Come Sail Away [verse 1]
Back at the yacht club on Saturday afternoon, after the sail ripped and we had to stop for gas and come back into the harbour under power and, because of that, be scrutinized by the other club members, Boz and I shared a pitcher of Keith's and I found myself thinking of childhood friends and the dreams we had.
When I was in highschool my boyfriend, Josh, who was handsome and blond and of Polish extraction, took me sailing on his brother's boat one blazingly hot and sunny Saturday in late July. The boat was docked at Port Dalhousie, where we spent nearly every day that summer we were together playing softball in the park, or walking out to the lighthouse at the end of the pier, or riding the carousel, or lighting bonfires on the beach at night. You can't build fires anymore on the beach at Lakeside Park; it's become such a popular tourist area. But when I was in highschool it was still considered the rough part of town.
That day on the sailboat had taken three months to negotiate with the brother, I found out later, when I was at their house for dinner, and Stan teased Josh about how he had promised to wash and wax Stan's car every week until the snow fell.
The boat was not docked in a slip; it was anchored out in the marina, and we had to row out to it in a dinghy. Let me tell you, Gentle Reader, that for me, at least, there are few things more romantic than having a man row you. I used to dream about marrying Josh and having our wedding photographs taken on the carousel.
The way I started going out with Josh was, he used to hang around the pizza place where I worked on Saturday nights because his best friend, Brad, usually worked that shift,too. That's how I got to know him. And sometimes, he would come into the store on nights that I was there but Brad wasn't. One Saturday, as I was driving to the store in the pouring rain my distributor, which had been cranky all that spring, decided at last to give up the ghost and the car barely coughed its way into the pizza parking lot. I knew it wouldn't make it back to Beamsville, and I wouldn't be able to get it fixed until Monday. Josh offered to drive me home when the store closed at midnight.
And he ran out of gas.
This presented no small problem due to the fact that we were on a country road, about ten miles outside the city and god only knows how far from the nearest gas station, not to mention that it was after midnight, pitch dark, and raining. Oh, and that this was about ten years before cell phones were invented.
"Stay in the car," said Josh, "And don't worry, I'll get you home."
I did — trying all the while not to think about those campfire horror stories — and he did.
I may not understand men, but I can tell you one thing about women: rescue them from a dangerous situation and they will fall in love with you.
Stay tuned for verse 2, tomorrow.
When I was in highschool my boyfriend, Josh, who was handsome and blond and of Polish extraction, took me sailing on his brother's boat one blazingly hot and sunny Saturday in late July. The boat was docked at Port Dalhousie, where we spent nearly every day that summer we were together playing softball in the park, or walking out to the lighthouse at the end of the pier, or riding the carousel, or lighting bonfires on the beach at night. You can't build fires anymore on the beach at Lakeside Park; it's become such a popular tourist area. But when I was in highschool it was still considered the rough part of town.
That day on the sailboat had taken three months to negotiate with the brother, I found out later, when I was at their house for dinner, and Stan teased Josh about how he had promised to wash and wax Stan's car every week until the snow fell.
The boat was not docked in a slip; it was anchored out in the marina, and we had to row out to it in a dinghy. Let me tell you, Gentle Reader, that for me, at least, there are few things more romantic than having a man row you. I used to dream about marrying Josh and having our wedding photographs taken on the carousel.
The way I started going out with Josh was, he used to hang around the pizza place where I worked on Saturday nights because his best friend, Brad, usually worked that shift,too. That's how I got to know him. And sometimes, he would come into the store on nights that I was there but Brad wasn't. One Saturday, as I was driving to the store in the pouring rain my distributor, which had been cranky all that spring, decided at last to give up the ghost and the car barely coughed its way into the pizza parking lot. I knew it wouldn't make it back to Beamsville, and I wouldn't be able to get it fixed until Monday. Josh offered to drive me home when the store closed at midnight.
And he ran out of gas.
This presented no small problem due to the fact that we were on a country road, about ten miles outside the city and god only knows how far from the nearest gas station, not to mention that it was after midnight, pitch dark, and raining. Oh, and that this was about ten years before cell phones were invented.
"Stay in the car," said Josh, "And don't worry, I'll get you home."
I did — trying all the while not to think about those campfire horror stories — and he did.
I may not understand men, but I can tell you one thing about women: rescue them from a dangerous situation and they will fall in love with you.
Stay tuned for verse 2, tomorrow.
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