Happenstance

I came across his picture by happenstance - idly strolling through a social networking site and calling up random names from years ago. He is older, grayer, more filled out, but that slight grin was unmistakable and just as I remembered. It's been over 40 years and we're all grown up now. Would he recall the summer of 1966 as vividly as I do still? And if he didn't, would I really want to know?

I turned 18 that July and he was 20 - we'd known each other since childhood but had never been more than friends. He was the first one to turn up at the back door that year, driving a battered old Ford and easily winning over my grandmother with good manners and a shy smile. I'd had a mild crush on him for the past several summers and when he asked me to the dance I said yes immediately - he was tall and thin and good looking, polite and respectful, what Nana liked to call "a good catch" - she'd known his family all her life and was impressed with this redheaded young man, He's been raised right, she confided to my mother, Takes after his daddy, helps care for all those young'uns and he finished his grade 12, no small thing. Most island education stopped as soon as you were old enough to work and a high school education was a rare accomplishment requiring dedication, hard work, and a curious mind, all traits Nana admired, but mostly I think she was simply charmed by this new young man who tipped his cap, stood when she stood, held her chair and always knocked before entering. She was less sure about the fact that he owned his own car until he pointed out that he'd saved for it for years and that he was too much of a gentleman to use it to his advantage, especially with her granddaughter. We only missed one curfew all that summer after encountering a lost sheep in a thick fog - Nana eventually gave us her complete blessing and years later would still ask about him, wondering if we'd kept in touch. I had to admit we hadn't - I'd heard he married and built a new house but there was 2,000 miles and an ocean between us by then and if there had been a real opportunity, we'd missed it. Come fall, summer loves between island boys and girls from away - no matter how sweet - were consigned to memory, the house closed up for another winter and the last ferry crossing made.

That was my last Freeport summer. There was college and work and real life to be dealt with, new loves waited for us both, choices had to be made and life paths selected. Even so, I still think of him and smile - that final summer with the redheaded boy was the finest and happiest I've ever known. It's magical to be young and in love by the ocean, even if it's only for a summer.