How I Fell in Love with Dallas

Categories: The Overserved

belmont-valentines.jpg
Roderick Pollum
The view from the Belmont.
In the romantic-comedy of your life, you'd look to the camera during your DVD commentary interview and say, "It's a story about finding love in unexpected places." And then you'd say something like, "Really, the third character is the city. It's about the places we run into each other."

But cliches are generally founded on some implicit truth. Dallas personified is the welcome tagalong on your Valentine's Day -- on all your days, really. I won't bore you with all of the options available for romantics and singletons alike on this Friday-landing holiday, but there is food and there are hotels with Champagne turndowns. There is delicious candy and office deliveries of singing telegrams.

But do your most beloved memories ever really begin, "Well, it all started with a prix fixe menu; I could choose seafood or steak"? Or does this city have something more enchanting to offer?

My first kiss was underneath the Body Flumes at the Garland Wet 'n Wild. The boy was called Chris, because all the boys seemed to be called Chris. He had a blue pager and a skateboard and insisted he was the only person who didn't like Green Day. This should have been a red flag. I have never preferred a snob. Under those slides, there was a collection of tables and potted trees, like a weird, dark, tween forest hidden within the park. The kids who smoked cigarettes would hang out close to the fence so they could toss them outside the perimeter of the park if a security guard strolled through. The kids who just watched the kids smoke would collect on and around the tables. These skateboarders were the only ones in the park who were fully dressed and I guess we didn't find that odd. Water dripped down from the slide on us, his skateboard kicked around at our ankles, we stopped and he skated off. That forest isn't there anymore, but other hidden places remain and invite us into new explorations.

West of the Dallas skyline, I did some time in Fort Worth. There was a very particular parking garage I was fond of parking at. The levels are named for animals and there are adorable illustrations to help you remember your location. But if you kept going up, all the way to the top, there was an alcove and a beautiful view of the city and security never bothered you about loitering for some reason. I found it by accident, but often I would find myself up there when I needed to relax or get away in this landlocked place. Some college milestone had brought all of my childhood best friends out to visit me and we ended up on that roof, until very late if memory serves. And drinking cheap Champagne and bad wine straight from the bottle, I am sure. The starkest part of the memory is how windy it was, how our blanket kept flipping up. I remember how it felt like despite knowing each other so well, we still had a million things to discuss and a million jokes to laugh at. I have a photo of the four of us on the top of that garage, holding hands. It took us a long time to take it -- only one of us knew how to use the self-timer.

Back in Dallas, barely of legal drinking age, a close friend was the first of us to get a loft apartment. We had all seen enough movies to know this is how we knew we'd made it. Or how Ray had made it, anyway. So many parties. So many nooks and corners of the Southside on Lamar building to find trouble and strangers and friends. Leaning out of windows, we'd yell to neighbors the apartment number of our festivities. Crushes were admitted on rooftops, frequently accidentally. Gallery shows were taken over. It was the kind of setting where you'd discover you had mutual friends. Your groups would intersect. You'd form new groups. We were all sort of forming, I guess. Unlatching and attaching to new people places.


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3 comments
kergo1spaceship
kergo1spaceship

 Holy shit, this thing rambles like one of those long Clapton guitar solo's on a live Cream album........it just wanders nowhere; I fell asleep 3 times reading this.  And the big question is, who gives a f+ck? 



______________


The 3 worst story I've ever read:


3) Eric N's story about a car in a parking lot.

2) This story.

1) The granddaddy of them all; one of the gayest pieces I've ever read; I present to you all Jackie Floyd's story about falling in love in the new Cowboy's Stadium. 

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