A Tall Drink of Water

Damn. The radio is playing Journey’s “Open Arms.”

Every time I hear that song I get all choked up inside. Music is powerful.

It was the summer before ninth grade. He lived across the street from me and I can still see his face. He was a tall drink of water with deep blue eyes and a Kurt Russell smile.

His name was Brian. He was my first crush. I pined after him throughout middle school. But he was out of my league. A junior—on the Varsity football team and a new (blonde) girlfriend every week.

That summer—I blossomed—finally. And one night, the neighborhood kids were hanging out in his yard, and on a dare—he asked me to follow him to the side of his house.

He knew I’d never been kissed before. I was the neighborhood nerd—the good little Catholic girl, who went to private school while my friends went to the public schools—and whose father was an Air Force hard ass.

My girlfriend had her little boom box—and all I remember is feeling warm all over, and him leaning into me, kissing me like I’ve never been kissed since. And Steve Perry was belting out “Open Arms.”

We didn’t see much of each other after that summer. Last I heard, he got a girl pregnant his senior year… blew his ride to the University of Colorado… married her… and wound up in jail for vehicular manslaughter—killed a woman because he was driving drunk.

It’s funny where the road takes us. We never know at the tender age of fourteen—where we will land and who will be waiting for us when we get there.

I’m sure he doesn’t remember that night. And that song probably means something else for him.

I hope he is all right. Wherever he is.

I just think it’s funny. How a song can suck you right back to a time in your life that changed you forever. Powerful stuff.