Donna Koros-Stramella
MY BLUE JEANS DANCED WITHOUT shame. I held tightly to the waistband of my two-tailed, bell-bottomed kite caught in a wind gust. The dark-green Ford Econoline van navigated onto Route 50, and our speed quickly lifted to 60 mph. My ocean-soaked jeans whipped violently, and I gripped tighter, my thumbs anchored through the belt loops. At that moment, the jeans felt wild and carefree. Unafraid. Just the thought of letting go for once caused me to instinctively pull my jeans partially inside so they wouldn’t flutter away.
An hour earlier, my jeans relaxed on the beach—dry and sandy—at least for that moment. I was jumping the Atlantic Ocean’s rough, foamy waves with my friends Tony and Suzie as wild ponies watched curiously from the Assateague Island sand dunes.
The three of us were recruited to work for a federal government agency right out of high school. With my parents unwilling to pay for college, the tuition assistance benefit was a gift. The job plunged me into a world of adults, where people talked about drab things like mortgage rates and saving for retirement, inside drab surroundings with grey walls and enormous metal desks. The a.m. radio offered traffic, weather, and news headlines, along with country music—the volume so low it couldn’t be heard above the tapping on the (also grey) Smith Corona typewriter.
I was glad to have friends at work who thought more about the weekend than the weekdays. On Saturday, we left before sunrise on our whirlwind day beach trip before Suzie’s departure for a three-year assignment at the U.S. Embassy in London.
The sun was still lifting as we crossed the massive Chesapeake Bay Bridge, which united Maryland’s eastern and western shores. My hands felt clammy as I looked over the side rails to the deep, quiet bay below. Soon it would be dotted with sailboats, catching the breeze from Annapolis coves and into the open bay. We passed family farms with vegetable and fruit stands edged along the road. We crossed smaller bridges where fishermen shared space with cars. We saw shops offering ice, bait, sandwiches—sometimes all three. Finally, a few road signs came into view—Phillips Seafood Restaurant, Trimper’s Rides, Tony’s Pizza. We were almost there.
We paid the entrance fee for Assateague Island State Park and parked by a deserted stretch of beach. I had worn my yellow bikini under my jeans and t-shirt, and I stripped down quickly once we reached the shore.
Saturday, July 3. The next day, Americans would celebrate the bicentennial. Today we rocked in the waves, laughing as we surfaced from beneath the churning water after misjudging the sea’s timing. Suzie and I were just nineteen, but she looked much younger. She was just five feet, treading water while Tony and I could still touch the sandy bottom.
“Too deep,” she shouted above the roar. “Move this way!”
We complied, moving back toward the shore, but the undertow had another idea, and within moments we were out farther than before.
“Again,” she said. “I’m tired of treading water!”
“Trying,” I said laughing as the sand and the pull conspired against me.
When we finally returned to the beach, the rising tide, or maybe a single stray wave had skimmed over my jeans. By the time we made the twenty-minute drive to Ocean City, my air-dried jeans were stiff, but only slightly damp. We stopped at a roadside stand for a lunch of corn-on-the-cob and Maryland steamed crabs, crowding on the shaded side of the picnic table, letting the Old Bay seasoning deliver a satisfying burn.
We drove further up Coastal Highway, parking near the end of the boardwalk. Tony reminded me of a promise I broke on a cold, late-February day at work. It was his twentieth birthday, and I thoughtlessly forgot my close friend’s special day—no card, no gift, no cake. Back then, he had playfully suggested a birthday kiss instead.
“Hmmm, seems only fair,” I said, with a laugh. “I did forget your birthday after all.”
“What about lunch time?” he asked.
“That doesn’t seem appropriate for the office, does it?”
He tilted his head to one side, his brown eyes lighting up as he playfully considered alternatives.
“What about my van?” he asked.
“Meet you there at noon?”
“I’ll be there,” he said smiling. I shook my head before returning to my desk.
Years later, I learned he wasn’t kidding. Tony stood outside his van on the parking lot for nearly an hour, watching coworkers leave and return with bags of sandwiches and fast-food burgers.
Now four months later, he reminded me. . .
“Hey! Remember you promised me that birthday kiss,” he said. “Seems like the perfect day.”
