Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

When I was about 13 I was living in the hills of the San Fernando Valley, and on weekends I would sometimes take a bus to Hollywood to explore the book stores and magic stores and just be on my own. One day I went with my friend Corky, and as we were coming downstairs from Joe Berg's magic store, we were approached by a great-looking blonde in a velvety black dress, age about 20, I'd guess.

She wanted to know if we could spare a dollar. Corky and I both ponied up a dollar apiece, which she gratefully accepted and went on her way. I don't know why she wanted the money, nor what she did with it.

I can still see, in my mind's eye, the lush look of her little black dress that begged to be touched, the way the sunlight shone through her hair with a golden glow, her sweet face, and the creamy skin rising like rolling hills from her neckline.

I can't remember where I got some of the furniture I have in my home today, but I can remember the coolness of the foyer we stood in, the sour aroma from those who don't know their foyer from a urinal, and the soft sound of her voice.

Sadly, this happened at a time before kids had cellphones, before cellphones had cameras, before there even were cellphones or digital cameras, and I have no photo of the moment. But it lives in my memory.

Another time, when I was about the same age, I was standing on the corner of Tampa and Ventura in Woodland Hills, either hitch-hiking or waiting for a bus, when a gorgeous girl on a bicycle rode up to ask for directions. She was bent forward with her hands on the handlebars, her loose neckline hanging down to reveal her bra-less form.

Memories like these burn themselves indelibly into the memory of adolescent boys.

I was just reading an article revealing that memories last longer if you allow yourself to experience the emotions of the moment. Try to keep a stiff upper lip, and your memory of the event will be less likely to last.

That jives with my personal experience.


Blog Tag: Chatter