“My Happiness”
Listen to this chapter, “Teenage Romance or Realism”
Excitement filled the crisp morning air as the students of Highview boarded the buses soon en route to Irving Park for the annual school picnic. Julie, especially, wondered about what this day might be like. Allen was sitting beside her, and she knew they had not been unnoticed. And Julie’s new pride didn’t cease as the day passed. They were in activities together. Even the splattered yolk on her white shoe from Allen’s getting too nervous in the egg-throwing contest didn’t matter. Julie loved every moment.
Later in the afternoon, Allen and Julie were just walking around when he dared to take her hand. But no sooner had he done so with an air of confidence than she slipped it out. “Mr. Wesley,” she said in a low voice.
Allen looked around in embarrassment. But teacher or no teacher, Allen wondered. Was that the real reason?
But it was a proud and happy Julie who boarded the bus that afternoon with egg on her shoe, Allen’s watch dangling on her arm, and many beautiful memories to treasure.
The days passed, and Allen and Julie felt they belonged together more and more. There seemed to be something new and exciting every day—a rainbow or a cloud—but Allen and Julie shared it.
Everything was so perfect. Allen and Julie could be together every day, to talk, to share their ideas and dreams. Then every weekend was special, too, just because they were special to each other. There was Young People’s meeting and church when Allen and Julie could worship together, sharing a simple faith. Then the afternoon walks, hand in hand, through the country streets of Riverdale. And when Saturday night came, Allen and Julie were together again.
It was at a church social when Allen and Julie sat with Cynthia and Steve. During the moving picture, Allen quietly took Julie’s hand. But she was afraid. Not at a church social, Allen. What will they say?
But Steve and Cynthia had already gone outside to play basketball with the younger kids. Allen and Julie went out, too. Soon, however, interest in the basketball game faded, and it left only the four of them.
“Oh, let’s not quit now,” Steve said. “Come on, Allen, you and Julie against Cynthia and me—‘Lovers’ Teams!” And so the evening passed. But Allen did not forget what Steve had said. Allen knew they accepted him and Julie as a couple.
But all too soon the honey and roses wilted. Allen’s eyes filled with stars, seeing no girl but Julie. He looked forward every day to riding to school beside her in Emorys’ car. But one morning when Emorys arrived at the corner, Steve and Carlos sat in the back. So Julie climbed into the front, leaving Allen to sit in the back without her. Allen said nothing then, but it deflated his ego just a little. What could he do to prove to Julie that he really liked her?
The day could not pass fast enough. And the minutes after school seemed to drag. Where was Julie? Just then her best friend at Highview passed.
“Bobbie!” Allen called. “Where’s Julie?”
“Oh.” Bobbie smiled warmly. “You’re waiting for her?”
Allen nodded. “I suppose she’s already gone?”
“No, I think she’s just fooling around some place. I’ll go see if I can find her and tell her you’re waiting for her.”
“Well, I-I—” But Bobbie disappeared.
In a few minutes, Julie appeared. Together they walked to the College library as usual. Then Allen said, “Julie?”
At first she did not sense the tenseness in his voice. “Yes, Allen?”
“Why did you ask Steve to sit in the back seat this morning?”
Julie started. “I didn’t, Allen!” But why had Steve sat in the back seat, instead of in front with his mother and sister, as usual? It wasn’t long before they found out.
Arriving at Emorys’ car, a very facetious Steve, Carlos, and Sharon greeted the two. Giving a couple of young lovers a bad time might be inevitable, but Allen didn’t like it. What right do they have to intrude? Allen should have expected more, much more. But, for the present, his security was in Julie.
Julie, too, found her security in her relationship with Allen. When the kids gave her a rough time, she always knew Allen would understand. After a Saturday night party at Macintoshes’ house, Julie had sat down to play the piano when Allen snuggled up beside her.
“Play this,” he said, placing sheet music in front of her. She played, and they sang it softly.
“Our song,” he whispered, holding her close. “‘My Happiness.’“
Every afternoon Mrs. Emory let Allen and Julie off on the corner right across the street where they met every morning, and where another gas station stood. But every afternoon the goodbyes took longer and longer to say. And soon a half hour seemed like only a few minutes.
One day Allen seemed quieter than usual. I hope he isn’t mad at me, Julie thought.
She spoke kindly. “What is it, Allen?”
“Nothing,” he replied, looking down. I don’t want to tell you, Julie. But he looked at her questioning face, her brown eyes reflecting her wonder. “You aren’t mad at me, are you, Julie?”
“No, of course not,” she smiled a little. “I thought you…well, why should I be?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, Julie. I guess I’ve been acting dumb today.” Now he would not let his eyes meet hers. “You might as well know. Mr. Conrad had a talk with me.”
“Oh.” Julie’s smiled faded. “About—us?”
“It was nothing, really, I guess. Mostly teasing and stuff. But in front of the fellows in the shop. Especially Otto and Ken.” He looked at her now. “They give us enough trouble at school.”
“Oh, I know.” Julie smiled in sympathy now. “But at least Mr. Conrad wasn’t mad, was he?”
“No, not exactly. It’s just—” Allen shook his head. “Oh, forget it, Julie! I-I’m sorry.”
Julie said no more.
But Allen’s turn to be sympathetic soon came. In the College library after school, Julie had gone to lie down in the ladies’ lounge. Allen missed her smile from across the study table. “I’m tired,” she had said, but was that all? Allen seemed to sense there was something more.
