Let It Be Me

You remember, don't you? It was the time when Disco was going out and New Wave was coming in. You were sitting with a friend in a place called Yesteryear, one of those "theme" places for nostalgia buffs. You and your friend weren't exactly nostalgia buffs, but you dug some of the music and were curious about what the place looked like. Red vinyl upholstery covered the seats, pics of scenes from the fifties and sixties adorned the walls and fake Tiffany lamps hung overhead on every booth, also equipped with Seeburg jukeboxes.

You were listening to "Devil or Angel," a Bobby Vee hit from 1960, while checking out that cutie dressed in a plaid skirt sitting at the counter with a man and woman who looked old enough to be her parents. She was so pretty, dressed in a plaid skirt and a yellow sweater over a white blouse, and her shapely calves were covered in turquoise socks that stretched almost to her lovely knees, and over those socks she wore a pair of brown loafers. You also remember her hair, strawberry-blond, worn in a late Eisenhower-Kennedy era doo, the bangs that covered most of her forehead and the cute way she had it flipped up in back and the yellow bow set in front.

People came here to get a feel for an era when life wasn't so fast and complicated, when the country was more innocent. Or so you heard from those who lived through it. You had just finished college, too young to remember those times but old enough to appreciate what it must have been like. And maybe that's why that girl and her parents were there. She looked a little younger than you, so maybe she was still in high school, you thought. You looked at her and thought maybe, just maybe, she'd like it if you approached her. After all, she did look your way and smiled, before turning back around. But you were shy and inexperienced in the ways of approaching girls you didn't know--a pickup artist you weren't. "Go up to her, whataya got to lose?" your friend Eric said.

He said this as the song ended, and then you dropped a nickel into the slot to hear "Let It Be Me," one of your dad's faves from his collection of old 45s. So beautiful, so romantic, and the girl must have thought so too, because you saw her lip-syncing along with the music, and you wanted to hug her for that alone, along with her wholesome looks and eyes you were close enough to see were blue. "I'm in love," you said to your friend, who chuckled and shook his head.

'I bless the day I found you, I wanna stay around you...'

Oh, yeah, that music, those lyrics, they were made for that moment weren't they, and all you could do was sit there like some bump on a log and steal glimpses of that girl, fantasizing about what you wanted to happen while knowing damn well it never would.

'Don't take this heaven from one

If you must cling to someone

Now and forever, let it be me...'

Easy for the brothers Everly, you thought, those ex-Marines blessed with angelic voices and all-American good looks. No doubt, they fought off the groupies who hung around after their shows. And then there was you, Mr. Average looking who blended in with the crowd with your short, sandy-colored hair and a physique built for the competitive swimmer you were in high school and college. A good swimmer you were, too, though hardly in league with Mark Spitz or future great Michael Phelps.

'Each time we meet, love

I find complete love

Without your sweet love

What would life be?'

You knew what life would be because you were living it, living with a longing for finding the sort of love that a million songs were written about, a longing that always deepened when you saw girls like the one that sat just a few steps away--so near and yet so far. You knew that if you let this opportunity go, you'd be kicking yourself, just like you always did when you let that sort of opportunity slip from your grasp like so many brass rings on so many merry-go-rounds in so many amusement parks. "Carpe Diem," your friend said.

Seize the day, yes, that's what you needed to do because life was short, as your grandparents were always saying, and moments like this might never come again.

'So, never leave me lonely

Say that you love me only

And that you'll always let it be me...'

The song was ending, and you wondered how long the girl and her parents planned to stay. Your heart was racing, your adrenalin pumping, and you knew it was now or never. Yes, just like that Neapolitan standard that had been a huge hit for Elvis.

'It's now or never

Come, hold me tight

Kiss me, my darling

Be mine tonight...'

How appropriate, how timely, you thought, because the time was indeed there, which is why you somehow got ballsy enough to leave your booth and step up to her and say, "Hi, my name is Neil Kirschner, and I just want to say, let it be me."

Your first impulse was to run away, half-expecting the girl to laugh in your face, say something cruel or both. She did laugh, giggled more like it, but there was nothing mocking in her tone. She seemed genuinely amused--in a good way--and it gave your heretofore lack of confidence a much-needed shot in the arm. "Nice meeting you Neil Kirschner," she said. "I'm Amy Coren and this is my dad and stepmom."

