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{"id":596,"date":"2016-04-17T12:03:03","date_gmt":"2016-04-17T17:03:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=596"},"modified":"2016-04-17T13:03:40","modified_gmt":"2016-04-17T18:03:40","slug":"life-in-the-fast-lane","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=596","title":{"rendered":"Life in The Fast Lane"},"content":{"rendered":"Life in the Fast Lane<\/span> June 2, 1962<\/p>\n The church on the west side of town was so very different from those which I had attended back home in Texas. Though small, it was bright and airy\u2014its interior warmed and bleached brilliantly by the radiant Nevada sunshine pouring freely through the dozens of tall and narrow clear glass windows lining each of its side walls.<\/p>\n At the far back end of the structure rose a semi-circular double-tiered altar, split in half by a twelve-foot wooden crucifix from which an almost lifelike Jesus figure hung painfully\u2014scarlet colored blood streaming vividly from his thorn-crowned head. Head drooped and lolling left, arms spread wide, the sculptured figure radiated the very agony that He surely must\u2019ve experienced two thousand years ago.<\/p>\n About ten feet in front of Jesus the church\u2019s builders had erected an ornate pulpit, swathed in heavy purple and white velvet cloth and topped with an exquisite gold colored oblong lighting fixture. This would surely ease the effort of reading of the typically small text printed in the large gilded bible that always seemed to be set open and marked with a shiny silver fabric bookmark.<\/p>\n Above Jesus\u2019s head the ceiling consisted almost entirely of a giant skylight. Even on cloudy days the light would pour in, washing over the entire altar and casting a slowly moving shadow of Christ on the cross over the pulpit and the first few rows of the church. At night, large soft colored flood lights, mounted on either side of the giant skylights, would cast an eerie glow over Him, accentuating the dark shadows under his tortured brow and turning his stained beige loin cloth a brilliant white.<\/p>\n A small choir box, stained a dark cherry, sat on one side of the altar against the wall, and a medium sized organ on the other. On Sundays the purple-robed youth choir would raise their voices, harmonizing in somewhat ragged time with the blue-haired lady seated at the pipe organ, furiously pumping the foot pedals and occasionally raising a thin blue-veined arm in a desperate effort to keep the bright-eyed choir in time.<\/p>\n It was here, on a cloudy Saturday afternoon that I, and a pretty, just beginning to show, seventeen-year-old girl named Sharon Lee, stood before a benevolent looking gray-haired Episcopalian minister, and took the sacred vows of marriage.<\/p>\n I, in my only pair of black dress slacks, a newly bought white shirt, borrowed black tie, and light gray sports jacket; and, she, in a knee-length frilly white chiffon dress, barely concealing the small bump growing high in her belly, stood stock still while the reverend reminded the audience why we were all gathered there today.<\/p>\n Holding her trembling and slightly moist left hand in my right, I nervously repeated the words that I had rehearsed the night before: pledging my love, promising to keep and to hold until death do us part, forever and ever. Then, it was her turn to do the same.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n Her mother had tried very hard to talk me out of marrying her youngest daughter. Although she never shared any of her personal history with me it wasn\u2019t difficult to see that she\u2019d not had an easy life; under the present circumstances she probably envisioned a similar fate for Sharon as well.<\/p>\n A heavily addicted chain smoker, Pat was of medium height and her skin glowed with a gypsy dark complexion. She wore her beauty salon darkened and permed hair long, and on her finely chiseled nose rested a pair of really exaggerated cat\u2019s-eye eyeglasses. Deeply grooved stress lines radiated outward from her eyes, and a network of tiny vertical smoker\u2019s wrinkles surrounded her heavily painted lips. Although probably pushing forty she preferred dressing in skirts and dresses much better suited to someone twenty years younger.<\/p>\n When she spoke, her words rattled out in nicotine-laced raspy baritone sentences; and if the conversation made her laugh, she would usually end up hysterically waving one hand back and forth while the other hand tried in vain to stifle a hacking and wheezy phlegm-filled cough.<\/p>\n She was twice divorced. Walter, an insurance salesman living in San Francisco had been her first husband and had fathered her three daughters. Hugh, her second husband, lived just outside of Winnemucca, and that marriage had produced yet another daughter named Brenda. Pat, probably overwhelmed with the thought of being a single parent to four daughters, had relinquished custody of Brenda to Hugh.