I played along once again. “OK—let’s do it,” I said, then turned to Suzie. “I’ve got to deliver on this birthday kiss. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Well, maybe more than a minute,” Tony said.
Suzie laughed and sat on the curb as Tony slid open the back door. We sat close to each other on the green shag carpet in the back. I started to say something funny, but he leaned over, his mustache prickly as it brushed my face, his soft lips on mine. This was not a kiss between friends.
He tasted of salt and Old Bay, and we both smelled of coconut from the suntan lotion we’d applied earlier. The ocean was just a block away and I heard the waves pounding outside the van—or at least I thought I did. I’m not sure how much time passed before Suzie knocked on the door.
“Are we going to the boardwalk or not?” she asked.
My face was already flushing. I seldom stepped outside my self-imposed, rigid boundaries. I’d been dating someone on and off for close to a year. I tried breaking it off periodically for a week or so, just to see how I felt. But never a permanent breakup. Gary was a safe choice. He was my date for family events and friends’ weddings. He was always available for a last-minute concert or dinner. I was busy with school and friends, and he never seemed to mind being an afterthought. But he increasingly talked about taking our relationship “to the next phase,” with hints he’d been looking at rings. I couldn’t tell him he wasn’t the one. I wasn’t even ready to tell myself.
My two friends and I spent the rest of the day on the boardwalk, playing carnival games and eating Thrasher’s French Fries doused in vinegar. We sat on the stone wall by the Matterhorn eating our orange and vanilla swirl custard cones, listening to AC/DC and Deep Purple blast from the speakers. This would be the last time the three of us would be together, even though Suzie wouldn’t fulfill her three-year obligation. After just one year working for the U.S. government in England, she would resign to play bass in Wicked Women, an all-girl rock band touring Europe.
As the sun set on the bayside, we drove to the outskirts of Ocean City and joined a few dozen people who knew about the secret fireworks’ viewing spot. As the first firework lifted, Tony opened all the van doors and pushed an eight-track tape into the player. The three of us sat side-by-side in the damp grass, Jimi Hendrix’s ripping version of the national anthem playing at full volume. A couple older men with U.S. Army Vet hats looked over momentarily, then back at the sky.
The night was warm, but not uncomfortable. The sky was clear. My friends were beside me. Summer and the feelings that came with it seemed permanent.
We were quiet on the drive home, just listening to the rest of the Hendrix tape and a few others. Here I was again, still in the sea, the undertow restraining my movement to the shore. I should have been thinking about our past and how everything going forward would be different. And how change could be a good thing. I should have been thinking about my boyfriend Gary and why he was wrong for me. But I wasn’t ready. So I thought about the kiss.
Donna Koros-Stramella is a novelist whose short pieces have appeared in anthologies, literary magazines, and national online and print publications. She is a previous award-winning journalist and scriptwriter who spent decades as a communication strategist and senior writer in the corporate and government domains. A Maryland resident, she received her MFA from the University of Tampa. Her first novel, Coffee Killed My Mother, was published by Adelaide Books in 2020, and she is nearing completion on her second book, Among the Bones.
Contributor’s Note:
“Hendrix and Wild Ponies”
Similar to many of my short pieces, “Hendrix and Wild Ponies,” started with a scene drawn from my own life. In this case, a typical sunny beach day that developed into something significant. Unlike other countless days and weeks spent in Ocean City, Maryland that I no longer remember, memories from the day that inspired this story grew increasingly vivid. While capturing that moment in time, I recalled clear, emotive details of the first time I considered a myopic adult life. My fears were not realized. The aperture widened, allowing space for both a youthful spirit and a purposeful life. Over four decades later, I still enjoy hearing Hendrix songs. Not from an eight-track player, but from my husband Tony’s guitar.
Book Publication
Novel
Coffee Killed My Mother - Anna Lee is an anxious seventeen-year-old whose life is stuck, largely because of her strained relationship with her mother Jacqueline, a quirky recovering alcoholic who is now addicted to coffee. The two take off on a trip to explore independent coffee shops along the east coast, but Jacqueline’s real agenda is an opportunity to reveal a series of disturbing family secrets. The novel’s serious study of relationships and the impact of alcoholism are balanced by humor and compassion.