Feels Like the First Time (10 page)

When we were nearly past the exit, I braked and swerved to the right. I was fortunate not to spin out. I slowed to a stop on the shoulder, and watched the glorious sight of the Datsun blur past as he continued down I-5. Dawn looked at me in shock and we both broke out in laughter. After a few minutes I pulled back onto I-5 and drove home, never going as much as a mile an hour over the speed limit. It was the most peaceful drive of my life. After finally laying my cards on the table, everything seemed natural – even complete silence.

We arrived home ahead of schedule and went inside to talk to Walt and Colleen. If they noticed the changed chemistry between Dawn and me, they never let on. Dawn followed me outside as I left and rewarded me with a goodnight kiss. Our fingers interlocked softly and I stepped backward, giving her a final longing look. The more time I spent with her, the more I wanted to spend. I walked across the yard and stopped to stare up at the million stars arrayed across the Washington sky. 

I had friends I could rely on in the spring of ‘78. True-blue friends that would be there for me through thick and thin. My best buddy was Jerry, but I also hung out a lot with Harold and Chip. Aside from my three best friends, there were a lot of other people I hung out with at least occasionally, including Kenny Schoenfeld. Kenny had a ’73 Chevy Nova with an incredible sound system. Although I couldn’t remember him going out with any girls from Mossyrock, he went with girls in surrounding towns and did pretty well.

Soon after Dawn and I returned from Auburn, Kenny told me he was taking his latest girl to a place called Hollywood Hollywood in Longview. He asked me if Dawn and I would like to double date, which seemed like a great idea to me. A double date would take some of the pressure off of me to know what to do on a date, because I wasn’t at all sure. I could tell you the number written on the underside of the starship
Enterprise
, but didn’t have a clue as to what constituted normal date behavior.

Things started well that night. Hollywood Hollywood was a nice place, and definitely something you wouldn’t find in Mossyrock. It was an under-21 disco, with a lighted dance floor straight out of
Saturday Night Fever,
and a sound system that shook the walls. It was fun hanging out with another couple and gossiping about everybody else at the club. Plus, it turned out that Dawn was a good dancer. There was something about being on a dance floor with her and watching her move effortlessly that made me feel good all over.

We left Hollywood Hollywood and headed back to the town where Kenny’s girlfriend lived. When we reached her house, he jumped out quickly and winked. I knew what this meant. Depending on how lucky he got, he might be back in five minutes, or it might be an hour. There was no telling. I got the idea that Dawn and I had some time to kill in the back seat. I don’t know if you’ve ever sat in the back seat of a ‘73 Nova, but it makes for pretty tight quarters. It was even tighter for me, being a shade over six-feet-tall and all knees and elbows.

Someone with any coolness would have delighted in this situation, but I grew uncomfortable. Dawn sat beside me, calmly listening to the soft music on the radio. Somehow, I was intimidated by the situation. I lacked the confidence to take our relationship to the next level. Up to that point, we had shared two soft goodnight kisses, and those had gone fine. Now, sitting in a cramped backseat, I was paralyzed.

Those moments in that backseat were among the very few times when things didn’t click for us. Everything felt forced and unnatural. That strange, vibratory sense of oneness I had felt with her on several earlier occasions was gone. For several minutes, I tried to kiss Dawn, and she did her best to help me along, but we both recognized the awkwardness of the situation. Eventually, we gave up and sat there. Several more songs played on the radio and Kenny finally returned, whistling a happy tune. It seemed that his night had turned out a lot better at the end than ours had.

The ride home was forty minutes, but seemed a lot longer. I was miserable by the time Kenny dropped us off. I figured my awkwardness had killed whatever shot I had with the girl I cared about. I knew almost nothing about the opposite sex. As we stood quietly between our houses saying good night, Dawn looked at me with understanding and acceptance. I was so wrapped up in my own misery I couldn’t appreciate her concern. I mumbled a goodnight to her and walked across the yard to my trailer.

I withdrew from Dawn out of fear and concern. I avoided her for weeks, which was not easy since our bedrooms were within sight of each other. I was ashamed I wasn’t enough of a man to take the situation in hand. Also, I was feeling that we were going down the path toward falling apart before we got started. In my warped teenaged mind, I was intent on staying away from her so I wouldn’t further risk losing our Prom date. I had none of the emotional maturity needed to handle this situation. When it came to interpersonal relationships, my development may have stopped in grade school.

As April 29
^th
and Prom drew closer, I gained some perspective on our bad date. Finally, just a week before the big day, things came into focus for me, and I realized what an idiot I had been. I remembered all the things that made me fall in love with Dawn–her strong and unique way of looking at things, her ability to make me laugh, and the fact every time I looked at her my stomach flipped over.

Just like we were starting over, I screwed up my courage and stopped Dawn as she was getting off the bus Friday afternoon. I asked her if she would go to Hollywood Hollywood with me again. I told her it would be good for us to go dancing again so we could ‘practice for the Prom.’ The weeks of separation had planted seeds of doubt that she was even going to Prom with me. I was relieved when she said she would go dancing with me.

I still feel butterflies when I think about that trip to Longview. It was a magical night. I can pinpoint the exact moment when I transitioned from “I think I love you” to “I have fallen in love with you.”

I picked Dawn up early that Saturday night. We hadn’t talked in several weeks, but everything seemed natural and comfortable. We laughed and talked the entire drive down. I realized the folly of having withdrawn from Dawn, and regretted the loss of those precious weeks we could have spent together.