<\/p>\n Coincidentally, and as a result of a few non-marital liaisons after his divorce from Pat, Hugh ended up fathering two more children\u2014both boys\u2014and now, all of them lived on his dot of dusty land just north of Winnemucca. Tall and lanky, he was handy mechanically and a fair carpenter, and apparently made a fairly decent living repairing homes and farm machinery for some of the surrounding ranchers.<\/p>\n Pat\u2019s reaction to the news that Sharon was pregnant was unexpectedly calm. \u201cYou\u2019re both so young,\u201d she noted, exhaling a long thoughtful stream of cigarette smoke. \u201cBut you know, I have some friends in Reno that can make the problem go away, and nobody will ever know. Why complicate your situation any more than it already is, right?<\/p>\n \u201cUm, I don\u2019t know\u2026\u201d I sputtered, \u201cWe really never talked about that\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n Look, if you agree\u201d she reasoned, sitting back in her chair and taking a long thoughtful drag before continuing, \u201cwe can easily take care of this problem. Then you can go your way and she can go hers\u2014but you can\u2019t ever see her again. Understand?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I don\u2019t\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, if it\u2019s money you\u2019re worried about don\u2019t sweat it. We can come up with what\u2019s needed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, it\u2019s not that. I just don\u2019t know if it\u2019s what we should be doing\u2014that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, it\u2019s the right thing all right. And, it\u2019s the best thing for both of you. You\u2019re on a year and a half assignment here, right?\u201d I nodded. \u201cOK, so before you know it you\u2019ll be transferred out and you can go on with your life like nothing happened. When we get back from Reno Sharon will be back to normal in no time and she can go on with her life. See? Better for all.\u201d<\/p>\n She made it sound so easy: Agree, and Sharon\u2019s permanently out of my life; no problems, no responsibility.<\/p>\n I looked to Sharon to see what she was going to say. Head down, she seemed to be in a trance.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I just don\u2019t think it\u2019s really the right thing to do.\u201d I said, finally speaking up. \u201cI\u2019m not really willing to walk away from this, because by doing so I\u2019ll be agreeing to take an innocent child\u2019s life just for the sake of my own convenience. Besides, Sharon\u2019s never even suggested an abortion.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh God, Frank! She doesn\u2019t know what she wants! She\u2019s obviously conflicted and confused about the whole thing. But look, seriously, let\u2019s just do what\u2019s going to be good for everyone.\u201d She was raising her voice a bit now, \u201cBesides, if you get married, what will you live on? Your Air Force salary? And, how will you two be able to care for a little kid on top of that, for God\u2019s sake? Hell, you\u2019re both kids yourselves!\u201d Worked up into a mini-frenzy she put her hand to her mouth and went into a protracted coughing fit.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe.\u201d I said, when she had finally quit coughing. \u201cBut I just don\u2019t feel right about her getting an abortion!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy God,\u201d she said with some exasperation, \u201cdon\u2019t tell me you\u2019re religious!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, no, not at all!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, because\u2026\u201d she paused to take a lengthy drag on her cigarette, \u201cSharon told me your parents were some kind of holy rollers.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n And of course, because of my past history she was assuming that my objection was based on religious grounds. But she was wrong.<\/p>\n Given all the time I\u2019d spent in church for the past five or six years I had never been fully (or even partially) converted; nor had I developed a sense of scorn for sin or sinners. And abortion? Well, I\u2019d never even given the word a single thought. And why would I? The closest I\u2019d come to having sex was with a girl I\u2019d met here in Winnemucca before I met Sharon, and that ended up being nothing but some heavy petting.<\/p>\n Now, I found myself faced with the dilemma of agreeing to an abortion. But there was just something in my heart that told me it was the wrong thing to do. Further, I had a bad feeling that if I agreed I wouldn\u2019t be able to live with myself knowing that I\u2019d shirked a major responsibility. Further, and much more serious, I suddenly felt horribly guilty that if I agreed to this I would in fact be agreeing to the termination of an innocent child who I\u2019d helped create, solely for the sake of my own convenience. That just seemed so cruel and avaricious.