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Setting the stage
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INTRODUCTION
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"A Dream Date" is really a story for readers of all ages. For those in my age group, I suggest allowing your mind to drift back a half century to the early 1950s. For those fortunate enough to be younger, this can be an imaginative journey to an era when life was considerably more simple and innocent than at present.
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Picture nickle-a-play juke boxes, 10-cent double dip ice cream cones, 10-cent cherry cokes, 25-cent movies, 15-cent loaves of bread, 25-cent quarts of milk delivered to your door, Toni home permanents, crinolines, bobby sox and saddle shoes, fall fairs and teen dances. Imagine too, before-television evenings spent with ears glued to the radio listening to Jack Benny, Amos N' Andy, Duffy's Tavern, Lux Radio Theatre and Bing Crosby, Perry Como, Rosemary Clooney or Dinah Shore. Then there was the institution known as Foster Hewitt and his hockey broadcasts from the gondola at Maple Leafs Gardens, his distinctive voice calling: "Hello Canada and hockey fans coast to coast...welcome to Hockey Night in Canada!"
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This is a story cast in a period when young people were seen but not necessarily always heard, when elders were respected, when friendship was nurtured, when carefree time was available for simple day dreaming and fantasizing about the future.
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A grandfatherly Louis St. Laurent was Canadian prime minister of the day and Leslie Frost was Ontario premier.
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The setting could well be a small town like Dresden, Wallaceburg, Ridgetown or Blenheim, ON. and the high school in question could very well be the then newly-built Lambton Kent District High School, or a school in any of the other small town communities. There is also a good chance that the lead character(s) in the story could be someone like you -- or I. Then again maybe someone you know comes to mind. Regardless, it is my hope that "A Dream Date" may provide a form of encouragement for some young person who is struggling with shyness and a lack of self-confidence, something that we all experienced to varying degrees in our formative years. Hope you enjoy the message! -- Dick Wright
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A.
A DREAM DATE
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He did not know which was worse, his throbbing head, his upset stomach, or the ache in his heart. Young Nick White was not actually sick, at least not in a physical sense. His problem was more of a case of tug-of-waritis, an infliction that often strikes 17-year-old males when awakening hormones pull in one direction and youthful inhibitions tug in another.
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Nick could not escape his malady, not even in the solitude of his bedroom. Through an open window came waves of lively music, punctuated by youthful laughter and shrieks of excitement from the town's only high school, less than an eighth of a mile away. Colorful print curtains fluttered softly against Nick's furrowed brow, as if caressed by the gentle June evening breeze.
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Sprawled across his bed and using the window ledge to support his elbows as he cradled his chin in his hands, Nick stared into the darkness of night. Sad eyes transfixed the large, brightly illuminated school auditorium windows little more than a stone's throw beyond his back yard. Ever so faintly he could see tips of red and white streamers on the wall inside and a portion of a huge banner.
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"Welcome to Prom Night 1955." Welcome?...Everyone but Nick White! The highlight event of the school year and he was not there to enjoy it because of his hesitation in asking a certain young lady to accompany him. "I'd probably be refused anyway," Nick rationalized with increasing self pity.
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He grimaced, recalling how he had ruined any potential for a date with his Number One choice. Susan was an honor student, a cheerleader and had the prettiest, long auburn hair that Nick had ever seen. So enamored and distracted was he when passing her in chemistry class one day that he tripped over his own two feet and sprawled headlong into an experiment she had just completed. He could still hear the laughter that erupted in the lab that devastating day. He shivered with the vision of Miss Gibson, the teacher, who could only shake her head in disbelief as she attempted to conceal a smile by feigning a cough.
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Sheepishly picking up shattered beaker and test tube glass and trying to avoid eye contact with Susan, he'd thought: "...guess I won't be asking her to the prom any time soon." Hours of fantasizing -- his arms around Susan on the dance floor and admiring glances of his friends -- all dashed in one clumsy, awkward moment.
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Tears welled in his eyes and his chin quivered as he reminded himself of the three other substitute prom date prospects he dared telephone in the previous 72 hours, only to hang up each time before someone answered. "What a dummy!"
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Nick wanted desperately to be outgoing and spontaneous but there was always something holding him back. Personality disorders of this nature were particularly problematic for a young man in a post World War Two society that was beginning to encourage, and reward, spontaneity in its youth. His shyness was beginning to be mistaken for arrogance and he was often accused of being "stuck up". Teachers, in fact, had given up on attempts to "draw him out" and he was dismissed as an under-achiever whose only interest was in playing sports.
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The self doubt, the frustration, the helplessness. It was all too much for his post pubescent mind. Suppressed emotions erupted. He collapsed, face down, into the downy softness of the pillow that, all too often in recent months, had become his refuse and comforter. His lean body convulsed spasmodically as he wept with muffled gasps that came from deep within his heaving chest.
