(Ep 24 - "Summer Song")
(Kevin is at the beach, off by himself.)
I couldn't figure out what had happened to the vacations we used to take. When we did things, together. And everybody was happy. But that was ages ago. I was thirteen now, and summer was almost over. All around me, people were having fun...with their boyfriends named "Chip".
(Kevin picks up a straw hat.)
Yeah. What's your name, brown-eyes?
Well, Kevin, can I ask you something?
Could she? Would she!
Can I have my hat?
Well I guess that was that. Who was I kidding anyway? This girl was definitely out of my league.
(Kevin starts to walk away.)
Wait! I'm Teri, with an "RI".
I beg your pardon?
How old are you?
How old am I? Well, uh, gee. Lemme see here.
How old are you?
Uh-oh. I'd heard about these feminine traps before. There was no right way to answer this one.
Well, you're...too pretty to be...just fourteen.
I'm fifteen. (Smiles.)
I was gonna guess fifteen.
(She brushes Kevin's leg with the back of her hand.)
Sure you were.
My god, she touched my leg! Was that an accident?
So, you want to sit down?
My adolescent mind was spinning out of control. This was amazing! This was incredible! This was...an older woman!
(Daytime on the boardwalk near amusement rides.)
OK, we'd exhausted that topic.
So, you like bumpers cars?
(They ride bumper cars and walk around the amusement area.)
It's odd. I had only just met her, and already it seemed like I had known her for...days. I think she felt that way, too.
I think I'll name him "Brown-eyes". He's all ugly, and covered with warts - like you.
(Kevin is looking at pictures of themselves.)
Earth to Kevin...
I'm here, I'm just lookin' at the pictures.
That's all you've been doing for the last hour.
Even at thirteen - sorry, fourteen, I knew it wouldn't be a good idea to tell her I was gloating. Gloating that I now had proof...that this night was real.
I think we look neat together.
You know, Kevin, you seem very mature for fourteen.
And, so do you - for fifteen, I mean.
Does that bother you?
No. Does it bother you?
Yeah. It really does.
(She giggles and trots away.)
I was definitely navigating uncharted waters.
(Cut to them sitting side-by-side on the sand, at night.)
Um, I love the beach.
Yeah, me too.
You guys come here every year?
Well, my parents spent their honeymoon here.
Oh really? It must be very romantic.
Yeah, I guess...
Do you know what I feel like doing, Brown-eyes?
I couldn't help but wonder if what she felt like doing was what I felt like doing.
(She leans over and kisses him on the cheek.)
(Kevin smiles a bit self-consciously and looks away. They look at each other, and Teri leans closer. They have a long lip-lock. She gets up and trots off. He follows.)
I was prepared to die now.
(Kevin catches up to her a little ways off.)
OK, I should ask her to wait for me now. Just until I get out of junior highschool. Then we can get married.
Would, would you...uh, I mean...
You wanna go rafting tomorrow?
I'd love to.
Then it's a date. (Smiles.)
Except, we don't do much rafting in Albuquerque.
I have to leave tomorrow.
We have to. Dad got called back early.
Why didn't you tell me? (Frowns.)
Would you have had any fun tonight if I did?
OK, granted - girls mature faster than boys, but this was too rational.
I guess not...
I have to go in now.
So that's it?
I'll miss you, Kevin.
Yeah, sure. (Frowns.)
I'll write you. I promise. Didn't you have a good time?
Yeah. I had a great time. (Smiles.) Come on. I'll walk you home.
That's OK. I want to remember you just like this. That cute little smile, and those...big puppy-dog eyes, and your hair all messed up.
(Kevin brushes his hair back.)
(She kisses him on the cheek and trots off.)
I knew at that moment, that life was not fair. Sure, I'd write to her, and maybe she'd write me - then what? Could we really wait for each other for the next ten or twelve years? It was hopeless. I'd never felt pain like this before in my entire life. It felt...wonderful.
A lot happened on the beach in Ocean City that summer night in 1969. And of course, none of it was permanent.
When you're thirteen, it's a long way to Albuquerque.
Teri told me about getting her learner's permit, and taking her first drive with a stick-shift.
She wrote of our night at the beach. She told me she missed me so much she cried herself to sleep at night.
And she promised to write to me, until we saw each other again.
I keep that letter in an old shoebox.
It was the only letter she ever wrote me.
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