It was 1984. I was around 9 years old, and living at Patch Air Force Base in Germany, with my mother and step father.
His name is unimportant. The fate behind all of our chance encounters are what's to take note of. I was 9 years old and it was winter time. It was after my birthday, and it may even have been after Christmas, since school was back in session. I was wearing a pair of new earrings and an outfit I got for my birthday. On the playground at school there was a medium sized dirt hill that would freeze over if it got cold enough. Kids would bring bags, like plastic bags from the PX or commissary to sit on and slide down the hill. Make-shift sleds since we were at school. So one day I slid down this hill. As I reached the bottom and began to stand up, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. I wasn't fast enough. Before I even had a clear idea of what was happening, I was being pummeled to the ground by some stupid boy who didn't make sure to check if the slope was clear. His jacket caught on my brand new earring and ripped it out. I was crying and bleeding, and swearing the best that a ten year old can: " you stupid head. You're a jerk!" He apologized profusely, but my pride was hurt, so I stomped off, never really looking at his face. It was a year before I even thought of that incident again.
It was the summer that Top Gun came out in theatres. I met a boy who thought he was Maverick. He was pretty cute, and in one grade higher than me. We rode bikes, played on the playground, stood and talked outside of the school dances, played tag, and talked on the phone. He was my first true love. One day we were talking on the phone and he asked me if I remembered being knocked over on the playground a year or so before. Then he described the incident and told me it was him that had plowed me down. He said that at that moment he knew I was the one, and that it was my smile that he remembered. He said he would recognize my smile anywhere. I'm not sure I believed him then…
One day he called and said his parents were splitting, and he had to go back stateside with his mother and brother. He was leaving the very next morning, but he could meet me that evening, on the corner of Florida Strausse, which was where we always met to hang out. We were going to say goodbye. I rode my bike as fast and hard as I could. I got there, and waited. And waited. He never came. There was a rose bush near the corner we were to meet at. I tore one off, and on the off chance he came after I left, I tore the petals up and left them lying where I knew he would see them. Years later I found out he never saw them. My only comfort was we said we would write and we swore to always wait on the other. No matter what, we swore, we would find each other some day. I took comfort in the fact that, as he said, we slept under the same sky, and that the moon I gazed upon was the same one he saw, and that there was always a possibility that the star I was wishing on was the same one he wished on. Somehow, that helped. For years we kept in touch. Letters, drawings, pictures, and the occasional phone call. Eventually, we lost touch. My heart broke, and for many years, there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't cross my mind. Growing up...
So then there I was in Germany, alone, with a miserable mother, an alcoholic step father, and my best friend in the whole world, Mom H. I don't remember much about that time period. Summers were spent at the outdoor pool, and winter weekends at the indoor pool, and the school days are a blur. Groundings meant I had to spend my day pulling weeds, sweeping sidewalks, and picking up trash. I tried to stay on base as much as possible to avoid those kinds of chores. My thought process was that if I wasn't there, I couldn't get in trouble.
The only memorable thing that happened after that, that I can remember, is a bike. It was Christmas again, and I hadn't asked for anything but a new ten speed bike. I had it picked out and everything. It's all I wanted. I begged for months. Christmas morning came and I ran into the living room. No bike. But there was a really big box, so maybe that was it and it needed to be assembled. I opened each gift, leaving the big box 'til last. As I came to the big box, I grinned. I just KNEW it was my bike. I tore the paper back and began peeling it down the sides of the box to expose the picture. It wasn't my brand new bike. It was… a stereo system. Well, I know most kids would be thrilled with that. And I was happy about it, but it just wasn't my bike. I had my heart set on that thing, and now my heart was broken. I did my best to hide my disappointment, while wondering how we could afford a new stereo system and not be able to afford a bike. It came time to clean up the boxes and paper. My mother, my step father and I picked up as much as our arms could hold and started down the steps into the storage room below our apartment building. I led the line, and when we reached the door, I just threw the boxes in and started to turn around. My step father bellowed from behind me to take them all the way to the back, not to leave them lying in the doorway to be tripped over. I did what I was told, fighting back tears of disappointment, because the longer the morning went on, the more I thought about it, and the deeper I felt the loss of that which I'd never even had. I rounded the corner with my pile of boxes and stopped dead in my tracks. There, against the back wall, stood the most beautiful, shiny new pink and grey 10 speed bike with a small white bow on the handle bars. I dropped my burden and ran over to it, squealing in delight. I got it! I really got it! My brand new ten speed! This wasn't just a bike. This was an escape. This was my means to freedom from the tyranny in my home. With this I could go further than I had in the past, and I could get anywhere I was going faster than my old little banana seat bike. This was my ticket out.
