Brooke Shields Sends Regrets
My mom found the invitation in our mailbox; it had been placed there instead of sent through the postal system. I found it sitting at my usual seat at the dinner table. I did not recognize the writing and could not make an educated guess as to who it could be from, much less what it was. I had no real friends in our neighborhood. As the lone catholic high schooler living in a development of about 155 homes, I was easily the odd man out. I knew the neighborhood kids by name but honestly little else. Almost all interactions I had with the kids from the local public senior high school that had any consequence fell into two categories. The first was due to my part time job at the newly opened Wendy’s where my crewmates were largely drawn from the public high school. The second was the perfunctory and strictly business interactions that came with serving fast food to the other denizens of that same school.
Jack Roberts fell very squarely into the former category. Jack arrived at Wendy’s as a friendly but awkward kid who lacked all pretense and unfortunately most of his self- awareness as well. He was innocuous for the most part meaning in my case his idiosyncratic demeanor was eccentric but benign. Almost despite his off-center personality or perhaps because of it Jack had a steady girlfriend named Beth Fitzwater, who happened to live on my street about 6 houses over the hill and on the opposite side of the street. As described, I knew of Beth, but my knowledge ended with the fact that we shared a neighborhood, and I was more than OK with this arrangement. I knew through Jack that the two of them had a relationship that had been ongoing for at least 2 years. Now, because Jack worked with me, I would see Beth more frequently because she visited the store to see Jack. Our interactions were brief and had the depth of an average puddle, it was just that with Jack in the building it seemed to rain more often.
One day a new face showed up at Wendy’s, and it belonged to Laurie Sanders. To put it mildly, Laurie turned heads. She was about 5 feet tall with wave after feathered wave of blonde hair. She had a heart-shaped face set off by deep blue eyes. Make no mistake, Laurie understood the potency of her appearance and had a growing mastery of how to exercise that power. She was mostly pleasant but was growing accustomed to controlling her environment in exchange for her continued smiling countenance. Jack Roberts fell hard.
It became obvious that Jack was ‘smitten’ with Laurie, and shortly after that it became more obvious that Laurie understood that fact. Jack devoted his attention to Laurie with such loyalty that he made Alfred look like just another employee at Wayne Manor. This did not bode well for Beth, who even through the pre-internet, pre-texting times we were living in, soon enough got word of Jack’s efforts to gain Laurie’s affections. Affections over and above the breadcrumbs she provided as incentive for his continued doting. Somewhere, outside of the Wendy’s bubbleBeth dropped her best F. Lee Bailey impersonation on Jack. Thus ended their romantic relationship with Jack severing the ties once and for all.
I don’t recall much about the invitation, other than it was a birthday pool party at a house about 6 homes over the hill on the other side of the street. I was stunned initially because none of the kids in my neighborhood paid a whit of friendly attention to me. By my calculations this meant that attending this event was not so much an opportunity to make friends as it was the chance to again be the odd man out in a smaller more obvious venue. My instincts said decline the invite, my mom went to work persuading me that I should reconsider. After some thought I agreed that it was nice of Beth to invite me, and I should at least make an appearance for the sake of being polite. I RSVP’d affirmatively while simultaneously constructing an escape plan. I spoke with my best friend Earl who had a car and arranged that he would come and rescue me at an appointed hour.
On the day of the party and fashionably late I arrived to find the situation as I had anticipated. Beth was the only person I knew, which immediately caused me to default to my most comfortable persona, that of semi-detached observer. Beth greeted me at the door with great enthusiasm, which upon reflection should have tripped an internal alarm—but alas did not. Of course she had other guests to attend to, and soon I was a stranger in a strange land watching the natives and the clock. Mrs. Fitzwater, who I knew because she was a teller at the bank where I cashed my fast-food fortunes spotted me and struck up a conversation. From what I recall, she was also very happy to see me and reiterated that Beth was as well. Again, my Vulcan powers of reasoning failed me because this should have been another huge clue that I was surrounded by Romulans bearing gifts.