<\/p>\n So, I found that the more she talked, the more I found myself repulsed with Pat\u2019s casual attitude about abortion. In fact, the more she explained how easy it would be for all of us once the act was completed, the more disgusted I got. Why, I asked myself, should I be able to walk away from my mistake simply by casually agreeing to the taking of this child\u2019s life? It just didn\u2019t feel right, and that\u2019s when I decided that I would never give my consent.<\/p>\n So, I stubbornly stood my ground.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, Pat.\u201d I told her firmly. \u201cI can\u2019t, and I won\u2019t agree to that\u2014regardless of the outcome. Sharon and I did what we did, and now we\u2019re going to have to live with the consequences. For me, it\u2019s all about accepting responsibility for our actions and moving on with our lives. We\u2019ll just have to get married and make the best of it. We should be thinking about what\u2019s best for the child, and not what\u2019s necessarily best for us.\u201d<\/p>\n Coming slightly unglued, Pat retorted, \u201cReally, Frank? Well, understand this,\u201d pointing rapidly at me with her lit cigarette clenched between her index and middle nicotine stained fingers. \u201cShe\u2019s my daughter, and if I want to I can just take her to the doc and get it done, by God! With, or without your approval!<\/p>\n I sat frozen, unable to bring up any more words.<\/p>\n She sat back in her chair and seemed to regain her composure a bit.<\/p>\n \u201cLook,\u201d she tried to reason, \u201cI\u2019m just trying to look out for her future\u2014and yours too. She\u2019s too young to start raising a child! And so are you! Neither of you have a clue about being parents.\u201d<\/p>\n I found my tongue. \u201cYes Pat, that\u2019s true,\u201d I said, sadly, \u201cbut I won\u2019t ever agree to her having an abortion\u2014and I\u2019ll do everything in my power to stop you from making that happen.\u201d<\/p>\n Turning to her cowering daughter, she said, \u201cSharon! Are you listening? Don\u2019t you have anything to say about this?\u201d And that was that.<\/p>\n Practically speaking, and for the most part, Pat was right. We had no business agreeing to marry, much less committing to raising a child. Sharon, was just barely out of high school, and me having just uncomfortably extricated myself from an engagement with a girl I hardly knew, had no clue on what it was to be a husband and a father. Worse, I really hadn\u2019t even had the chance to figure out what I wanted out of life.<\/p>\n Here I\u2019d been out from under my parents\u2019 control for less than two years just getting started, and had already managed to completely screw up not only my life, but the life of two innocent girls.<\/p>\n In the end, Pat surrendered, finally saying that she\u2019d help us in any way she could.<\/p>\n At that moment she could not begin to know just how much help we would end up needing.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n Although the church could easily hold up to a hundred people, the attendance that day was barely a dozen, at best. Sharon\u2019s best friend, Cheryl, a good natured, thin and wispy, green-eyed blonde, was bridesmaid; Paul, a fellow airman from Oregon, whose favorite past time was reading philosophy and taking naps, was best man; Roberta and Alberta\u2014Sharon\u2019s older sisters, along with their respective husbands, were there; albeit, in uneasy attendance. Finally, Pat\u2019s ex-husband, Hugh, and Sharon\u2019s half-sister, Brenda\u2014both of whom I did not know well at all, were there too.<\/p>\n About a month earlier, Pat had asked me if I could help her retrieve a dresser from her ex-husband\u2019s house just outside of Winnemucca. That was the first time I\u2019d actually met Hugh, Brenda, and her half-brothers. Living a few miles north, and pretty much out in the desert and sage brush, their house, and the land it was on, reminded me of those 1930\u2019s \u201cdust bowl\u201d farm houses in north Texas and southern Oklahoma during the depression.<\/p>\n Brenda was thin and dark haired, with large expressive blue-green eyes, fair skin; and shared none of Sharon\u2019s, nor her sisters\u2019, facial features. And, she had a really wacky sense of humor.<\/p>\n The wedding ceremony was mercifully short, and in no time it was time to kiss the bride and stroll out of the church into the warm, dry, Nevada air\u2014smiling nervously and accepting forced wishes of good luck and congratulations.<\/p>\n The small wedding reception was held at the home of one of Pat\u2019s acquaintances; hers, a bit too small and a bit too dingy. The small cake and some tasteless boxed vanilla ice cream was soon gone, and the wedding guests broke off into their respective familial groups to chat and gossip.