When I hear this song, I'm 17 all over again. I'm in my car, my "Blue Chicken" - the '86 Firebird handed down to me by my dad - with my friends - could be Stephanie, Penelope, Ritu, Deena, Bobby, Mark, John, Mike. It's summer, warm and welcome after another year of school, we're together, and we're free. We're heading over the Atlantic Beach Bridge, windows down, moom roof popped up, tape player blasting. We're belting out the words at the top of our lungs, the sounds of our singing melding with the music and the rush of the wind. Later, maybe we'll tackle each other in a football game that's merely an excuse to exchange some tickles in the sand. We'll bump, set, spike, and dive in a game of butt-volleyball. We'll split cheese fries and mozzarella sticks, pick up a slice at Gino's, or just bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies. We could see a movie at the Fantasy, get ice cream at International. Or maybe we'll just sit in a circle on the beach and practice our harmonies, voices rising to the stars...
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May 22, 2006
May 22, 2006