... that is, of a perfect love, are not really that interesting to tell, and definitely not interesting for others to hear. But they're wonderful to experience.
What about other stories? In my twenties, I filled several journals (diaries for men) with my difficulties in finding a love, starting at the point where my college relationship was beginning to crumble. The first entry name-checks her, then goes right into my short-lived fascination with a spectacled brunette named Karri who wrote for a rival newspaper in the area and had no interest in me. There's proof of a love going wrong for you.
But I did love the girl from college, and I was very scared of facing the real world without her being involved in some way. Over the course of that first year after graduation, we stayed together (albeit 300 miles apart) for six months, had a "you better go home" fight that started during sex, didn't speak for a week, had a reconcilement over the phone, went through several months of tip-toeing on my part and wooing another on hers, and broke up at the end of the summer, when she promptly started dating and living with my senior year roommate. Seeing her sit on his lap at a New Year's party gave me such a pain, but I got over her just in time to spend one last St. Patrick's night together, which undid the getting over her for several more years. Sure, I dated others during that time, but I had a very hard time giving up hope of a permanent reunion.
Of course, it didn't happen. Last I read, Pam married the guy she was dating at the time of St. Patrick's Day, 1995, and shares a dental office with him. She hyphenated her name, which looks tacky on so many levels. No clue if they have children, but I suspect they do, like nearly every other couple my age does. I stay away from the alumni mags, mostly because I want to stay away from her in every way possible.
After our St. Patrick's fling, where she said nice things about the guy (named Jud, I believe), she also reminisced about how great we were as a couple, how our love was something she thought "few people could ever hope to experience," how great it would be if we grew old together, and how she'd be available when school was done in a little over two years. She got over those feelings - that night was the last time I ever saw her - and by the time I met Margie four-and-a-half years later, I was fine with the change of heart. But it took a lot longer for me to close the door on her than it should've taken.
After that last night together, she stayed down in Alton and I stayed in Batavia, writing her several times to keep me in her heart, and when I called to ask why she hadn't been writing back, she mentioned that she hadn't gotten any letters and that Jud had been picking up the mail. I responded with a certified letter and a promise to write every week, and after half-a-dozen letters that never merited a response, I wrote one final letter which said I'd stop now because, well, why bother.
My last contact with her was a request for her to join me at Roger and Margret's wedding reception. She wanted to go, but not with me. I can still hear her quick "bye" and hang-up of the phone. When I was in high school, I would call girls that I had no business of calling, and I often heard that bye-click, always accompanied with belittlement. It was so hard to experience that one more time, coming from the girl with whom I shared a love I had never shared before.
But I survived it. Walking in the rain after the reception was the hardest moment of my life, yet I knew it would get better from that point. I could and would make it better, and I deserved to have better moments from then on.
There were two letters I wrote to Pam that were never sent. One was possibly the greatest love letter I ever wrote, which had great prose and, since it was written while we were no longer a couple, shouldn't have been sent anyway. The other one that stayed with me was the last letter ever wrote to her. It was much shorter and said that she threw away a great romance and that she'll regret it for the rest of her life.
I wonder. She was dating the guy she would eventually marry, yet was swooning over me, an old flame, making future promises to wait for me and going back for another good-night kiss when I didn't kiss her back the first time. Hm. Perhaps I should've written her a letter that detailed every moment of that night, turning Jud into Pandora once he opened it. If I were a vengeful man, I suppose I could still make him uncomfortable.
