Saturday Night Fever
Karyn Planett
Priest Valley, California 2012
“Stop! Turn around,” I screamed to Geoff. “What was that? Is that what I think it is … a rugged old oak draped with a rainbow of panties and bras?”
“No, I want to get home,” he whined.
I said, “OK, just stop and I’ll walk back … this is too good to miss.”
And too-good-to-miss it was. Like the ribbons on a five-star general’s chest, this towering tree was a makeshift temple to young love, or lust as the case may be. Right in Steinbeck country, east of King City, this shrine to Saturday night fever was festooned with not only Victoria’s Secret but a whole host of other secrets, as well.
I’m imagining names like Tanya and Junior. And the bras even had the girls’ names and the date of their date written on them in indelible marker so a winter’s rain could never erase the testimony to their summer love.