<\/p>\n Pat, wearing a much too fancy blue-green cocktail dress, sat mostly alone, chain smoking anxiously on filtered Kool cigarettes, occasionally removing her black-rimmed cat\u2019s eyes eyeglasses and wiping them off with the hem of her dress.<\/p>\n Sharon and her two sisters retreated to the kitchen to talk\u2014probably about how great our future looked\u2014and I sat alone in a slightly ragged overstuffed chair. Besides Sharon and her sisters, I didn\u2019t know anyone else very well, having only met most of them a few days before the wedding.<\/p>\n Paul had quickly returned to the radar station, making some weak excuse about having to work someone\u2019s night shift and therefore, not being able to attend our reception; which in truth, more closely resembled a funeral wake.<\/p>\n Cheryl, apparently feeling sorry for me, came over after a while and sat on the arm of my chair making cheery small talk. A few minutes later Brenda popped up, dragging a kitchen chair behind her, plopped down and introduced herself.<\/p>\n \u201cLooks like we\u2019re kin now, huh, brother?\u201d Her large blue eyes twinkling.<\/p>\n \u201cYup, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood! So, let\u2019s get to know you a little better. What do you like to drink? And I don\u2019t mean Coke.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUm, I don\u2019t really have a favorite. Well, maybe scotch, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere you go! We got ourselves something in common right off the bat! I love scotch!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh\u2026that\u2019s nice.\u201d And, that\u2019s as much as I could say about that.<\/p>\n \u201cSo tell me how and when you guys met.\u201d Brenda asked, pulling her chair up close. \u201cNobody seems to know, and if they do, they ain\u2019t telling me.\u201d<\/p>\n Jay and the Town Hall<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHey, we\u2019re one guy short for basketball. You play?\u201d<\/p>\n It was a lazy Saturday afternoon and I was on my second day off. Lounging on the tattered couch in the rec room, I was leafing through a dog-eared copy of Life magazine while trying to watch a baseball game on the little black and white TV mounted crookedly on the wall.<\/p>\n \u201cHuh? Sorry, me?\u201d I asked, looking away from the set and saw a tall muscular guy standing just off to my left.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, you. You play basketball?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUh, yeah.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood. You up for a shirts and skins game down at the town hall?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe Town Hall\u2026downtown in Winnemucca. There\u2019s a gym down there that we can reserve sometimes on Saturday. I got it from one to four today. But, we need one more for a five on five.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t have a car.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo sweat. I got one and Michael from the motor pool\u2019s got another.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOK. But I need to go back to my room to get my gym shoes and put on some shorts.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRight! Hurry! We\u2019re leaving in about ten minutes. We\u2019ll be out in front of the rec room, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure!\u201d<\/p>\n I put the magazine down and quickly got up off the couch.<\/p>\n \u201cBy the way, my name\u2019s Jay.\u201d He said, putting out his hand. \u201cI work in radar maintenance, and I\u2019ve seen you up on the hill a couple of times.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFrank, scope dope.\u201d I replied, meeting his outstretched hand with mine.<\/p>\n Jay was an all-American type of guy: Tall, fair, great looking, with intense blue eyes and a neatly trimmed flattop haircut. He had to have been some kind of popular jock back in his high school, and probably had girls hanging off him all the time.<\/p>\n \u201cBe right back!\u201d I said, and all but ran back to the barracks.<\/p>\n It had been quite a while since I\u2019d done any kind of physical activity so I found myself pretty excited to get in on a game of basketball. It seemed I\u2019d been spending most of my time here working, eating, sleeping, and learning which booze made me throw up the most.<\/p>\n As I was changing into my shorts and gym shoes I noticed just how out of shape I\u2019d gotten. I was breathing hard as I got to my room, and just bending over to tie my shoes made me see stars.<\/p>\n We piled into the two cars and headed off the radar station toward downtown Winnemucca. We parked adjacent to a rather old, but stately-looking building, situated on what could be described as a town square. Park benches, diagonal sidewalks and some pretty large evergreen-type trees surrounded the single-story structure.