Her dad wore off-white chinos and a white sport coat with a pink carnation, just like the song. Her stepmom, in keeping with their nineteen-fifties-sixties attire theme, wore a poodle skirt. You thought they both looked silly in that getup, including the black frame glasses and the fedora her dad wore, but you weren't about to say that.

"Howdy, Neil," he said, looking you up and down like you needed to pass some sort of inspection in your jeans and green football jersey with the number 9 in white. But what the hell, he seemed friendly enough, as well as amused at your attempt to connect with his daughter.

You looked back at Eric who gave you a thumb's up, and then, when you returned to Amy, she said, "So Neil, what do you mean by let it be you?"

You shrugged, not sure what to say, so you said the first thing that popped into your head: "Just like the song says, let it be me."

"Let it be you...what?" Amy asked, hands on hips, drawing a grin that told you she knew what you meant but wanted to hear it from you.

You felt inhibited in front of her parents, yet even so, you said, "Let it be me to say I think you're exceptionally cute. And I like your outfit, too." You saw her blue eyes flutter and her full mouth break into a smile, and it warmed your soul.

You almost shivered when she said, "Well, that's very nice of you to say, Neil," and then placed a hand on your shoulder.

She glanced at her parents who nodded their approval. "I'm Roy," the man said, and then stuck his hand out. "And I'm Jill," the woman said and shook your hand also. Not a bad looking gal, although you thought she'd look better with her blond hair worn down instead of up in that retro French twist.

"Oh, I love this song," Jill said, when she heard Barbara Lewis' "Hello Stranger."

'Hello stranger

it seems so good to see you back again

How long has it been?

it seems like a mighty long time...'

And then Amy did something you didn't expect--asked her parents if it was okay if you and her could take one of the vacant booths so "we can get better acquainted."

"Sure, just don't do anything we wouldn't do," Jill joked.

Eric said he didn't mind either. "Have fun and good luck," he said. "I'm headed out." Good thing he already had a girlfriend or he might have been jealous. Good thing also that you two had taken separate cars to get here.

You could scarcely believe this, sharing a booth with the 'exceptionally cute' Amy Coren whom you had just met--one of the precious few surreal experiences you had had in your young life. Her pretty face glowed beneath that fake Tiffany, bringing out her prominent cheek bones and her zit-free skin. Such a cute nose, too, and the few freckles on it made her look even cuter. You sat there, admiring her beauty and high on the notion that she apparently thought highly of you also. Well, highly enough to break from her parents to give you her undivided attention. In the span of less than five minutes, you learned that she was nineteen, in her sophomore year of college and didn't have a steady boyfriend. Such a personal thing to reveal to someone she had just met, you thought. You returned the "favor," telling her that you "weren't attached" either, and when she asked what you did, you told her about your internship at a local newspaper and your ambition to break into sports writing. Then, when you told her about your amateur swimming "career," her eyes lit up. She said, "Really? Well, I competed in gymnastics in high school and just made my college team. Also, I'm majoring in journalism," she added, with an excited twinkle in her eye.

You felt you hit the jackpot. An athletic girl with beauty and brains and, like you, plans to pursue a writing career. You could barely contain your enthusiasm. The adage that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is, never entered your mind. You and this girl were on a roll, and you were beginning to feel like you'd keep rolling. The conversation continued to flow like a stream after a spring rain, and you ordered another iced tea for the both of you. You felt so into her that you wanted to lean across the table for a kiss. You wanted to...but you hesitated, fearing that she'd think it was going too far too soon. But then you thought, 'what the hell, there's nothing to lose,' and you made your move. And when she met you halfway, you felt on the edge of Paradise. It was short but oh so sweet. There would be more, you were sure of that.

In fact, you were about to double-dip, when you saw her look past you toward the entrance and then utter a gasp. Then you turned around to see what she was looking at--this big dude around your age scanning the place as if he were looking for someone. "Someone you know?" you asked.

She nodded and said, "Afraid so."

He looked clean-cut--short, dark brown hair, big and tall. Looked like he played football. Looked like he was also on a mission, scanning the place until his eyes caught Amy. His eyes caught you also when you once again turned around. He looked none too pleased.

