Two simple statements explained it all; the great what is love/romance divide between the sexes. Men long for the Penthouse and/or Maximum moment while women long for the classic love scene in an eighties chick flick. The problem, everyday romance sits in the middle, centered between exciting and downright dull.

In the eighties we (women/girls) were wishing someone like Patrick Swayze would go “Dirty Dancing” with us. At night we would dream of some amazingly hot guy kissing us passionately in the rain the same way John Cusack kissed Ione Skye in "Say Anything". We went to sleep with our bedroom windows open hoping to be awaken by the sweet serenade of “In Your Eyes." Guys on the other hand were watching "Weird Science" hoping Kelly LeBrock would “pop” into chemistry class, their bathroom, anywhere. They often wondered why no girl in high school who looked anything remotely like Phoebe Cates ever dropped their bikini top for them. While we were hitting the rewind button on the volley ball scene in "Top Gun", guys were turning their heads sideways trying to get any kind of sneak peak of the women behind the scrambled images of the Playboy channel or rummaging through their father’s hidden magazine stash. A woman wants or needs hours of romance, a guy thirty seconds of the 'right visual' and he is good.

Through our favorite films women are taught romance is all about seduction, a man willing to go to any lengths to demonstrate his undying love. We longed for our own “Officer and a Gentleman” to come rescue us from our everyday life. This could explain why every Valentine’s Day we dream of the perfect candlelit dinner, beautiful music and sweet nothings whispered in our ear, hoping for one night of 'Hollywood' romance.

For men the fantasy of romance is to get naked, naked, naked or as close to naked as they can safely get their woman without being killed. Perky boobs and butt are an added bonus but not necessary! Any kind of naked is good! I believe most men dream of walking in the door on Valentine’s Day to find their wife or significant other waiting for them in nothing but an apron seductively whispering, “Hello dear how may I help you?"

Maybe to help ease the divide of romance between the sexes we women need to think more like men, adjust our fantasies a bit. Let me see.... Tatum Channing standing outside my bedroom window no shirt, jeans slightly unzipped in the rain holding a boom box playing my favorite love song. When I look out at him, he smiles, says, “Happy Valentine’s Day. What can I do to make you smile?” And yes there would be a guarantee, we would definitely be getting naked, naked, naked. I think I may actually like that!!

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!!