Five o’clock came, and the kids picked up their books and started toward the parking lot. But Allen refused to let Julie carry her books.
“I’ll take them,” she said weakly. “I-I’m all right.”
“No!” Allen was firm. “Don’t argue with me!”
But Allen wondered as he sat in the car waiting for Mrs. Emory. There sat his Julie, laughing and talking gaily with Steve, much more than usual. Then, at the corner gas station, it was the same quiet Julie who stood talking to baffled Allen.
“What’s wrong, Julie?” he finally asked. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I’m just a little tired,” she said.
Allen took her hand. “Julie, may I ask you something?”
“Go ahead, Allen.”
“But—but please don’t be offended—or even feel you have to answer—”
“What is it, Allen?”
“You still like Steve, don’t you?”
“Steve is a very nice person, Allen.”
“Yes, I know he is. And I don’t blame you—”
“But”—she paused only briefly—”not as nice as you.”
Allen sighed just a little as he put his arm around Julie and squeezed her. “Oh, Julie, you don’t have to say that just to make me feel good.”
“I mean it, Allen.”
Just then a black Simca appeared, and Allen jumped a little. “My mother!” he said.
“Hi, Mrs. Macintosh!” Julie called, feeling just a little foolish.
“Hi, Julie!” Mrs. Macintosh returned. Then, “Ready to go home, son? I called Julie’s house to see if you were there.”
Allen, also feeling foolish, said nothing except, “Goodbye, Julie,” as he climbed into the car.
But the discussion was unfinished. “There are lots of things I’d like to know, Julie,” Allen said the next day. “But I don’t want to put it into words. It sounds pretty stupid.”
“Don’t be afraid to talk to me,” Julie said. “I’ll understand.”
Finally, Allen wrote three questions in a note. And it was at the corner gas station when Julie tried to answer them.
“My folks didn’t say too much about last night except I should have been doing my homework,” she began. Then, “Allen, I think a lot of you. There is absolutely nothing between Steve and me. A sixth-grade romance.” She laughed.
Allen smiled. “Okay, Julie,” he whispered. “Okay.”
The days passed. One evening Allen said, “Julie, I’ve lost my English book. Do you have yours from last year?”
“Yeah, I’ll bring it tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Allen interjected, “I’ll walk home with you tonight and get it if—if it’s okay.”
“Sure!” And so began the tradition of Allen walking Julie home every night and carrying her books every day.
But the talking and teasing of Allen and Julie had not stopped. The half hours at the gas station had become hours. The starry-eyed romanticism—plus their understanding of each other—had grown. But the antagonism from Carlos and Steve, and especially from Otto and Ken, grew. And Allen’s occasional moodiness came at the wrong times. It was late one Friday night, after an especially awful week, that Allen wrote a letter.
He had talked about this to Julie before. “That Otto and Ken really don’t know when to stop teasing, do they?” Julie had observed.
Allen shook his head almost hopelessly. “It’s not only them, Julie. It’s all over school! Why do they talk about us like this?”
“Well,” Julie tried to rationalize, “I guess most couples get talked about, eventually.”
“But we have done nothing to deserve it!” Allen defended. “Why is the gossip just about one couple—you and me?”
“Is it?”
“Yes! What right do they have to do it?”
Julie, too, had shaken her head. Now Allen wrote, “Julie, even though my father has reasoned things out with me, I still have somewhat of a feeling of anxiety.” And then, “You know, Julie, you’re the first girl I think I ever really liked—with all my heart—and it’s wonderful to have a girlfriend like you that really, really understands me. Yes, you’re the one I’m sure I can always trust….”
To Julie, that letter was worth more than gold. Somehow she had to let Allen know how much she appreciated him, too.
Then after church Allen invited Julie home with him, the first of many, many times that Julie would eat with the Macintoshes. That day, too, was very special because Allen and Julie were together working for God. In the afternoon, they went on the usual young people’s singing bands, visiting shut-ins.
Then that night they went Christmas caroling, going from door to door collecting funds for missions. And Julie did everything she could to tell Allen in a thousand little ways how much she really liked him.
“You’re wonderful!” Allen kept whispering into her ear as he hugged her tightly….
But when the weekend was over, Julie sat down to answer Allen’s letter. She felt guilty. They had gone too far Saturday night. Why did she ever let herself get out of control? Why, letting Allen put his arms around her right in front of Ella’s mother and the other church people! And the way he had snuggled up in the car! She knew she must never let it happen again. She tried her best to put her feelings into words as she wrote to Allen.
Their relationship was the same; but in a day or two, Allen gave her his reply:
“There is no reason in the world for you to feel ‘wicked’—I’m the one who should take all the blame. And I’m sorry…
“You said you felt that Saturday night was your fault because you were afraid to say ‘no.’ I disagree with you on this point (now this is what’s harder to put into words!)—but don’t ever be afraid to tell me ‘no’!
“What is your view now (as of 6:30, December 12, 1960) about holding hands; about the times I put my arm around you Saturday night; what exactly did you think when I first put my arm around you?
“And also, you’ve never told me just how you feel about going steady.
“Oh, yes, one more thing. I think you’re pretty, even if you don’t think so.”
It was in that weekend that Allen and Julie grew up. They narrowed the gap that had been between them before. They could really talk things over, to talk about their growing affection. And Allen and Julie, each in their own mind, began to ask the question that neither dared say out loud: Could this be love?
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