"Look, Neil," Amy said, "I said I didn't have a steady boyfriend and I don't. But I did start to go out with someone, and he's the guy coming this way." When you asked how he knew you were here, she said, "He didn't really. I told him I might be here with my parents tonight. I didn't invite him to come by. Never thought he would."

Yet he did, and now he was at your table, dressed in knee-covering shorts that exposed his massive calves and a blue V-neck pullover. He looked at Amy as if to ask, 'who the fuck is he?'

He leaned his big hands on the table, then Amy made the introductions. "Lyle, this is Neil, Neil this is Lyle. Neil and I just met tonight. My parents are over there."

Lyle looked to where Amy pointed, then glanced back at you, contemptuously, you thought. Still, you gave him a little wave and said, "Hi."

Lyle acknowledged you with a token nod. Then, with his thick mitts still on the table, he said, "Amy, I was hoping to surprise you. Thought we could, you know, get together. You drove here with your parents?" When Amy nodded, he said, "Well then, we can split, go somewhere else and I'll take you home."

You got nervous when he looked at you with an expression that said, 'I dare you to object.' You felt intimidated--there was no way you could take this guy if things turned physical. You turned toward Amy and said, "Look, it's your call. We just met and I feel like an intruder."

Lyle didn't say anything; his smart-ass, condescending smirk said it all. To Amy, he said, "So Amy, is it a date? Let's cruise."

You felt sorry for her, being put in an awkward situation like this. You thought of making it easier for everybody by getting up and walking away. You might have, too, if you hadn't been so enamored with this girl. More than that, you didn't want to look like a wimp. Your self-respect would plummet lower than whale shit, not to mention what Amy would probably think of you. And then you thought, 'why should I feel like an intruder? Amy's with me and this Lyle is the one who barged in.' Fuck no, you weren't going anywhere unless Amy decided to split with him.

You tried to glean what Amy was thinking, tried to guess who she wanted to be with the most at this moment. 'It should be an easy decision,' you thought. After all, she was dating Lyle, and you were just this guy she'd known for less than an hour. All she had to do was say, 'it was nice meeting you, Neil, sayonara,' and you'd be on your way. Instead, it appeared that she was doing a coin flip in her head, while smiling at both of you, doing her best not to offend, while big Lyle stood there, shooting you hostile looks, no doubt designed to intimidate if not scare you into leaving. You felt as if you'd explode from the tension, as you might have if not for Amy's parents coming over.

"Well, well, Amy, it looks like you're quite popular tonight," Roy said. He said hi to Lyle. To Amy, he said, "We're about to leave. Ready to go?"

What an easy out they were giving her, you thought. She'd leave with them and that would be that. You could feel your tension deflating like a punctured tire. What a shock when Amy said, "Neil can take me home. We're having this wonderful discussion that I'd hate to cut short."

You glanced at Lyle who looked like he'd been punched in the gut. Amy looked up at him, her eyes full of tender resignation and empathy, a look meant to soothe his bruised ego, you figured. Her parents looked concerned when he shook his head, slapped the table and said, "I can't fing believe this." He paused, looking like he regretted saying that. Then he said to Jill and Roy, "No disrespect, Mister and Misses Coren, but this is unbelievable."

You could scarcely believe it yourself. The Chosen One, chosen over the big handsome jock by the comely Amy Coren. 'Let it be me,' you had asked her, and she did. And now she asked you, almost pleading with those baby blue eyes of hers: "Is that okay, Neil? You'll take me home? I live in the area."

All eyes were on you, Amy's, her parents' and Lyle's, the latter full of hostile pique. "Of course I'll take you home," you said, one of the easiest decisions you ever made, despite the possibility of being on the receiving end of Lyle's big fist.

You could see the tension and worry in Amy's face, sensing the possibility of that. Looking up at Lyle, she said, "Lyle, be cool. We'll talk later, okay?"

Lyle shook his head, mumbled something you couldn't make out. "Right, later," he said, before glaring at you one last time and then stomping away and out the door.

"Lyle plays football for my school," Amy revealed. "We went out a few times."

Then Roy said, "He looked really pissed, as if you were cheating on him by talking with Neil."

