He was twenty and I was eighteen

He was twenty and I was eighteen
and he drove a truck on free time
to make some money and sometimes
when he went for long drives over a
weekend I was there with him in the cab.
For him it was nothing but hard work and
stress, but I loved it as an adventure and I
fancy the soily and oily smell from his dirty
and tired body when we stayed on a dark
parking to sleep on the very narrow bunk
back the seats of the cab. Once the police
stopped the truck in search for a missing
teen girl in my age. A little shadow of worry
touched my mind as they let my boyfriend
drive on just because he locked trustworthy.
But I dropped it as I too thought he was all
good and it was all okay. Once we stopped
to eat at a fancy restaurant and we were
treated as celebrities in spite we looked like
bums in our worn out and wrinkled clothes.
I have never forgot that meal as it was like a
dream in heaven. We had French fries perfect
done and entrecote with parsley butter and
for dessert we got figs served with whipped
cream flavored with brandy and sprinkled with
flaked butterscotch. At that moment I began
to wonder a little why the waiters were so nice
to us, but I found no reason other than we were
the only guests and so very young and pretty
and sober and still so very romantically in love
with each other. I dropped that wonder too. I
became a vegetarian a couple of years after we
had split up, but I still remember that meal in
late night as the most tasty and dreamlike meal
I have ever had. It’s now fifty years since I was
on the road in magic nights with a man like that
and I am no longer young and beautiful. But a
heart that loves never gets older than eighteen.

 

 

Mostly but not for this post, I write a poem first and choose next music and images to illustrate the text on the blog. But between my writing I listen to music and when I find a song I like, I google the lyric to read it. It’s for my joy and also for training my English and writing skills. But reading the lyric to this song I couldn’t understand a thing what is was about. So, more googling was required to get an understanding the text actually was about a trucker’s dream of love. It was a bit embarrassing for me my understanding in native English  and simple lyrics is so limited, given that I always write in English.

But anyhow, it all raised memories from my youth – I remembered trips with my first boyfriend who worked a time as a truck driver. Maybe the visit at the more exclusive and expensive restaurant was a way for my boyfriend to compensate me from a visit at a driver diner – the food was terrible and the men stared rude at me like I was a piece of meat. Disgusting and scary!

On another trip we came with our big truck to the little town Ystad (known as the town in Henning Mankell’s crime novels about Police Inspector Wallander). My boyfriend drove wrong and became stuck on the narrow streets. The front of the truck was at one street and in an angle the back was on another street. In a steep uphill! And the big truck was loaded with tons of soda bottles like Coca-Cola and Sprite. My boyfriend rushed the engine (whatever a native would say?) in a desperate try to back the truck. But we were stuck. It was about 3 or 4 AM Sunday morning and we could blushing see one after the other window lit by awakened people starring wildly at us. In a truck cab you sit high, but all we wanted was to sink low and die of shame. But my boyfriend kept his hot temper low and I kept my mouth shut and somehow we succeeded to get away from the trap. I don’t know how, but we did.

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This entry was posted in inspiring music, love poem, love story, memories, past, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, short story, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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