Searching For Andrea Cronk

St-Marks-ChurchBeen having crazy dreams. Don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’ve thought a lot about the past lately.

Just the other night, I dreamt about going to Sunday Mass at my hometown church. The Pope was presiding.

I had fallen asleep during the service and was stretched out, laying across the pew when the usher woke me up; and he told me to leave immediately! Imagine that, falling asleep while asleep, and getting thrown out of church because of it. Man, I must have been really tired.

Maybe it was a result of my having taken NyQuil™ before going to bed, trying to knock out a cold that’s been pestering me. Seems to have done the trick, thank goodness. Glad it wasn’t the flu, which is quite virulent and widespread this year in the U.S.

Chicken soup helped as well, and drinking a few glasses of orange juice throughout the day always works for me.

Back in high school, I was dating a sweet girl named Andrea Cronk. On New Year’s Eve of my sophomore year, she babysat for some family friends and invited me over ahead of time. Since the place was several towns away, rather than taking the bus, I absconded my father’s old telephone truck he had bought secondhand and used for his side business.

Putting on a fedora and sitting on a pillow to boost my small frame up for looking old enough to drive—having been short for my age at the time—I ventured over to Fort Lee, NJ, where my girlfriend was at. We had a wonderful time necking and celebrating, bringing in the new year; but both of us fell asleep and were awoken by the people for whom she was babysitting.

Rather embarrassed, happy that we both had our clothes on, I bid everyone goodnight, telling the adults I had my license and a vehicle outside to take me back home. Andrea stayed there overnight. Don’t remember why I didn’t bring her with me.

Getting back to my crazy dreams, the one last night was about the time she called me at work where I was a clerk in a drug store after school and on weekends. Andrea said goodbye, that she and her mother were moving to Ohio, leaving that day; and she would write to me when settled.

My sweetheart didn’t give me a reason why. I had asked. She said she’d explain it all in her letter, which I never received, nor heard from her again. In the dream her arms came out from both sides of the phone’s receiver and hugged me tightly for a moment before I heard the dull moaning of the dial tone, fading away.

Of all the girls I had loved, Andrea was the one, methinks, that got away. I often daydream about her, wondering what she may be doing now, probably happily married and living the high life. Who knows?

Tomorrow’s Super Bowl Sunday. The Philadelphia Eagles are facing the New England Patriots at the U.S. Bank Stadium in Minneapolis, MN. Here’s hoping our hometown heroes bring the Vince Lombardi Trophy back with them when they return.

Fly, Eagles, Fly!


Go Birds!

About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at
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