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In a matter of minutes the pillow was drenched from tears that cascaded down his flushed cheeks. Exhausted and emotionally spent, Nick turned his back to the window and the troubling distractions that it framed. Blinking rapidly, he attempted to clear the watery blur from his eyes.
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In the haze of semi darkness he could see the magazine photographs of baseball heroes he had painstakingly thumb tacked to the plywood walls of his bedroom -- Ted Williams, Joe DiMaggio, Bob Feller, Jackie Robinson, Yogi Berra. He imagined a photo of himself, smiling proudly in New York Yankees pinstripes, surrounded by his pinup heroes.
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"Some day!" he thought to himself. The imaginative distraction took only a few minutes to work its wonder and Nick drifted off to sleep. A sweet, welcome escape.
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A LESSON IN STEPPING OUTSIDE OF YOURSELF
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"What's the matter, son? Is something troubling you?" Nick immediately recognized the deep, kindly voice coming from the outline of a figure standing over him.
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"Oh, its you Dad! How did you know..?"
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"I just had a feeling you were struggling with something," replied his father.
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"Well the truth is, I really wanted to go to the high school prom tonight but I couldn't get a date," Nick answered, hoping to avoid further embarrassment.
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"You couldn't get a date? A good looking star athlete like you?"
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"Very funny Dad, but there's a little more to it than that. I couldn't get a date because I was too afraid to ask a girl and right now I really hate myself. What's wrong with me anyway?"
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"Okay! Now I'm beginning to understand," said his father as he glanced knowingly out the window. "Let's just back up a bit and take this slowly, one step at a time." Nick had always submitted to his father's lectures with trepidation, but on this occasion every fibre in his body cried out for help.
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"You remind me of myself when I was your age," his father continued. "Like you, I didn't have brothers or sisters and I grew up in a rather insular, self-centred world. I was not naturally outgoing and I, too, shied away from most social interaction. In time, however, I learned that in order to function effectively in the world and to gain what I wanted out of life, I had to force myself to step out of my comfort zone from time to time."
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He explained that at one stage in his life it seemed that he was enclosed in a glass bubble. He could see out and yet he could not accept what he saw. As a result, he withdrew further into the bubble and now he was detecting the same troubling warning signs in his son.
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"I want you to learn from my experience, Nick, because life is so mysterious and wonderful, it would be a shame if you should miss out on so much of it because of a lack of confidence in yourself, or a lack of faith in others," he added, pausing to make sure his words were sinking in.
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"If I had one wish for you, it would be that you could learn by some means other than experience. But experience is the best teacher and what you are going through now will make you a better person in the long run, providing you handle it properly.
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Do you understand what I'm trying to say to you, Nicky?"
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"Yes, I think I do, Dad. But..."
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Nick stopped in mid sentence as a strong arm gripped him around the shoulders. Drawn into his father's heavy cabinet maker's chest, he could smell a familiar tobacco and wood musk and a warm tingling sensation rushed through his stiff upper torso.
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"We're going to try a little exercise," said his father without waiting for an answer to his question and gently nudging the two of them toward a telephone that sat on a highly polished, ornate table in the hall just a few steps from Nick's bedroom.
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"When we get to the phone, I want you to pull away from me. In your mind's eye, envision stepping outside of your body, leaving your shyness and lack of confidence behind. Then pick up the receiver and dial Susan Turner's home number, but this time let the phone ring until someone answers and ...well, you'll just naturally know what to do after that. OK, son?
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"But, wait a minute Dad. Why did you pick Susan Turner?" asked a very puzzled Nick.
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"Because she's a nice girl and you like her, dummy," was his smiling father's curt reply.
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"Seriously, you know how to focus when you're up to bat with runners in scoring position?" he added, picking up on his role as a baseball coach. "Well, in this case, focus on what you want to say to Susan and then say it with conviction. Anticipate a positive response, because I have a sneaking suspicion that your feelings for her are mutual.
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"You will find that it gets easier to express yourself and to reach out to others every time you use this 'stepping outside of yourself' technique. It won't be long before you are doing it without even thinking. Now, are you ready?"
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"Okay. What ever you say, Dad, but I sure hope you're right about Susan. Here goes!"
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A BREAKTHROUGH CALL WITH GLORIOUS RESULTS
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"Nick, for heaven's sake, wake up!" The sheet that was partially covering his still fully clad body was suddenly and unceremoniously stripped away. "Good Lord boy, you must have been tired last night. You didn't even take the time to undress."
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"What...Is that you, Mom?" Nick groaned, squinting through sleep-swollen eyes.
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"Yes, of course it's me. Come on, get up! We've got a lot of things to do today and I also want you to go to the cemetery with me this afternoon. Your Dad died three years ago today. Remember?"
