Had you known you would have done the same thing anyway.

KYA – San Francisco – November 26, 1970 – Gordon Skene Sound Collection

You will never get tired of calling yourself the Crown Prince of Poor Timing – it’s in your genes, can’t get rid of them – can’t ask them nicely to fuck off – can’t go out and shoot them. They are you and they are there to stay. Get used to them.

But seriously, your mother’s best friend’s daughter, Hildy – the one you went to grade school with – the one you knew before training bras. The one you got in fights with guys who picked on her – she was like your little sister. You were neighbors – you celebrated Thanksgiving together. You got your first kiss from her. A “daddy” kiss, but a lip-lock no matter.

And when your family moved to L.A. and left the Bay area behind you made a promise you’d call each other – write each other – stay friends forever – donate blood and even a Kidney if she needed one. That was the sixth grade. Promises are big before life sets in.

It was like that. But you were kids and it was that age where you got busy – she got busy – life got busy – and time got real busy.

Time became ten years and it went from grade school to college and you forgot what she looked like – she only heard stories about you, because your mom and her mom were the kind of people who wrote letters, long letters and made promises.

And that year your parents got a bad case of nostalgia and came up with the idea of heading north for Thanksgiving – just like the old days. You had no place to go so you decided to drive up and join them. You got along with your parents okay, but being stuck in the same car with them for six hours was pushing it.

You get older and things get smaller – the street you grew up on was enormous when you were nine – it shrank by the time you hit twenty. Same with your old house – seemed like a mansion when you were falling off your bicycle – you wondered ten years later how you could stuff yourselves into a place that small. With one bathroom, no less.

And the Plukaski’s were the same – greyer and baggier around the eyes, but happy to see you. Your mom became somewhere around seventeen and you were reminded your parents were kids once too.

Hildy was working – an assistant manager at Tower Records. You asked if she had a name tag and then decided a surprise would be a good idea. Maybe you could get a discount.

Hildy was Hildy – If you were asked, you couldn’t describe if she was cute, homely or average – you knew her too well to notice – she was just Hildy and she was a great kisser. That was all you remembered.

So when you came face to face with the woman behind the cash register and you saw the badge your pulse set a speed record and your face became a blast furnace.

She chuckled and looked perplexed, as if trying to understand a dialect she wasn’t familiar with.

It was only when you croaked out your name that she reached over the counter, yelled and wrapped her arms around you.

What you missed in that ten years. Maybe you wouldn’t have noticed she became breathtaking – maybe you wouldn’t have noticed she gave the best hugs. Maybe you wouldn’t have noticed you fell instantly in love with her.

Thanksgiving had Norman Rockwell written all over it. Holding hands under the table – A Tryptophan coma, passed out in the living room. Her head on your shoulder. Your dad and Mr. Plukaski watching football. Your mom and Mrs. Plukaski sitting in the dining room, smoking Tereytons and listening to Dean Martin records. It was perfect.

Well . . . Somewhere around midnight you were slowly coming to. Hildy was up, putting on her coat, getting ready to leave. You asked if she wouldn’t mind having a visitor stay with her for the night. She gazed at the floor for a minute, sat on the edge of the coffee table and took your hand. You could feel in your bloodstream this wasn’t heading in the direction you planned.

Words were hard coming out, but they had to, and she had to tell you she was living with somebody. She also had to tell you she always thought of you as her brother and you were a “nice guy” and everything, but love wasn’t in the cards.

You could tell by the pained smile on her face that she was feeling terrible. She could tell that your stomach and most of the known world was falling down around you as you sat listening.

You understood – you had no choice. It was a wonderful holiday with an un-wonderful end. But you knew, somewhere in the back of your mind that it would wind up this way. You couldn’t expect life to be frozen and then spring back to life ’cause you said so.

The next morning you were back on the 101 Freeway heading south. Your parents were going to make a weekend out of it and you just wanted to go home. Cranked up the radio and got hit with a bad case of melancholy as the fog started to burn off. You pretended your eyes were burning and you kept wiping them with your sleeve.

You kept wondering what the plan was or even if there was one. There had to be, or not really.

Big mystery.

And to join you in your travels, an hour’s worth of KYA exactly as it was on November 26, 1970.