For a number of reasons I was thinking about my past today. One of the things I remembered was my first girlfriend.
Her name was Lucy Sontag. We both worked at an Easter Seal charity day camp for crippled children during the summer of my 14th year. You had to be 16 years old to be a councilor. I worked as a gofer, fetching things, pushing wheel chairs around, emptying trash, serving lunch, etc. Lucy was a councilor, so she was 16, maybe 17. She had olive skin, light brown hair and flashing blue eyes.
She didn’t know she was my girlfriend. Our relationship was strictly professional. I was too shy to do little more than say hello to her. After camp was over I doubt she would have recognized me if we passed on the street.
The last time I saw Lucy was the day camp ended. Her boyfriend picked her up in his green Corvair convertible. They drove off with the top down. Lucy was wearing a blue Oxford cloth shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Her hair was in a ponytail. She had one arm on the back of the driver’s seat, the other was holding a cigarette. (In those day everyone smoked, even the crippled kids)
I never saw her again. I wonder what happened to her.