We wore light jackets in the cool spring evening. When we got inside Hollywood Hollywood, I took them over to the coat check room to hang them up. When I came out, I saw another kid standing and talking to Dawn. It looked to me like he was asking her to dance, which didn’t make me very happy. He was just a 15-year-old kid, standing roughly 5’4”. I wore the platform shoes I wore when performing as KISS II, which left me standing about 6’6”. I walked up behind the kid, leaned over, and growled at him just like Gene Simmons. It would have served me right if he had hauled off and decked me. Instead, his eyes grew wide as saucers, and he turned and ran. Dawn cocked her head, raised her eyebrows, and said, “Was that really necessary, Shawn?”

We sat at a table next to the dance floor. We didn’t talk much, because of the music playing at a hundred decibels. But we held hands and drew closer at every moment.

Then the DJ played
Always and Forever
. Dawn and I walked hand-in-hand to a darkened corner and danced. We had a little more swing than when we danced to
Stairway to Heaven
at my 16th birthday. I lost myself in the warmth of her body against mine. It was like an out-of-body experience looking into her unwavering, almond eyes.
It felt like I was floating above my body a few feet, looking down at the two of us dancing.

In what seemed like a matter of seconds,
Always and Forever
ended. The music segued into
Easy
by the Commodores. I’ve never felt as grateful to a DJ for playing back-to-back slow songs as I was at that moment. Time was slippery though, and
Easy
was over before it felt like it had even started.

Our eyes locked intently. We had stumbled onto a moment of enduring importance. A sense of peacefulness washed over me. I wanted this feeling to last forever. As the final repetitions of
Easy
faded away, the DJ bumped the energy back up by spinning
Boogie Shoes
by KC and the Sunshine Band.

The other couples surrendered the floor to the wave of dancers coming on. But Dawn and I weren’t ready to relinquish the sweetness of that moment.

As the new song thumped to life, we continued holding each other.

That was the moment. There was no more ‘Dawn, I think I love you.’ I knew. We didn’t speak because anything we said would have detracted from what we were experiencing. We finally gave way to the jostling of the other dancers and left the club immediately after walking off the floor. The disco was too crowded, and we both felt a need to be alone together.

We drove straight back to Mossyrock. All the way home, I racked my brain trying to think of a place where we could go and be alone. Finding a place to park had never been a priority in my life, but now it was urgent. I didn’t want to go up above the Mossyrock Dam, because that was where every other necking couple would be.

Dawn seemed unconcerned as we drove. When we got in the Vega, she leaned over and laid her head softly against my shoulder. She didn’t move the entire trip home. By the time I turned off of Highway 12 toward Damron Road, I was getting a little desperate. In less than a mile we would be home, and that was the last place I wanted to be with an hour to go before curfew.

At the last possible moment, I saw a road off to the left that had a preposterous pair of signs reading “Doss Cemetery” and “Dead End.” Did someone at the Highway Department have a sense of humor, or was it just a cosmic coincidence?

I turned up the gravel road toward the cemetery. As I made the turn, Dawn lifted her head off my shoulder, raised one eyebrow and snuggled back against me.

When we came over the rise at the top of the hill, everything was laid out before us. It was a clear night with a full moon. Instead of being eerie, it was perfect, bathed in shimmering silvery light.

Radio reception was generally poor in Mossyrock. but at the top of Doss Hill, it was crystal clear. I tuned in 62 KGW, set the volume low and put my arm around Dawn. We sat and absorbed the wonder of the moment. I was in exactly the place I was supposed to be. As we held each other, any lingering doubts about whether or not our attraction was mutual were erased.

We became so emotionally entwined that small concerns like our total innocence became what they should have always been—enhancements to our lives rather than detriments.

With just a few minutes before Dawn’s curfew, the radio played the unmistakable opening chord of The Hollies’
The Air That I Breathe
. For the first time I really understood what the lyrics were about. There was nothing else in the world I needed. 

The week before Prom was our coming out for Dawn and me at Mossyrock High School. I was a longtime observer of the mating rituals of high school life, and now I was part of them. Every time I saw her in the halls between classes, I would catch my breath, my heart would leap, and I would realize how lucky I was. It was a miracle I got any schoolwork done.

Every morning, I picked Dawn up before school and we rode around together until the bell was about to ring, forcing us to scramble out of the car and get inside. We hung out together at lunch and between classes, and I drove her home when school was out. I was very happy with this routine.

The week before Prom was busy. We couldn’t go to The Falls Terrace in Olympia because I’d given away the money I’d saved. The denizens of Damron Road were not wealthy. In fact, most of us were struggling to get by, and that certainly applied to Walt and Colleen. Colleen never worked in the years I knew them, and even though he always seemed willing to work, employment was sporadic for Walt. Things were always tight at their house. So, when I asked Dawn to Prom, I was putting them in a financial bind. I imagined that the cost of a formal dress was probably beyond them.

Things were a little easier for me. I didn’t have a regular job, but there always seemed to be odd jobs I could find–stacking lumber at Keen and Howard’s lumberyard, helping a farmer clear the blackberries and brush from a field, or covering a dishwashing shift at the local diner. Whenever I really needed money, an opportunity seemed to arise. However, there were limitations to what I could earn working at minimum wage jobs in 1978. $2.65 an hour didn’t add up quickly.

I gave up on the idea of a fancy dinner at a nice restaurant in Olympia. Instead, I took the money I had over to Colleen to go toward the cost of a dress for Dawn when I knew she wasn’t home.