Kodachrome

{Prompt: Write a story about PDA at NCSSM}

Nothing brings back the romantic memories of high school more than the beginning of Autumn, when the stifling haze, heat, and humidity of summer are finally replaced by delightfully temperate days and cool, starlit nights.

I was young, and naturally, I was hopeful of having a romantic experience, as I settled into my new environs at school in the fall of 1980.  We, the students at NCSSM, were no longer making trips to libraries and auditoriums, taking tours and listening to talking heads.  We had settled into an academic routine.

Outside of class, we were making new friends.  And we were hoping (maybe) we could become more than friends.  

There were lots of opportunities to deepen our friendships.  We went dancing in the basement of Wyche House, lights turned low and stereo-speakers humming.  I remember the anticipation we had, waiting for those social activities to begin.

We dressed up and scurried in clusters through the horrifying haunted house, staged and enacted in the old morgue.  It was delightful.

We went trick-or-treating in opposite sex dorms, a rarely authorized peek into the rooms of our classmates. At all times, coed visitation was strictly regulated.

And sex and mating was strictly forbidden. Life was like a Victorian melodrama. No boy could set foot into a girl’s boudoir. No girl could cross the threshold of a boy’s bedchamber.  Intervisitation was confined to recreation rooms and common areas, unless there was an adult chaperone.

So, instead of dorm rooms, the rec rooms and porches became the settings for affection.  There was cuddling and spooning, hugging and horseplay, out in the open.

I remember the capacious size of the sturdy, pine, This End Up couches, providing plenty of room to lie back in a friend’s lap.  Or you could give a back rub, and receive one in return. 

Magical!

A friend and I — in a big comfy couch in the common area.

Affection came in many forms. On one occasion a classmate gave me a palm reading, earnestly holding my hand and inspecting my lifeline — a rare moment of close contact, and a mystical reading of my nature and fate.

Somewhere, somehow, these sensory experiences got a little too intimate — crossing the line of propriety.  Maybe the participants were publicly kissing, or they were a little too close for comfort.  I’ll never forget the day when word filtered down that the resident advisors (RAs) would be restricting us from “public displays of affection” (PDA).  

What a cruel rebuff of our adolescent desires — our burning libidos!  Neither private nor public displays of affection were permitted, leaving us in limbo — leaving us in the sensory ‘friend zone’ in perpetuity.  

It was doomed to fail.

Nothing could keep us apart. We couldn’t stop ourselves.

We would engage in subversively promiscuous behavior in the hidden nooks and crannies of the campus, or out-of-doors on the outskirts of the sprawling grounds, risking admonishment or discipline if we were caught in flagrante delicto.

Naturally couples formed — an unstoppable, unrestrainable consequence of mutual attraction.  But no coupling came to pass — a minor miracle (if true). 

We adjusted to the confines of our society. We limited our public displays or suppressed our natural desires, as much as we were able or willing.

Gradually the epidemic of PDA began to dissipate and fade.

As Autumn went by, we occupied ourselves with other things besides our infatuations.  We continued our studies. We did our homework. 

We played frisbee with reckless abandon on the sloping, unkempt lawn between the dorms, risking injury when we hurtled too close to the concrete steps.  

We boldly voted to choose our school colors (blue and silver) and our mascot (the fantastical, enchanting Unicorn).  We secured the solidarity and spirit of our student body with a homecoming flag football game, played in the November shade of the stately oak trees of Duke’s East Campus.  

We sang our hopes and fears in a talent show.  We were so full of life.  We were fearless.

The sky turned from a hazy light blue to a deep cerulean as the outside temperatures fell.  The leaves of the poplars, crepe myrtles, sweet gum, and tupelo turned yellow, ochre, red, and scarlet. And they fell to the ground.

We went home to spend Thanksgiving with our families.  We were thankful for all that life had to offer.  And we couldn’t get back to school quickly enough, even with its limits and demands.

Every year, when those picturesque leaves turn and fall, they remind me of the vibrancy of colors and feelings that the world held for me in 1980 when romance was in the air.