PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

On Saturday, August 7th, 1976, after spending much of the previous night together---chastely!---at his sister's house, Blue Shift and I decided to visit the college campus to which I would matriculate in less than a month.  With us, we carried my parents' first tuition payment in full for the first term of the year of 1976-77.

Because of being full summer, and the heat particularly intense that month, Blue Shift came out to my car already carrying his shoes, and with his shirt unbuttoned in the front for a fairly full view of his very tan torso.  His midnight blue socks, not full concealed by the tattered cuffs of his baggy bell-bottom jeans, were already delightfully fragrant.  My vehicle had no air conditioning.  We put our c.b. on to its mount, and left the suburban neighborhood in which his sister lived, to access northbound Interstate Highway 75 which would then admit us, eastward, to I 70, which would bring us very close to the campus.

Because Blue Shift was not really familiar with the geography of that area, and I, though a good and cautious driver, was, from moment to moment, diistracted by the beauty of his sock-sheathed feet (and by the intensity of the desire they inspired in me), we mist the proper exit sign, and continued on, for almost an hour, until we were very near the state's capitol, Columbus.  I knew that was way too far Northeast, so we moved the c.b. channel selector to 19, and asked for directions, after we had taken the bypass that brought us back to southwest bound 70.

We were highly blessed to be answered by a gentleman whose handle was Applejack (which we knew only as the name of a popular cereal).  He described his vehicle, which we could see ahead of us, and said he would be driving on 70 well past the exit we would want, so he asked us to "convoy" with him and he would tell us where we needed to exit.  During the time required to make the return trip, we had a very pleasant conversation with him.  He seemed like an older gentleman; and, since this was forty-eight years ago, I am not sure if he is still on this earth; but I hope he knows, from Heaven, that I am writing this tribute to him.

As we drew nearer to the exit ramp we would need, he not only directed us to it, but told us how to return to our home town as well.  We thanked him profusely, in just enough time before we had to exit the highway.  We never heard from, or of him, again; but he touched our lives greatly with his tremendous courtesy, and also that he treated us with the utmost respect without behaving as if we were a couple of teenaged pests.

During the last week of the term---an unbearable length of time because I was far from, and unable to really contact, Blue Shift---I climbed the five stories of the college's highest academic building, and found that the fifth floor, although used to storage of countless file cabinets, also featured full length windows, one of which opened westward.  Sunset had already begun, and I had an unobstructed view of westbound 70.  I knew that, within a week or so, I would be traveling on it with mmy parents; but I also tried to imagine that, perhaps, Applejack might have been passing by, or had passed by earlier that day.

I was somewhat fearful of my immediate future---primarily wondering if the channel 22 community would welcome me back (they did), and if Blue Shift would welcome me back (he did, oh yes, he certainly did, someties shoelessly), and if my handle was still mine (Starwatcher it was then, and yes, it was still mine).  I did not realize that, in a little more than a month, upon my return to the campus, I would lose my lunch and dinner privileges at a table of Seniors, who had admitted me to their company as an exception---provided I maintain a respectful silence at all times.  When, two days after the winter term began, they referred to people who used c.b.'s by the most derogatory of terms, I objected and objected vociferously, and was rebuked immediately with an apology demanded; an apology I refused to make.  Blue Shift, shoeless, with those fragrant and (as I had learned) flavorful socks, and his unbuttoned shirt; and Applejack with the courtesy of his directions to us; and countless others too numerous to name---none of these people could be described in the terms my former meal companions had used.  The lesson's value was not lost on me; during my Senior year when I presided over my own table, at least three freshman, and the sophomore I was then dating, joined me for at least two meals a day, with no restriction on their ability to express their opinion on anything.

Starward