<\/p>\n Jay led the way as we entered a large set of double doors and turned left in the small lobby towards a flight of stairs heading down to the basement level. Double swinging doors opened up and exposed a rather nice, if not dated, hardwood basketball court. Low, six-level old wooden bleachers sat on either side of the court, and the whole place smelled like varnish, rancid furniture oil, and dust.<\/p>\n After the game, which I spent mostly on the floor\u2014a victim of some rather vicious picks and well placed forearms\u2014I decided to do a little exploring while the rest of the guys went in search of a soft drink machine.<\/p>\n On the main level, aside from some deserted-looking offices, there was another very large open room. It resembled the downstairs basketball court, but the shiny wooden floor but did not sport any markings; nor were there any bleachers or goals. Instead, on either end there were small structures that looked like portable bars. I later found out my guess was right on.<\/p>\n \u201cThis here\u2019s where they hold the weekly dances!\u201d Jay said.<\/p>\n I jumped a bit, not expecting anyone to be behind me.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, yeah. What dances?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHaven\u2019t you been to one yet?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMan, you gotta come. There\u2019s one every Saturday\u2014so tonight\u2019s the night. You coming?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I don\u2019t think so. I don\u2019t have any money. Besides, how would I get here and back?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo sweat, man.\u201d Jay said, mopping off his forehead with his balled up t-shirt. \u201cIf you\u2019re game you can hitch a ride with me. But if I score you may have to walk back to the station.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow much does it cost?\u201d I asked, curious now.<\/p>\n \u201cNothing! Well, if you meet someone you may have to buy them a coke or something. That\u2019s if you wanna be nice.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWho comes here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh well, mostly town chicks that don\u2019t have anywhere else to go. Most are pretty homely, but every once in a while there\u2019s one that\u2019s not too bad.\u201d<\/p>\n I turned to walk back outside. \u201cLook, Jay. Can I talk to you about this after we get back to the station? You know, like in private?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure man! I can swing by your room after I shower, on my way to chow.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOK. That\u2019ll work, see you then.\u201d<\/p>\n About an hour later Jay came by my room and filled me in on the doings at the Winnemucca Town Hall Dance. There was a dollar admission, but the Air Force guys were allowed in free as long as you showed proper ID.<\/p>\n The activities started at six, but no one actually showed up until after seven. There was no band, just an old jukebox that had been rigged to play song after song. Some old retired guy owned it, and had it on loan to the city on the condition that they maintain it and keep it stocked with all the latest hits. There were two bars, one bar on either side of the dance floor, but drinks were limited to Coke, 7UP, and root beers. They were a nickel each, and were served in paper cups.<\/p>\n The dances were held to provide some type of social entertainment to the young people of the town, but usually only the fourteen to sixteen age group attended; those above or below apparently had better things to do on Saturday nights.<\/p>\n But, by far the weirdest thing I learned was the proper procedure to get on the dance floor with a partner. No couples were allowed to come in together; that is, boys and girls came in separately. Once inside, the boys populated one side of the dance floor (standing against the wall or sitting on rickety metal chairs), and the girls did the same on the opposite side.<\/p>\n When a song started, only the boys were allowed to journey across the floor to ask a girl of his choosing for a dance. Refusing a dance invitation was not allowed. Once asked, the girl had to accept, then like it or not, off she went to dance her little feet off.<\/p>\n There were adult chaperones scattered around the hall to ensure no hanky-panky occurred while doing the twist, I guess. \u201cOK,\u201d Jay said, \u201cI know it sounds stupid, but it\u2019s a good way to get to meet some of the local talent. We Air Force guys are not particularly trusted by the locals; probably because they know most of us have been to real cities before and they\u2019re afraid we might contaminate their little girls\u2019 minds and\/or bodies.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat if a guy doesn\u2019t know how to dance?\u201d I asked abruptly.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat guy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAny guy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe all know how to dance!