"Blue Velvet" and the Lost Cause

Last week, I posted mostly about the songs and dance of my childhood. From 7^th grade through 12^th, I went to school mixers, sock hops, and parties, but I remember only one dance with one boy.

My high school was small—just twenty-six in my senior graduating class. While girls had “gym” class, there were no teams. The boys played basketball and baseball. The job of girls was to cheer the boys on when they took to the court or the diamond.

Throughout the four years of high school, I was enamored of one boy—let’s call him Martin. He was tall, thin, handsome, and aloof, seldom deigning to talk with girls. I’m not sure why. Was he simply shy or did he feel superior because he was a star basketball player?

He seemed often to have an expression of contempt on his face. I, of course, found this intriguing. Many years later, “The Impossible Dream” became my favorite song, and my attraction to this young man hinted at my always wanting the impossible.

Nearly everyone in my class had gone through grade and high school together, so we knew one another well. In seventh and eighth grade, we began having parties at one another’s homes. We’d dance in the basement, we girls wearing our twin sweater sets, poodle skirts, bobby socks, and saddle shoes. The “guys” dressed in jeans and casual shirts.

At one of these gatherings, when I was sixteen, Martin danced with me to the music of “Blue Velvet,” sung by Tony Bennett.

I can remember his arms around me and my thinking that if I died right then, I’d have known heaven. He didn’t talk; he simply stared into the distance, looking over my head—I was 5’ 4”; he was 6 feet. The expression on his face was one of supreme boredom. That face, smooth, with no five o’clock shadow, always reminded me—in its angularity—of El Greco’s paintings. (I studied art.)

I was so tongue-tied from the sheer joy of dancing with this Adonis that I could only stammer a word or two. Let’s be honest—stammer really doesn’t do justice to my conversation. I babbled. When Tony sang “bluer than velvet were her eyes,” I can remember hoping that Martin would glance down and notice that my eyes were blue. Surely, bluer than velvet!

He didn’t.

During my teen-age years, my eyes were the one good feature of my face. I had an extremely bad case of acne. My figure was 36-24-36. My legs attractive. My hair curly. But my face was a disaster. Because of that, I became shy with boys, thinking that if they did dance with me they were just being kind.

So there we were in that basement: Martin superior; me, unattractive and obsequiously grateful that he’d asked me to dance. With my other male classmates, I could talk sports. Cars. Movies. Classes. But it was always Martin whose standoffishness attracted me.

We danced; I mumbled a few words. The song ended; he joined the other boys at the end of the room; I rejoined the girls. They all knew about the crush I had on Martin, so Barb, Cecilia, Patsy, and Joyce swooned and asked, “How was it?” “What’d he say?” “Isn’t he dreamy!” I was mute.

Was this just me, or were you ever attracted to someone who didn’t have the time of day for you?

Peace.