For me, as soon as I met Margie, I knew how great she was. I didn't even think I had a chance for her love, considering her the archetype of the girl with whom I wanted to share a lifetime. Once it was apparent that Margie herself could be the one, I've never regretted dedicating my life to her. Ever. I can say this with complete honesty; Pam can't. Pretty cool, eh? (heh heh)
Anyway, I didn't plan on writing about Pam here. I wanted to write about writing about Pam, or rather, about all the journal entries I made that were written out of anguish and desperation. I would try to come up with a big analogy and turn it into a story, and I think that for Pam, I had one sketched out about a dolphin and a fish. It would be illustrated (based on a well-illustrated children's book involving fish) and give a message to her: I was the one for her and I'd still be available when she was ready to take me back. Or something to that effect. I'm happy to say the offer hasn't been valid for quite some time. I must've loved the big analogy-symbolism-story idea, as I semi-wrote another one for Bridget, one of the many short romances that, in retrospect, didn't deserve the paper on which such saving throws were planned.
Around this time, I was in a bookstore and a pretty blonde girl was offering me help. I caught her name (Laura), found out somehow that she liked turtles, and wanted to gauge her interest in me. Deciding that a trial run of a book-with-a-purpose was in order, I made up a little book about a turtle that went to a store and met another turtle, to whom he was attracted. But he didn't know how to offer his heart to her, so he did it by making a book. The story within a story was the legit one. "Hi, Laura, I'm Dave. Here's my number, if you'd like to..." and so on. It only took a few hours to create, but I was pleased with it. I delivered it to the store and, since Laura wasn't there, asked that it be given to her. (As long as no one named Jud was working there, I could feel pretty good that the gift would find its intended recipient.)
She did call me back, thankfully, and we talked on the phone for an hour. I learned that she was fond of her beat-up car, which had the name of Carlos. (Wow, I hadn't recollected that in 15 years, but I think it was Carlos. Or am I mixing up her last name of Carl with the word "car" and my fondness for a certain baseball pitcher that will likely be an ex-Cub soon? I digress.) It seemed to me at the time that she'd be interested enough to call again. But she never did, and I may have tried calling her back once to no avail. Romance over. Did nothing else happen because she was 17 or so and wasn't into dating a 23 or so year-old? Or did she give a courtesy call and leave it at that? Or was I really just a big joke to her, a prime candidate for another round of hurled tomatoes? It would become another mystery, one that would be supplemented with self-doubt, of which I've usually carried with me too close to the heart.
I started working at a small radio station within a year of the book, and though there weren't any love prospects working at the station, a couple of girls would clean the place after hours, and one of them had a nice figure and seemed to like me. Paula and I made out in the family room once and maybe kissed during a chance meeting in a Denny's parking lot another time. Just as well that we didn't have sex, as it may have been statutory rape. Anyway, it's not really worth mentioning here but for one shared moment of her recent past. I may have wanted to impress her with my romantic abilities - likely a failed ploy to get in her pants - and told her about this little book I made for a girl named Laura who worked at a bookstore in Aurora. Sure enough, Paula and Laura had both been in the same choir at a high school in Big Rock, far west of Aurora and Batavia. As it turns out, Laura was really floored and flattered by what I had done, finding great joy from the gift and sharing it with others during one choir practice. I had made her day. She was on cloud nine because of me for a little while.
I rather like that story. It didn't get me anywhere with Laura or Paula, but it got me a little closer to myself, allowing me to recognize my ability to love and make others happy.
It really bugs me that I can't create such wonderful mementos for Margie. I think it's because I'm no longer new to love and/or desperate for love. I wrote a great love letter to Cassi, a four-month girl shortly before Margie that wasn't really a good match for me and ended up hurting me terribly. In no way did she deserve such a great letter. She had death-breath and the biggest growth of pubic hair I ever saw. Lack of grooming habits aside, she was okay, just a girl when I didn't have one, a reminder of the pain of my failed college romance when was gone. She didn't deserve any great words of love from me. The only one that deserves such written keepsakes of love met me shortly after I stopped writing on a daily basis.
Perhaps the reason why I started this blog was to get back to writing more, expressing my life in words, so as to share it with the one that still has my heart in her pocket.
And I know that this one post isn't the love letter you deserve, but I'm working on it with all the love I have for you.
Arf.
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