Foreigner’s Double Vision was playing on the turntable. I didn’t know the words. The record belonged to my younger, way cooler, sister. She went to see The Scorpions and Boston in arenas and I was a theatre nerd.

I knew the words that linked Rogers to Hammerstein and Hart, but singing show tunes on the high school stage made for many solo weekends. Mark didn’t act, but he did run the follow spot and the light board.

He lit me up in more than one way.

Christmas break of 1978 we were sitting alone in mom’s apartment. She worked three jobs, even at the holidays. Cool sis was “out.” I was snuggling close to Mark by the glow of candles and the sprig of mistletoe. Mom wasn’t worried. She knew I was a nerd.

It was the year of the Russian oil embargo. Mom wouldn’t let us set the thermostat above 60. I buried myself in Mark’s arms and waited for my kiss. My second-hand beige leather coat grunted.

“Um, you kinda feel like a cold cow.” He said.

Foreigner sang, “I’m hot blooded, hot-blooded.”