Tuesday Tale - Annie

Someone - I don't remember who - but I'm willing to bet it was Hyphen Mama - asked me a short time ago if I would tell the story of how Annie and I met. Read on.

It was October 8th, 1976. One month to the day after my 31st birthday. It had been a bit more than a year since the very painful and subsequently unpleasant breakup of my marriage. But by this time I had written a lot of really bad poetry and eased my pain, somewhat, and there were three of four girls I was seeing who seemed willing to help ease the pain, from time to time, as well. Of course, if any of them had known about any of the others, there might have been a whole new reason to write some really bad poetry, but I was rescued from my state of sin with the appearance, in my life, of Annie.

I was driving a bus for a living. I had been driving a bus for a little over a year. It was the longest I had held a job since coming home from Viet Nan in 1966. I didn't know it then, but that period of time, starting with the breakup, marked a turning point in my life, and all of that really bad poetry marked a turning point in my mental life, as well. I was getting well, from a problem I didn't even know I had until much later. And the day Annie stepped onto my bus was the last day I suffered from PTSD. Not many people can point to an event or a day or a time that marked the end of a mental issue; one usually gets better gradually. And getting better was gradual for me, too. It's just that I finished getting better in one day.

She got on the bus at the east end of the run. She had been to see the Orthodontist at Rush Presbyterian, and was on her way home. She had come out from the city on the 'EL' train, and transferred to my bus, which would take her the rest of the way home.

The bus was mostly empty. Middle of the day riders, my 'usuals', little old ladies with black leather shopping bags, on their way home from cruising the bakeries and the banks along Cermak Road in Cicero and Berwyn. So we chatted. She was home from school to visit the Orthodontist. University of Minnesota at Winona. Her home was in Brookfield. She would be home the rest of the week. She was going back up to school on Sunday.

As she was stepping off the bus I asked her if she would like to go to a Paul Stukey (Paul, of Peter, Paul & Mary)concert at Concordia College the coming Saturday night. She said "Yes". She resumed her seat and wrote down her information and we talked a bit more as the end of the line was nearby and she rode through and came back to her stop.

That was Thursday. Friday was interminable. Saturday wasn't any quicker. I blew off the dates I had for Friday evening and night (Yes, two dates. Yes, I'm a pig.). I couldn't help it. All I could think of was Annie. But finally, it was Saturday night.

I drove to her home and picked her up and as we were driving the 20 miles or so to the Campus of Concordia College, I asked, thinking "Well, she's in college, she looks like she's about 21", "How old are you?"
She asked, "Why, how old are you?"
I thought, "No, I'm not going to play this game', so I said, "I'm 31".
And she said, "I'm 16".
...."Homina,Homina,Homina,homina", I said, channeling a speechless Jackie Gleason.
Visions of the Cook County lockup danced through my head.
We drove for a while in silence. I was stunned. I was tempted to turn around and drive her home.
Then she asked, "Why, how old did you think I am?"
"21", I said.
"Well," she said, "then just treat me like I'm 21."
She was wise beyond her years even then.
We had a lovely time at the concert, followed by hot apple pie with cinnamon ice cream on top, and coffee, at a nearby Ice Cream Shoppe.

I never saw any of those other girls again.

November 17th is her birthday. In January of the following year, I asked her father for his permission to marry his then 17 year old daughter. I got permission. And in June we got married.
And for any one who might be curious, she didn't get pregnant the first time until well into 1980, almost three years after we were married.

I'm not that much of a pig. Just a little.