I’ll always maintain that we’re the last generation when “cruising” was safe. Cruising, for you young ones, was when a bunch of your friends crowded into one friend’s car (usually a beaten up Chevet or Vega) and drove up and down Main Drag America a bazillion times, checking out the happenings.
Sept. 12, 1988 found 18-year-old me next to one of my best friends, driving down Main Street in Salinas. We laughed and joked with fellow cruisers.
On what was probably our fifth pass of the evening – windows down, radio up – we spied a group of young guys milling around beside the 7-Eleven. Never one to be vocal, this time, I voiced my (ahem) appreciation for one of them, who grabbed his friend by the collar and ran to their car so they might ask us to pull over to chat.
My friend and I squealed with laughter and drove away.
Coming up on our left, they were grinning, motioning for us to pull over.
Despite protests, my friend pulled the Chevet (see? I told you) into the same 7-Eleven parking lot – because we had run out of Main Street and had to turn around again – and horror of horrors, she got out! I stayed in my seat, staring straight ahead. Now what, Hot Shot?
Startled out of my mind, a guy had come to the passenger window, grinned at me, leaned in and asked my name.
Soon, the four of us found ourselves at the beach. Grinning-What’s-Your-Name-Guy and I walked up and down the beach, talking for hours. He asked me to go to San Francisco with him the the next day. A couple of his friends were going to a concert that he wasn’t interested in, but wanted a tour guide. Little did he know, he was asking the one person who would need directions if someone had asked her to look to her right. I politely declined. I wasn’t getting mixed up with a military guy. He asked again. Several times.
But then … he was funny. So funny. He was cute, and I liked that he was a gentleman, making sure that he walked next to the water in case a rogue wave should potentially sweep me out into the black ocean.
Grinning-What’s-Your-Name-Guy and I will celebrate our 24th anniversary, come Ground Hog Day, but that’s another story.
In those nearly 24 years married, we’ve had ups and downs, but Keith and I are still growing up together.