The Fitzwater’s lived in the style same Bi-level style home I did, so I knew the floor plan. This allowed me to secure an inconspicuous spot as I waited for Earl to beam me out of my predicament. Without warning there was a request for all guests to proceed to the den, which was downstairs. I assumed that cake, candles and gift time had finally arrived. Those in the pool dutifully extricated themselves and shortly thereafter we were all met in the den. As I scanned the room, I noticed the absence of the cake the gifts and anything else that usually signaled this part of the ritual. Also notably missing, the guest of honor. Seemingly from thin air, Beth and perhaps 4 of her girlfriends materialized at the foot of the stairs, sans cake but carrying a flashlight and a small portable record player.
As a group they moved to the center of the crowded room and began setting up the turntable in silence. When preparations were complete, the lights flicked off, and an upturned flashlight cradled under Beth’s chin snapped on. The preamble commenced with all the gravity and puberty laden sentiment aggrieved teens can muster.
I do not recall the exact words, although I cannot forget the theme of the soliloquy. Beth began something like this; ‘As you all know, there has been a recent breakup ‘. I was too surprised to commit much of what followed to memory, and of course it is now more than 40 years since this event. What is certain is that Beth had chosen this venue for a public catharsis to display how shattered and hurt she really was and to perhaps exorcise some torturous demons. As a wholly disinterested party, and someone who was unsure why he had been invited in the first place, all I really did was observe while my left brain told me this was getting stranger by the second.
Beth continued, and as she labored on she and her immediate entourage began weeping in genuine collective anguish. When she completed her remarks Beth and her friends locked arms to form an estrogen and adrenaline -fueled rugby scrum around the record player. The tone arm coaxed the first strains of the evenings anthem out of the vinyl as the swaying nucleus of girls began crying even harder. Between gulps of air and torrents of tears, their dissonant voices attempted to merge with the music being coaxed from the record as if were a wandering spirit seeking an eternal resting place. The song was, ‘Endless Love’ from the movie of the same title. I remember feeling further detached from the drama yet impressed by how surreal the entire party had been.
After the curtain fell on this act of the evening, Beth’s little brother found me and informed me that my ‘brother’ was here to get me. Checking my watch, Earl was right on time. On the verge of rescue, I sought Beth out to say my goodbyes. I was surprised when she immediately separated from her still mascara streaked and blotchy faced friends to walk me to the front door. As we stood on her front stoop alone, I thanked her for the invite simply as a matter of courtesy. She explained how she was happy that I had attended and that she hoped to see me more often. “Every time I ask your sister where you are, she tells me you are doing homework or reading” she said. (not far from the truth) She also assumed I knew a great deal about what transpired regarding herself, Jack and Laurie which I explained was not the case. Then, without any warning she quickly leaned into me and delivered a quick kiss on my lips. Cue Rod Serling.
I noted ‘brother’ Earl’s car idling in the street and again said goodbye, all the while feeling a vortex of emotions at work within me. At the time the forces in play meant that the majority opinion in my head determined this was the strangest events I might ever attend. Looking back as an adult my thoughts are somewhat tempered by time and yet unchanged.
I have since been witness to stranger events, however this single party from my teen years remains unique among memories from that time in my life. At this distance it is easy to see that Beth was hurting badly, even if the angst and heartbreak she suffered was no more than what most of us usually experience as young adults. I wish I had been capable of seeing that then. I wish I had more compassion for Beth and what she was experiencing, but I did not. I also somehow missed the obvious signs Beth (and her mom) were telegraphing to me. I am quite certain I would never have asked Beth on a date (and never did), I wish I could have appreciated what it meant to be admired for who I was back then. This might have made life in our neighborhood more tolerable for me. Hindsight.
Many years later, we enrolled my daughter in what was now our parish grade school. Families and students were invited to attend a welcome party being held in the gym. As I sat, wedged onto a metal folding chair I scanned the room for familiar faces. Our new parish was geographically adjacent to what had been my home parish growing up. This meant that I recognized many of the family names from my own youth. My gaze swept across the crowd and eventually fell upon a woman I instantly recognized as Beth. While I debated how to manage this discovery, she must have caught sight of me and came over to reacquaint us with one another. Conversation would reveal that Beth had just one child, a son, who was enrolled at the parish school, thus explaining her presence in the gymnasium. As the formal program began Beth returned to her seat and my thoughts drifting back to that summer evening.
I sincerely hoped that life had provided more than a few less ironic songs she could choose to use as potential themes to commemorate the previous 12 months.