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat!?\u201d His eyes bugged out. \u201cYou\u2019re shitting me, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou really don\u2019t know how to dance?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. I never learned.\u201d<\/p>\n Jay stared at me, mouth half open\u2014trying to decide if I was pulling his leg or not. He finally decided I wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n \u201cShit.\u201d He mumbled, and looked away. \u201cWell, too bad partner, I\u2019m not teaching your ass how to dance. I watched you play basketball today, and you really suck.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think I\u2019m that bad\u2026at basketball, I mean. I just don\u2019t run too fast. But for sure I can\u2019t dance. Never tried to. Never done it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re from Houston, right? They do dance down there, don\u2019t they? Shit, I\u2019m from bum-fuck Egypt and I know how to dance.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy parents were very religious and I spent all my time in church. No dancing there. Hell, I\u2019ve never even been on a date.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2026what? Fuck! OK, now you\u2019re scaring me! You are one weird dude!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAlright, look. Just don\u2019t ask any of the girls to dance the fast songs. You gotta know some shit to dance to those. Wait for a slow song. Then, you put your right hand on her waist and hold her right hand with your left up high. Then\u2026well\u2026walk to the rhythm of the music. Most of these chicks can\u2019t do a slow dance for shit anyway, so they\u2019ll just probably follow you around.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan\u2019t I just stand against the wall and watch?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, you can for a while\u2014but then one of the chaperones will probably come and ask you why you\u2019re not dancing. They expect their little darlings to be asked to dance\u2026even the ugly ones.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know,\u201d he said, blinking rapidly and getting a twinkle in his eye, \u201cthat\u2019s probably your best bet. Hang around for a couple of songs and keep an eye on me, then do what I do. But, try to find one of the homeliest chicks to ask to dance first. They usually don\u2019t get asked much so she\u2019ll be so god-dammed happy she probably won\u2019t notice you suck.\u201d<\/p>\n And so, a plan was formed; and a few months later, after having taken some informal dance lessons from a local girl, Judy, whom I\u2019d started seeing informally after meeting her at the base pool, I became a regular at the Winnemucca Dance Hall.<\/p>\n I had stuck with Jay\u2019s advice and gained a bit of confidence on the dance floor by asking mostly girls who weren\u2019t getting asked to dance by anyone else. Most didn\u2019t know much more than I did, but a couple put me through a veritable wringer by dancing circles around me.<\/p>\n A few Saturdays in, I noticed a thin, pale, brunette\u2014shyly looking at the floor every time a song started up. There was something about her that told me I should ask her to dance. For sure, she didn\u2019t fit my normal profile; she was pretty, petite, and had a really cute smile. I couldn\u2019t remember seeing her before but I was sure no one had asked her to dance that evening.<\/p>\n As I was trying to convince my feet to start walking in her direction the warm moist air in the hall was suddenly filled with the melodious tones of The Platters, singing, \u201cSmoke Gets in Your Eyes\u201d. A slow song, and in four-four time! Taking a deep breath, I found my confidence and strode assertively across the dance floor. Just as I approached her she looked up quickly\u2014and her smile quickly disappearing, put a hand up to her chest and mouthed, \u201cMe?\u201d<\/p>\n Halfway through our dance I gently pulled my head back, looked down at her, and said, \u201cHi, my name is Frank.\u201d<\/p>\n She looked up at me and with a little shudder softly said, \u201cSharon, my name\u2019s Sharon.\u201d<\/p>\n We danced the song out and I escorted her back to her place against the wall.<\/p>\n \u201cCould I ask you to dance again?\u201d I asked politely before I left.<\/p>\n \u201cOh,\u201d she whispered, \u201cif you really want to. I\u2019d like that.\u201d<\/p>\n Our Life Together Begins<\/span><\/p>\n Some of the guests curiously inquired about the little furnished house that Sharon and I had rented on the edge of town: three rooms\u2014a living room\/kitchen combination, a bedroom, and a bathroom with a stand-up shower. I told them about the part-time job I had landed at Phil\u2019s Chevron Gas Station on Highway 40, and just a few blocks away from our little rental. Walking distance. When I wasn\u2019t working at the radar station I would be pulling shifts at the gas station.