On a blanket, under a tree in the Glen Oaks apartment
complex in Queens, New York City, Carol and I read True Confessions,
True Romance, and True Story magazines. Shiny
covers showed a handsome man tilting a beautiful girl in the
about-to-be-kissed passionately pose. She often had a bare shoulder and more
than a hint of cleavage showing.
The stories seemed to have recurring themes. A young girl
lies to her parents and has a secret meeting with a boy from the wrong side of
the tracks or, a young girl lies to her parents and has a secret
meeting with a boy from the right side of the tracks. These
railroad romances often took a dark but surprising turn usually on the
“to-be-continued” page. I don’t remember Carol’s last name and that seems
somehow wrong of me. Glen Oaks apartments are still in existence and so are the
romance magazines only now they sell for $4.99 not twenty-five cents. I like to
think there are still grammar school girls munching candy while reading stories
under trees, though I imagine clicking or scrolling instead of turning paper
pages.
I supplied the quarters for these romance magazines and
Carol supplied the courage to walk into a store in broad daylight, and purchase
them in front of people. I know Carol was tall for kids our age, and had ink
black hair. My family moving from the Glen Oaks apartments to a ranch house in
Little Neck, Long Island ended my reading romance magazines. I hope Carol
found happiness, on either side of the railroad, and that whatever dark turns
may have occurred were transformed into starry nights of true romance.
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