Bellows Beach
by Michael G. Crawford
The memories are incredible and I doubt I will ever forget her, the sound of the rain, or the feel of the ocean mist. The pounding surf and subdued sunlight of that day pulsed along with my hormones (and hers I am sure), and although we both remained virgin in deed, neither was virgin in spirit. I count that as the day I went from adolescent to adult in my emotions, and Bellows was the place that will remain a piece of my makeup for the rest of my life.
The wind was kicking up quite nicely, and as I said the surf was pounding. An occasional spat of rain would drench us, but we huddled against some driftwood and necked for short periods until we both were too hot to continue without more serious results. We'd walk and let the rain cool us down, and re-capture some equilibrium. But sometimes I would lead us back to the cozy spot or she would. Time after time we would hold each other closely and so tight, and at others we would stare in each other's eyes for long moments getting lost in our feelings and excitement. The sensual was powerful, but the feeling of being so alive and filled with such emotion was more than a match for the lustful cravings. We enjoyed so much. Surely the frustration tempered the mood somewhat at times, but clearly we were moved beyond that to just enjoy.
Nothing could match those feelings and the pressure of high school life made us drift apart, and we lost touch.
About a year and a half later I met the junior class of Radford High School (where I was in my third year of High School having escaped the rabid Southern/ Conservative Baptists). We were, unwisely, drinking very heavily. A friend was rocking a station wagon, and I was walking the beach alone, perhaps in a slight depression for being alone and unable to coax any of the other young woman to walk with me. Then remarkably, I met the same young woman who too had escaped the confines of the religious right, and our friendship was renewed. It was a marvelous meeting, sort of star destined. And while I was very involved with another young woman at the time, the past emotions flooded back, and we were suddenly so close. The present didn't stop us from walking again on Bellows Beach, hand in hand, perhaps both thinking of the lost opportunity, but savoring the fantastic memories.
We finally made love on that beach that night, and I quickly realized that I was not the only one who had lost virginity in the time between.
Being wiser saved us from having to deal with an unwanted pregnancy, and a brief moment of embarassment was worth the overwhelmingly positive experience and we agreed it was worth the wait. We never met again, and my other relationship continued until I left Hawaii on a ship headed for California.
Another interesting memory of Bellows is a party where the police showed up at our drinking party. Bellows had an area that was accessable further northward on the island (if my feeling for the geography hasn't failed). It was a sandy area amongst some trees, where we could park a lot of cars. We had been drinking for some time, actually in some moderation for once, just enjoying our youth. Suddenly the blue light on top of a big old PLymouth Hemi Road-Runner came on, and a loudspeaker voice utttered four famous syllables..."Da Kind' Primo".
Armed with six pack in the backseat our visitor slowly cruised the parked cars shining a spotlight in each window to make sure everyone was fully clothed, and then left us to our nearly perfect evening.
It might have been that same evening, for this was in late 1969, obviously a lot of memories blur. But for a young man, these were the memories destined to stick. The sand, warm air, and yes even warm water. Skinny- dipping and again nearly platonic feelings of youthful exhubarance and aliveness. As with most high-schoolers, sex was there, but it was the other emotions that ruled the hour, not sensual but sheer happiness and carefree adventure in paradise.
Two years ago, I managed to run into someone else who had grown up in that era, having first lived as a small youngster on Guam and then moving with his family to live on Oahu. He and I reminise (sp?) about what we had and grouse at how we can never have it again. I regret not having spent more time in the enjoyment, but then perhaps I would still be there trying to graduate. I didn't do that well at Radford High anyway.
But what we did do, and the experiences we had, are indelible. Etched forever as the fiction writer might expound. But for me they are real pieces of life that now I wish I could share with all who care about loving and living.