The rest of the story - Debbie

            I met Debbie at my neighbors, Michael and Susie’s house in Westminster, Maryland.  They were having a Sunday afternoon barbecue.  I mentioned to Susie that I thought Debbie was cute.  Susie introduced us.  Although she was too busy helping Susie to engage in conversation, she did give me her phone number.  I called later that night and we made plans to see the play.

            Two weeks had passed since Debbie and I went to see the play “Ain’t Misbehavin” at the Morris Mechanic Theater.  We had talked on the phone almost every night.  We had laughed about how nervous we were; how we both longed for a night of passion, but knew it just wasn't right.

 

            We had moved past the “Hi, My name is David” stage.  No more “tell me about your family”, and “where do you work?”  We were now talking about where we had traveled, what movies we liked and what good books we had read.  The thing that impressed me is that the conversations were always positive; no criticizing, condemning or complaining.

 

            Debbie lived forty miles away from me.  She mentioned that she had made plans to spend the next Saturday night at Michael and Susie’s.  We agreed itwould be fun to spend all day Sunday together.  We both enjoyed U.S history.   She had visited the Gettysburg National Park on a day trip in high school and had always wanted to go back.  I had driven through when I moved from Wyoming to Maryland.  Gettysburg  had always intrigued me.  As I drove through, the song “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” by Joan Baez was playing on the radio. 

 

          Gettysburg  was only about an hours’ drive to the north.  I laughed as I thought “Not quite the romantic day I had in mind”, so I mentioned, “Why don’t I pick up some wine and cheese and we’ll make a picnic of it?”  Debbie thought it was a good idea.

 

            Sunday was a warm fall day.  The leaves were in their full colors.  Michael and Susie’s dog, Clevey (named because he came from Cleveland) started barking as I drove up to their house.  I rang the door bell and Debbie answered.  There she stood, shoulder length brown hair and beautiful blue eyes.  She looked lovely, wearing dark gray slacks and a lavender sweater.  Michael and Susie came up behindher.  They bid us farewell and we were off.   

 

      The drive up US140 to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania was very pleasant.  The highway was a two lane road through the maple, oak and dogwood-covered rolling hills.  The farmers were harvesting their corn.  As we drove, I reached over and held her hand.  Unlike our first date, she gently squeezed mine.

 

            We drove into the town of Gettysburg and turned left onto the Taneytown road.  We proceeded past the strip of fast food restaurants and drove into the national park.  We parked in front of the visitor’s center. I turned the engine off and felling rather bold, I leaned over and gave Debbie a small kiss on the cheek.  She smiled, squeezed my hand again and opened her door.

 

            The visitor’s center is on Cemetery Ridge, in the heart of the battlefield.  Scattered over the area are civil war cannons and stone memorials.  Inside the visitor’s center is a large cyclorama, a painting of the third day of the battle, Pickett’s charge.  It depicts the moment that the Southern General Armistead was hit by the bullet that mortally wounded him.  We toured the visitor’s center, holding hands and reading every exhibit.

 

            We returned to the car and started to drive around the battlefield.  It was getting close to lunch time so we stopped at Little Round Top and had our picnic lunch.  I had picked up some red wine, baby Gouda cheese, meat and bread.  So, there we sat, in the middle of a civil war battlefield, eating meat, bread and cheese, drinking wine from a glass, laughing and telling stories to each other.  We returned to the car.  Before I started the car, I leaned over and our lips met for the first time.

 

            Debbie and I dated two more times.  In November she took a well paying job in New York.  We continued to call and write for until March, 1980.