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"Oh, right. It doesn't seem that long ago, does it?" he answered, giving his mother a token hug as he struggled unsteadily to his feet.
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Nick's father was only 48 years of age when he died of a sudden heart attack, leaving his devastated young wife with a void and limited resources to maintain a household and raise a teenage son. Mother and son formed a partnership that helped get them over the rough spots and they were managing reasonably well.
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"Time passes quickly, Nicky," agreed his mother. With a glistening tear leaving its trail on one delicate cheek, she struggled to retain composure. "You lost your dad at a time when a boy needs a father most...It's just not fair."
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"Ya, but I sometimes dream about him," Nick interjected, stuffing a dishevelled shirt tail into equally rumpled jeans and striding purposefully up the narrow hallway.
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"You just passed the bathroom," yelled his mother, now in full pursuit. "Are you still asleep?"
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"No, but I've got something to finish, I mean to do, first," Tim shouted back as he picked up the phone with one hand and started dialing with the other. A nervous few seconds lapsed before the first ring, then a second and a third ring and...
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"Hello," said the friendly, mature female voice on the other end of the line.
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"Hello Mrs. Turner. How are you? It's Nick White calling. Is Susan home?"
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"Yes she is, Nick. Just one second."
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The silence on the line was deafening. Hunched over the phone and shifting his weight on crossed legs, Tim thought to himself: "I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I've got to stay focused now, but I should have gone to the toilet first. There are runners in scoring position..."
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With a soft "hello" came the moment of truth. "Hi Susan. It's Nick White. Sorry about wrecking your chemistry experiment last week!"
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"Don't worry about it, Nick. Accidents happen. The stains washed out of my blouse," Susan added with an audible laugh.
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"I don't know why I tripped, but I'm glad you are not mad at me, Susan. By the way, did you go to the Prom last night?" Nick asked.
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"Well, no, as it turned out," Susan replied. "I had hoped that maybe...well anyway, several of us girls who didn't have dates were going to go together, but then we thought that would look kind of stupid, so we didn't. How about you, Nick. Did you go?"
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"No, I didn't either. But I was just wondering if...Uh...Would you like to go to the movies with me tonight? Roman Holiday is playing with that new actress Audry Hepburn," responded Nick without taking a breath for fear of breaking the verbal roll he was on.
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"Wow, you've taken me by surprise," gasped Susan, not completely believing what she had just heard. "Yes, I'd love to go Nick, but are you sure?"
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"Trust me Susan, I'm sure! I'll be at your place at 7:00 o'clock sharp, so see you then. Thanks. Bye for now."
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"Byeeee, Nick."
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The flip flop of Nick's emotionally charged heart pulsating in the hollow of his chest, mixed with the drone of the telephone dial tone to create an almost orchestral rhythm in his ears. "We did it! Just as you said Dad," gushed an exuberant Nick glancing toward the heavens as he hung up the phone.
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"Did you say something, Nick?" his mother asked over the sizzle of bacon frying on an open flame gas stove in the kitchen.
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"No, nothing Mom," Nick replied, trying his best to sound nonchalant as he hurried down the hall toward the bathroom. A confident erectness replaced the previous slouch in his posture despite the fact that he was a young man answering an urgent call of nature. There was an immediate new spring in his step and a grin painted all over his beet-red face.
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"Funny, but for a minute there I could have sworn that I felt your father's presence in the house. I even thought that I heard his laugh just as you hung up the telephone," continued his mother as she paused to wipe her hands on a freshly ironed gingham apron.
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She was always philosophic about Nick's moods and stages being part of "the growing up process," but there was a surrealistic aura permeating the house this particular morning. With motherly instinct, she sensed that her Nicky had somehow experienced a mysterious metamorphose overnight and that it was very much for the better. She herself felt a sudden lifting of the parental aloneness that had been so heavy on her heart.
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She was unable to explain any of it and she simply could not wait to hear what else Nick had to say about it.
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"Oh, by the way, who were you talking to on the phone?" she asked, hoping to pry at least a clue out of her son.
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"Awe, just a girl Mom. Susan Turner!"
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From the old floor model Radiotrope in the living room came the melodic strains of a hit song of the era, Got A Date With An Angel, performed by Skinny Ennis with his unmistakable breathy style.
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"Got a date with an angel
Got to meet her at seven
Got a date with an angel
And I'm on my way to heaven."
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Nick pinched himself on the arm to make sure that this was not another one of his dreams.
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"I'll explain everything in a few minutes, Mom," he shouted with uncomfortable urgency, as the bathroom door slammed shut behind him.
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The radio played on:
"I've been waiting a lifetime
For this evening at seven
Got a date with an angel
And I'm on my way to heaven."
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