Beverly Higginson

The Summer of Johnny

Wake up each morning--what day is it?

It didn't matter--one week left of Mr. Taylor's

summer biology class, and the days after

would be like a month of Saturdays

Velvet voiced Johnny Mathis

performing in concert at The Greek

three 15-year old teens are going

Sandy, Cin, and me--none of us drivers yet

In heels and stockings, sleeveless flirty 

outfits, our straightened hair in defiance

of moisture that might alter our dressed-up look,

but not spoil our excitement--we love Johnny

We ride in the backseat behind the heads 

of reluctant, concerned, licensed parents--

Sandy's---eyes seemingly in the back of her

mother's head        Are we being watched?

Dropped off at the box office, smiles overtake

our faces as we watch them drive away

to adult pursuits--we become the adults,

saunter to the window to buy tickets

then watch as the window comes down

in our faces--SOLD OUT

instantly we are children again

inexperienced fawns staring at a locked gate

"Why the sad faces ladies?"

a stranger with long hair inquires

Surfer? Hippie? Lovechild?

bold again we tell him, "No tickets."

He says, "My girlfriend and I never pay.

Freedom is our way of life."

he points to the hillside across the street

the brambles, the bushes, a path

"Best seat in the house right up there."

The warm night invigorates us

three heads tilt together in thought

eyes search each other's faces

Sandy to Cin to me---should we? Do we dare?

Minutes later, linked hand in hand, a human chain of five

climbs up the dark path--the two leading souls fearless--

the three trailing links, more doubtful with every step

the space narrow, rocky, we duck branches and 

prickly leaves under dim   distant   stars

Sandy breaks first: "I don't like this."

she yanks Cin's hand--the link severs

I yank Sandy

we three stumble backwards, bursting our own bubble

down, down the path we tumble to the ground fully awake--

like falling out of a dream

Stockings ripped, twigs in our hair,

our spirit as broken as the strap on Cin's shoe

we notice a crowd at the back gate

surrounding a two-seater convertible MG--

someone says: "Johnny's car."

Johnny's car?

They are the faithful--we join with them as one

listening futilely to hear closing strains of music

over gates that after an eternity     open

revealing the man himself, sucking on a lemon

still in full makeup, perfectly arched eyebrows

wearing an open collared shirt in pastel peach

He signs autographs, waves regally to the adoring crowd

his driver gets behind the wheel

Johnny with his lemon climbs into the passenger side

fans stand back........but not us

As the car roars away, we three have lost our minds

we run after the red MG

we catch it!

stopped by a red light, Johnny reaches back over

the open canvas top

our fingers touch...

We had missed the concert,

every song, lyric, and note

but we returned with a prize

Johnny's juicy lemon,

pulpy and slightly squished

We preserved it in formaldehyde

from summer biology class

to preserve the memory of that night,

no formaldehyde needed