Marriage and Love

‘Til Death Do Us Part

Stories of love from youth to death

Image taken by author while walking through an adults only retirement park. I think Randy and I could life here if everyone has this kind of humor.

In May of 1980, my senior year, I pulled up next to a 1969 Camaro painted midnight black with silver metal flakes that winked at me in the moonlight. I loved that car. It was a Saturday night on main street so when my eyes caught the driver’s attention we pulled over and introduce ourselves. After a while I learned the guy in the driver’s seat was as great as the car.

We stood by the curb and talked, identifying common interests. At the bewitching hour when I knew my chariot would turn into a pumpkin and when my parents would threaten restrictions, we agreed to call it a night. To my surprise and enthusiasm Randy asked for my phone number. To my disappointment, when he opened his glove compartment several papers with female names and phone numbers fell at my feet.

I gambled by giving him my phone number and won a date. On our first date, he planned to visit Humpin’ Hannah’s, a downtown bar — until I shared my age. I was 18; he was 21. While we discussed alternative plans, we cruised the strip. I do not know if he consciously protected me or his coveted Camaro, but when we entered an intersection, he glimpsed an oncoming car and pressed the gas pedal which propelled us forward enough that the car missed slamming into my door and hit the back…