We were sitting in the pizza joint all alone in a room full of people. We had just met forty five minutes before and now sat arm in arm gazing into each others eyes, totally in love.
She was the cousin of a friend, who was sitting across the table with her latest lover, who happened to be my best friend. At least I think they were sitting there, we didn’t pay much attention to them.
We were talking dreams, ambitions, how her nose crinkled up when she smiled. She pulled close to me and whispered in my ear, and my nose crinkled as I smiled. We were laughing, I proposed marriage, we laughed some more, and then she accepted on one condition. The next song that played on the jukebox had to be “our song”. She went on to say that depending on the song’s lyrics whether or not she’d accept.
“Colour My World” by Chicago was playing, verses were over and just the long musical ending played on and on. She looked at me and said “Too bad we weren’t a song sooner, I’d have to change my last name.” Her eyes were dancing and I knew that if we were serious, if we really did get married, there would be no regrets.
The jukebox went silent, and it seemed time slowed down to super slow motion. Even our double date buddies seemed anxious to hear what would blare over the speakers. You could hear the inner workings of the jukebox, and could envision what was happening, the arm came over and plucked up “Colour My World” and replaced it in B14. It hummed again as the arm grabbed the next record and sat it on the turntable. Then came the initial hiss of needle against wax. Within the first few notes we started laughing as we recognized “Crocodile Rock” by Elton John.
At first it didn’t sound too bad especially since my dates name was Suzie. I really liked the part when the chorus talked about Suzie wearing her dresses tight. Then came the bummer in the second verse, Suzie went and left with some foreign guy.
She looked at me with unbelievable sadness in her eyes, the total opposite of how they looked just moments before. For a minute I thought she was going to cry until I said, “Those damn French guys with their fancy talk, an Okie don’t stand a chance.” The dance came back into her eyes and her nose crinkled up as she laughed once more.
Several letters past between us until they dried up from one point or the other. I haven't a clue whatever happened to Suzie but I imagine she had a good time getting there. I just wonder how many songs played on the jukebox before she finally found Mr. Right.