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It's Been Such a Long Time

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Chapitre 1: Chapter 1

Madison, WI—Present Day

I stand at the front counter of the little thrift shop where I volunteer almost every day. I’m running my fingers over a bunch of dusty old records in a scuffed-up plastic milk crate, pausing to look at each one as I flip through. Normally I don’t inspect every donation that comes our way in this much detail, but this one is different. This is the music I grew up with.

I continue flipping through the collection until I land on a familiar album cover with a flying saucer-looking spaceship on the front and the band name Boston under its dome. I can almost hear the sound of guitars in my head. I slowly raise my eyes from the LP dust jacket and settle onto the face of the woman who still has her hands resting on the milk crate.

She could be just another random person here to make a donation, but there’s something oddly familiar about her. Those enchanting green eyes peeking out from under her blue Milwaukee Brewer’s ball cap, and those full honey-colored lips, I’ve seen them before. I’ve kissed them before. And I remember they tasted like beer.

“Marianne?” I say. “Marianne Hoffman?”

I see the corners of her mouth begin to turn up as the flash of recognition spreads across her face.

* * * *

Somerset, WI—Late July 1979

I rolled off my inner tube and hit the cool clear water of the Apple River with a mild kerplunk. Most of my classmates had already cleared the final bend and were already on the shore. Some were standing around chatting, with beers in their hands. Others were more active playing catch or Frisbee. A few had even organized a slightly drunken sand volleyball match.

I squinted against the glare of the sun on the gently rippling water as I stood knee-deep in the river wringing my hair out. Before I finished, Brad was already behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and nibbling on my neck.

“Get a room,” someone hollered. Brad didn’t look up but did raise his middle finger in the general direction of the voice. A wave of laughter and heckling ensued.

“Don’t let your tube get away, lover boy.” I twisted around in his arms to face him, draped my hands over the back of his neck, and grinned. “You’ll lose your deposit.”

“Shit!” Brad exclaimed and went splashing off after it.

I waded through the shallows and onto the muddy riverbank, my toes squishing in the cool muck until I crested the rise to stand on the grassy shore. Some girl I didn’t know took my tube in exchange for a towel, and a guy I assumed was her boyfriend handed me a beer. Brad eventually caught up, with his tube slung over his shoulder, and was treated to the same.

“Hot dog or bratwurst?” someone called out. I looked up to see my across the street neighbor, Kevin, looking my direction with a pair of tongs raised in the air. I’m not sure who appointed him master chef, but for every outing this summer he was the guy with the grill and the charcoal.

“Brat,” I hollered.

“Make it two,” Brad said, and then turned to me. “Grab me a bag of chips babe?”

“Sure.” I smiled and dug two vending machine-sized bags of Lays out of a grocery bag while he went to find us a place to sit.

I threw my leg over the wobbly wooden picnic bench and lowered myself to sit. The late afternoon sun quickly banished the remaining droplets of water from my skin and made my bikini top feel a little less clingy. Brad deposited two paper plates holding brats in buns and sat down beside me.

“Your shorts are all wet,” I complained. “Don’t get too cozy.”

“I like to make you wet, babe.”

I rolled my eyes and mentally groaned. Brad and I had been dating all through our senior year and he’d been trying to get into my pants the entire time. So far, I had resisted his charms, if you could call his latest attempt at innuendo charming. Though now that we were sharing a tent on our last big bash of the summer, I figured I might finally have to give it up for him.

Despite his cheesy adolescent male pick-up lines, Brad was actually a decent guy and if I was going to put out for someone, he wasn’t a bad choice. I wasn’t completely convinced it was going to have the same appeal for me as it did for him, but it’s not like I wanted to be the only virgin when I went off to college in the fall.

“Maybe we can zip our sleeping bags together and I’ll let you finger me,” I whispered.

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