***As Our 50^th Anniversary Year Approaches… “Forever Young” (Magical Realism 101)

 

…an old man bundled up against the December weathers begins to run, no, better, jog/shuffle along the Causeway end of Wollaston Beach (by the CVS, formerly the First National, if you have not been in the old town in a while), huffing and puffing, head down and this day full of thoughts triggered by his up-coming 50^th anniversary high school class reunion. Thinking just then of the irony of running along a section of his old high school cross-country course, and as he moved along, of those mist of times Wollaston Beach days when he longingly looked out at the sea as if it could solve some riddle of existence. Thinking too, as he struggled along, of times when he was young and flexible and if not fast then able to run the distance in about half the time it would take him this day (his fast running friend back then, Bill Cadger, said he had the “slows,” well okay he had had a point).

As he settled into a pace he began thinking about places he had hung around back in the day, places like Harry’s Variety over on Sagamore trying to cadge pin-ball games from the rough and tumble corner boys; hanging  out at Balducci’s Pizza Parlor “up the Downs” begging girls to play some latest song on the jukebox; and, hanging out on sweaty summer nights on the front steps of North, no money in pocket, with that same Bill Cadger, also penniless, speaking of dreams, small dreams of escape and big puffed-ball cloud dreams of success.

Moving along he remembered, an old man’s harmless flash remembering, standing in corridors between classes day-dreaming of, well, you know, certain now nameless girls and of giving furtive glances to a few which they totally ignored. And remembrances too of sitting in classes, some dank seventh period study hall, wondering about what would happen Friday night when he and his corner boys cruised Wollaston Beach (HoJo’s a must stop on hot summer nights, make his cherry vanilla), the Southern Artery (Marley’s,  Pisa’s Tower of Pizza, Adventure Car-Hop, not the real names but memory failed him), and in a pinch going “up the Downs” to Doc’s Drugstore on Billing’s Road, looking, looking for adventure, looking for some magic formula to wipe away the teen angst and alienation blues that crept up on him more than was good for him.                  

An old woman (Jesus, better not say that, make that a mature woman) also bundled up against the December weathers, begins to walk, haltingly, but with head up (proper posture just like her mother taught her long ago), along Wollaston Beach from the Adams Shore end (around what is now Cady Park, named after some long ago fallen Marine). She was drawn to the beach this day after thinking that it had been almost 50 years since her high school graduation and she needed to reflect on that. Thinking thoughts about this beach and about old flames met here and what had happened to them (and creeping into her memory that first kiss sitting in the back seat of her girlfriend’s boyfriend’s car, what was his name, with him, some old flame now un-nameable as well, and about, she blushed as she thought of it, that first French kiss and how she felt awkward about it).

Later in her walk thoughts, funny thoughts, emerged about all the lies she told about those same steamy weekend nights just to keep up with the other girls at talkfest time (not knowing until much later that they too were lying just to keep up with her). And of all the committees she had been on; dance committee, North Star, Manet, whatever would keep her busy and make her a social butterfly.

Then a mishmash of thoughts flooded her mind as she passed Kent Park near the now vanished bowling alleys. About the girls’ bowling team she belonged to wondering, now wondering, why they kept the boys’ team separate; of reading in that crusty old Thomas Crane Public Library “up the Square” where she first learned to love books and saw them as a way to make a success of herself, and had; and, of hot sweltering summer afternoons with the girls down at the beach trying to look, what did Harry call it, “beautiful” for the guys.                

Somewhere between the Squantum Yacht Club and the Wollaston Yacht Club the old man and the mature woman crossed paths. He, she, they gave a quick nod of generational solidarity to each other and both thought they knew the other from some place but couldn’t quite place where. After they passed each other the old man’s pace quickened for a moment as he heard some phantom starter’s gun sounding the last lap and the mature woman’s walk became less halting as she thought once again about that first kiss (whether it was the French kiss that stirred her we will leave to the reader’s imagination) as each reflected back to a time when the world was fresh and all those puffed-cloud dreams of youth loomed ahead of them.        

 

Forever Young-lyrics by Bob Dylan 

 

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

 

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

 

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

 Copyright © 1973 by Ram's Horn Music; renewed 2001 by Ram’s Horn Music