Amy shrugged. "Yeah, he can be possessive. He'd like to think we're an item already. But he's not a bad guy once you get to know him. He's an engineering major."

Her words and the way she smiled saying them told you that Lyle was still on her social agenda. She liked him, no question about that, but maybe if you stuck around, she'd like you more. Suddenly, you felt in competition with this football-playing, engineering major, competing for the affection of a girl you didn't really know but one you thought worth competing for.

Jill, meanwhile, smoothing out her poodle skirt, said, "Okay, kids, have fun. Neil, I'm counting on you to get Amy back home, safe and sound."

"She's safe with me," you said.

Roy winked and tipped his fedora, revealing his bald pate. "Good man. And brave man not to fold under veiled threats from the likes of a heavy like Lyle."

Once her parents were out of earshot, Amy said, "You should feel proud, Neil. My parents aren't the most trusting of people and yet they trust you, someone before tonight they didn't know."

"Guess I have a trusting face," you said, devoid of anything else to say.

"Could be. Or maybe they sensed, like I do, that you're not possessive or pushy, that you can be trusted and, like my dad said, you stood your ground. A quiet sort of hero."

She gave you the warmest smile, and you so wanted to kiss her again, the way you were about to before that 'heavy' came in. But you didn't, not yet. Instead, you reached across the table, took her hand in yours and said, "Amy, I'm not sure of the hero thing, but I'm really glad we met. I just hope this isn't the last time."

She nodded, neither confirming nor denying that it would be. You would have liked a positive confirmation but weren't about to push for one. She seemed to like you, a guy she just met, and that was enough for now.

You paid for the drinks, went outside and then climbed into your hand-me-down, 1974 green Chevy Caprice. The car had seen better days, yet now, years later, you get a nostalgic feeling for that clunky machine, the one equipped with a wide bench front seat, perfect for the sort of necking that you and Amy indulged in before you even put key to ignition. Not much was said beforehand. In fact, nothing was said. You remember, right? Speaking of positive confirmations, you and she just looked at each other with this unspoken mutual desire and then fell into each other's arms. When it's right, you'll know, you'd been told, and nothing could have been more right at that moment. A stud, you weren't, nor were you a novice either when it came to in-car necking. But in all your days, you had never been with a girl this cute or this warm or this responsive, and you savored every delicious moment of it, from the warm softness of her lips to the seductive sweetness of her young girl scent.

Of course, you wanted to go further. You wanted to make love to her but you didn't try. She admired you for not being "pushy," remember, and you didn't want to sour her opinion. You respected her and she seemed to respect you for not trying, for not groping, for not trying to rip her clothes off, though, truth be told, it entered your mind. No, you exercised self-restraint, and she rewarded you with a long goodbye kiss when you pulled up to her house, a brown-shingled, late Victorian.

She jotted down her phone number (no iPhones then). Then through the darkness, she looked through your driver's side window to see a big, tall figure step down from the wood, wrap-around porch and approach your car. "I believe I have company," she said.

It was Lyle, come to reclaim his woman from you, the interloper. At least that's the way you sized things up. "He doesn't give up," you said, watching him approach, taking long, purposeful strides and swinging his big arms. "Now what?"

Without answering, she alighted from the car, then stepped around to your side. Arms folded against her chest, she asked in a tone of annoyance, "Lyle, what are you doing here?"

"What do you think I'm doing here?" he asked, arms at his sides. "We need to talk."

"Do my parents know you're here?"

"They do. I've been waiting on the porch."

Standing between you and Lyle, Amy looked around, as if to stall for time. Then she said. "What do you want to talk about?"

Lyle spread his arms as if he couldn't believe she didn't know. "You and me, baby." Looking past her at you, he said, "Is this guy your new boyfriend?"

She sighed. "Of course he's not my new boyfriend. We just met."

Just then, you heard the front door open and then saw Roy step onto the porch. He watched, looked concerned, but he didn't say anything.

Lyle then turned toward Amy. "Look, all I want to do is talk. I've been waiting for close to a half hour with my butt parked on one of those green hardwood porch chairs. Just to see you."

Amy took a deep breath, then turned toward you. "Neil, I'm sorry, I didn't expect this. Call me, okay?"