<\/p>\n They carefully probed as to how I was going to get to and from the radar station, and I satisfied their curiosity by telling them how Pat had generously donated Hugh\u2019s 1949 Chevrolet fastback to us (as a wedding present) for transportation. The car\u2019s interior was ripped to shreds, but the engine was strong and the tires held air. They chuckled tensely, shooting glances in Hugh\u2019s direction as he sat pensively on a kitchen chair, gangly legs crossed, dressed in his best coveralls with an ancient Sherlock Holmes-style smoking pipe dangling loosely from his mostly toothless mouth.<\/p>\n Too soon for most, but an eternity to me, the festivities were over and Sharon and I were driven away by Pat and the sisters to our little hovel of a house with the beat-up Chevy sitting crookedly in the dirt driveway.<\/p>\n As the cars backed out of the driveway\u2014really just two dirt ruts in the small front lawn\u2014Sharon and I stood on the front steps of the house and waved goodbye to my new family. I unlocked the front door and we stepped in to the tiny front room.<\/p>\n Earlier that morning I had moved what few clothes I had from my room in the barracks and hung them on one side of the only closet in the house. Sharon\u2019s clothes were already hung up and I surmised that we\u2019d have no trouble with only one closet in the house.<\/p>\n She quickly retreated through the bedroom door on her way to the bathroom, and I sat down on our one living room chair and turned on the little black and white television that was resting on a metal TV tray. I adjusted the tin-foiled rabbit ears and pretended to watch whatever it was that was on.<\/p>\n I heard the toilet flush and I wondered if I should undress in the bathroom when it was my turn.<\/p>\n Sharon came out, now out of her little white wedding dress, wearing a plaid blouse over a pair of jeans.<\/p>\n \u201cHi.\u201d She said, standing in the bedroom doorway, looking at me tentatively and wringing her hands.<\/p>\n \u201cHi.\u201d I responded. \u201cI guess I\u2019ll get out of these clothes and put on some jeans too. OK?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure. What\u2019cha watching?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know. Something.\u201d I got up. \u201cHere, sit down. I\u2019ll go change.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOK. I put my dress on the bed. I\u2019ll hang it up later.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, OK. After I change do you want to do anything?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, if you want, maybe we could go for a little walk while it\u2019s still light. It\u2019s a pretty evening.\u201d<\/p>\n And, that\u2019s what we did. Locking the door behind us, we set out in the direction of town\u2026hand in hand. We marked off a route through and around the little town that would end up taking us about an hour to navigate.<\/p>\n We spoke very little that evening, but I know that we must\u2019ve shared the same fear: that ugly fear of the unknown and what was going to happen to us in the next few months.<\/p>\n About four months later, while on our now regular walk around town, Sharon suddenly squeezed my hand tightly and made a little whining sound.<\/p>\n I looked down and saw her looking at a growing puddle on the sidewalk between her feet.<\/p>\n \u201cMy God Sharon, did you just pee yourself?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo Frank. My water just broke.\u201d<\/p>\n To be continued\u2026.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Life in the Fast Lane Part One June 2, 1962 The church on the west side of town was so very different from those which I had attended back home in Texas. Though small, it was bright and airy\u2014its interior warmed and bleached brilliantly by the radiant Nevada sunshine pouring freely through the dozens of … Continue reading Life in The Fast Lane<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-596","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-general"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/596","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=596"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/596\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":603,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/596\/revisions\/603"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=596"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=596"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=596"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nPart One<\/p>\n
\nSharon shook her head slowly and whispered softly, \u201cMom, I\u2019m sorry, but I agree with what Frank says.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nThe dances ended promptly at ten, and the entire building was to be cleared no later than ten-thirty. Plus, there were always a couple of local police cars in attendance just to make sure everyone was civil and on their way home.<\/p>\n