Kay Murcer 

Dallas, Texas, USA

Taurus After Dark

what to do?
what to do?
love keeps showing up in dreams
uninvited
strangely recognizable
faint familiarity of sights and sounds arriving unannounced

trailers of coming attractions
sweet surprises
poured out like Cracker Jacks trinkets
treasure box keepers
lucky finders
those sleepers entertaining affection
after dark

I’ll not expect love to come looking for me
but should it arrive
l’Il tuck it someplace safe
inside a black
thin-as-a-Listerine-breath-strip V-neck
bra
heart-close
where true love lives

Most of my early memories are stirred from a big ol’ vat of love…. family, summers, first kisses, saved photographs… no monsters in sight.  Fenway’s Green Monster did flavor our later years, but… let’s go back to the beach.  

I remember the day I bought this painting, right off the wall of a popular restaurant in northwest Oklahoma City, Gabriella’s Italian.  One of the Birthday Club girls had chosen the lunch spot for us, checking another new find off our try-before-we-die bucket list.  It was 1998, and even before we were seated, I put dibs on this framed trio of pals, knowing immediately any one of my girlfriends might desire the swim capped charmers, too.  But, I knew it had to go home with me.  

My mom, Sara, always wore swimsuits in the same style as the girl on the left… usually all black though, the more slimming choice for body conscious mothers of three.  Not that the term “body conscious” was ever uttered in our homemade-daily-desserts-by-mom household.  Mom just preferred to parade the gritty sand beaches of Galveston Bay in fashionable black.  She could have worn a tow sack and still been the most beautiful bather spotted in the crowd along Seawall Boulevard. Mom was always a stunner. 

I can almost smell Coppertone sunscreen just thinking back on our family summer vacations to the Gulf of Mexico’s stately old Hotel Galvez.  Six days of saltwater and sunbathing… walks along the boardwalk past the tent of friendly souvenir salesman, Bongo Joe… and occasional seafood dinners at Guido’s, home of the World’s Best Texas Pecan Pie.  

Nights were spent in the hotel Teen Room for Cindy, Dwaine and me, giving mom and dad a few hours to slather Witch Hazel on sunburned shoulders, and shake out all the sand encrusted beach towels which would be ready to spread the next morning.  Activities inside the Teen Room included music/dancing, talking, and highest on the list of priorities, trading pen pal info with the island’s cutest locals.  

Summer romances at the old Galvez soared like the sidewalk temperature at midday, and the anticipation of misspelled scrawls from a few smitten teen heartthrobs prolonged the best Kodak memories after each trip’s final goodbyes.  Who cared if our bronzed faces were peeling like two week old nail polish… love letters were being written in the car before we could drive over the causeway.  When the radio played Connie Francis singing Where the Boys Are, Cindy and I knew.  

Life was sweet and simple then.  We were a fortunate generation to have sampled such fare.  I now ponder what remains of innocence.  What will my five grandkids consider their favorite teen memories during the next few summers?  The world is no longer simple, but I’m doing my best to provide some of the sweet.   

My grands rode out the early isolation of 2020 armed with abbreviated athletics, laptop studies, AirPods, best friends, college prep, driving lessons, tiresome shelter-at-home rules and curfews… a summer like no other ever experienced in my lifetime.  Still, they all continued to thrive.  

As we head into Summer ‘25, I’ll put on some Beach Boys tunes and a Coppertone spritz… toss a smile to the framed beauties hanging out above my bath…  maybe drive down to Galveston Bay for pecan pie.  

Love’s on the menu, everyday… free samples.