***50 Years Of Togetherness -In Honor Of The Class of 1964 High School Sweethearts Wherever You Are -“Written In The Stars”-Take Two

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Here is an early Valentine for those who spied their fate mates early, early in life in the early 1960s, a true marvel of the modern social world. A post-World War II coming of age world with all its own set of teen distractions and mis-directions, angsts and alienations, in the days when we did not know whether there would be a tomorrow never mind fifty years when we faced the red scare Cold War night and came ever so close to fifty minutes when that old Cuban Missile Crisis got everybody’s attention even the lovebirds who only had eyes for each other and did not know where Cuba was, or care.

Moreover survived the trials, tribulations, traumas and traps of high school romance which in comparison made staying together for fifty years easy. You know how he felt when those seventy-six other guys, hungry for love guys or maybe just hormonally-charged, were “hitting” on her and she maybe was taking the bait or so he thought in his  green-eyed world, and in his forever world once he caught a whiff of that bath soap she used that drove him crazy when she came within ten feet of him (or maybe it was a whiff of “stolen” perfume, some mother’s perfume from her bureau calculated to drive him crazy. And she had it right even then. How about reverse? How did she feel when those seventy-six girls were “hitting” on him. Yeah, he wished, she knew he was from hunger, knew that whiff of perfume (where did he ever get the notion that it was bath soap, Ivory soap or something, Jesus, wake up brother) was all she needed to set the trap, and knew, that scraggly, pitiful, ragamuffin scruff he, was not drawing eye-power from seventy-six girls not even seven. Worse though Sally telling a tale to her about how she saw him looking twice at a certain other she in Math class. Ben telling him who she was seen in the school cafeteria, Jesus, the cafeteria, talking to over lunch. And then those personal points, you know the stuff like what to do about those grabby hands of his or how she had teased him way too far one wind-swept Saturday night.  But you know he/she/they survived the tough part. Enough said.

By the way the details of this sketch are totally fictional-although any honorees are welcome to give us their real stories. The sentiment however is real, very real…

 

…who knows when or where it started. Maybe it was that first fresh-eyed glance in Mr. Forrester’s dreary English classroom looking at her until his eyes got sore, or she spying him while waiting, endlessly waiting, for the always late bus walking down the street and went weak-kneed, or he sitting forlornly on the seawall at the old beach as she walked by took a second glance, or one of a hundred other possibilities but it happened. It happened with big bang hearts or with quietly growing on each other but it happened.

He, formerly full of boasts and bravados in that mandatory Monday morning before school boys’ “lav” talkfest about who did or did not do what with whom over the weekend fell silent, would not speak her name in such bluster. (She, she in that mandatory Monday morning before school girls’ “lav” talkfest about who did or did not do what with whom just smiled, a private smile, she had her man.) And they laughed, laughed one night down at that foreboding beach in his father-borrowed car once they had settled that issue of what was, and was not, appropriate in the grabby hands/tease beyond endurance watching, as the local lore had it in North Adamsville hard by the bay, the “submarine races” saying they would stay together forever. Forever being, as such things went with most time calculated in minutes, hours, days, and weeks, maybe the next year, or until the next best thing came along            

As it turned out the next best thing was sitting right next to each of them, and so they, maybe a little fearful, maybe a little worried about whether they would last or not tied the knot (although truth to tell that knot had already been tied long before). He went off to war, school, or work and she waited and worried, worried about how they would provide for the coming children. And worry or not the children came and made their time a little easier (mostly, but that is a whole story on its own).

But there were inevitable bumps in the road, he, getting a little thicker around the waist, losing a little hair, feeling a little antsy, looked off in the distance, gave off that glazed eye look when she beckoned, and she, well, she went on an exercise regime, read more books than one would think possible about keeping him attracted as they both wondered in the night what had happened. Both separately feverishly tossing in the night with thoughts about leaving, about what one would do without the other, about where they would they go and how when they were young they had loved each other so. That fever passed. Later he more interested in Sunday afternoon football point spreads and she in shopping, shopping until she dropped, for the newest grandchild had that recurring dream. But that too passed, remembering back to mist of time fogged car window beach night pledges.        

So they, maybe mocked in a modern world where everyone is supposed to change spouses, partners, lovers with the changing seasons, spent their time together. Marked their love with the flow of time.  Made it last. 

Somewhere up in Maine, somewhere along the coast, the white-capped waves ominously splashing against other seawalls, seawalls far removed from youthful high school beach frolics, on a cold December night a woman stood nose almost pressed against a frosted window in a lonely dark room looked out with a vacant expression at the swirl. Stood there thinking about that first forever marriage gone wrong when he went chasing after a younger woman, or maybe just the idea of another woman once he felt that he had gone beyond what she had to offer. He could never commit and she would, admittedly, withdraw first sex then love when she sensed that lack, and knew, knew from her bumpy sad childhood that she needed that and so the whole thing turned to ashes. After a while thought about that second foolish marriage to that charming chameleon who had used her as a meal ticket. He had vowed commitment, maybe even tried for a while but they were so different and wiser then in love’s thickets cut him loose. She thought as well, that thought crowding out those marriage moments, of that short recent affair that had held so much promise in the first days, had the feel of written in the stars just like she wished for, felt like maybe he would be her forever man but you see he was married, married all along to some other idea and so as that first blush faded, she dismissed him out of hand, and he turned into her never man. She sighed.

Down in some Southern California town, one of those endless beach towns complete with surfers and woodies, a man who had changed companions with the seasons, pensively looked out at the moonless night, the foam-flecked ocean waves swirling against the waiting shore his sole companion. He thinking, as he often did these days, about how he had raised holy hell in his first marriage, had married out of fear, fear of being alone when the hammer of his life went down. What did he know, knowing little of love from childhood.  Blushed at the thought of that horror of a second marriage where he let his every addiction, affliction and predilection destroy whatever good instincts he had left, the wretched remnant of his search for a newer world. Left too in those hellish second marriage days his best friend lying face down with two slugs in him in some dusty back street in Sonora after a drug deal went south on them. Those two things would always be linked in flashing forward to newer sorrows he wondered if that short splendid recent affair that he had tried to make work, make work out of a different fear, a fear of being left alone in his old age when the hammer went down might not have worked out because he could not commit, could not risk the return of those addictions. He smirked as he thought about that, thought about how his whole life revolved around two women, the one that he was with at the moment and that one in his head, and in his dreams just beyond his grasp he wanted to be with. Maybe he was not built for forever, maybe.

They, we, I, stand in awe, stand in awe do you hear, of such steadfastness by those classmate sweethearts. And love, but you knew that already.