I Used To Love Her*

I corresponded with a few classmates from the good ol’ Class of 1991, attended part of the reunion festivities, and then stopped caring. “Best time of my life” my foot. I had a better time on graduation night than I had my entire high-school career. Ever since that windy Texas May evening, my time on Earth has only gotten better.

Well, I clicked the link this time to see if anyone from my class had signed up. Only one girl/woman had, which was cool to see she was still kicking. Then I did a search for an old friend at another high school.

He and I went back to the 8th grade. For a time, we were the best of friends. We shared similar tastes in music, and we both enjoyed bicycling the countryside. I’d learn later we shared another taste that would bring pain to my puny manboy existence.

He moved a few towns over and started attending another school. We still talked on the phone and hung out on weekends, often meeting halfway of the 20 miles between our houses by bicycle (how Lance Armstrongish of us). He invited me to one of his high school’s football games to introduce me to a friend. That friend happened to be her, the girl with whom I’d become entangled in my first “real” puppy love relationship. We were both 15, and after our meeting both told some lies that would never really surface until much much later.

My buddy was setting up his two best friends – me and her – as a happy matchmaker. I thought she was pretty enough, interesting to talk to if not someone who did most of the talking. I didn’t care enough about politics to mind the fact she was a flaming liberal. Most of my dating life had been minimal, made even more minimal by my McJob. Most of my entanglements before I met her and after during those two years slinging burgers were sparked by happenings beneath those Golden Arches (astute readers will remember my tale of a meat-freezer tryst, which happened after this relationship was long over).

Get to the point, T-bone! OK, I will.

Basically, we “dated” for six months. We attended separate schools, but we’d talk on the phone each night, and see each other one or both days during the weekend. We’d go to the movies, having to be driven by parents because both of us were driver’s license-less. Then my “friend” decided he was falling for her and kept pressuring her to dump me. She did so one day, over the phone, telling me there was someone else. I knew exactly who that someone else was.

Yeah, it hurt. We had talked about love; she was the first one to say “I love you” and then said it a lot before the end. I should have seen it coming, but I was blinded, young, ignorant. If you can’t be with the one you say you love, love the one you’re with. So I lost a girlfriend – my first “real” one – and my best friend, all in one telephone call. The over-the-phone breakup bothers me more today than it did then (Did those six months mean nothing?). Goodbye kisses are just promises broken with silent lips anyhow, so it was probably for the best that it was over the phone.

Eight months later, she starts calling my house. My parents give me every message from her, but I don’t feel like calling her back. I remember sitting on one of the barstools in the kitchen a few weeks after her barrage of calls began, just talking to my mom. The phone rang. I picked it up. It was her. My mom told me later that she could tell by my face who it was.

She tells me the two of them fought for the eight months they dated – two months longer than our seemingly pleasant relationship – and she wanted to reconnect with me. I was cordially cold, telling her I was over her in the first week (a lie I had to tell myself as well as her). She said all she ever did since that second breakup was hang out with girlfriends. She wanted to know if she could call me sometime, and maybe hang out or something. I said sure, knowing that if it were to happen she’d have to do the asking. We hung up cordially, and it was the last time we spoke.

I talked to and saw my former best friend a few times after that. He would usually call me or show up at my house on his birthday, which was a little odd. Once, while we were both in college, he stopped by with a female friend in tow. I think he was trying to present her as his girlfriend, but she wasn’t acting the part. He wanted to impress me. I think my shiny red BMW parked out front impressed him. We parted as friends; he left a business card and told me to call him. Never really found the time. It was not an intentional snub; I’d moved on.

The two of them graduated the same year from their high school. After finding his name on classmates.com, I scrolled down a few pages to see if she was listed. There she was – having signed up just this year – a “new 2004” next to her name. I clicked on the “more information” button. Immediately I was told about the wonders of having a Gold Membership, which would provide me access to anyone’s profile, photos and e-mail addresses for the going rate. I was just a few clicks away from contacting her. Only she now was listed with a different last name.

I always thought of her as a bohemian singleton living in some metropolitan area, driving a beat-up Honda Civic with anti-war stickers and pleas to save whales and wombats plastered on the back glass. But I’ve changed a lot since being 15, having doubled in age and experience (and not quite doubling in wisdom). Only natural that she has, too. Knowing she is married – something as wet-behind-the-ears teens we had joked about doing together – well ...

It made me smile. And I hope she is truly happy. I know I am.

To every thing a reason, to every love and life a season.
To live without love is worse than treason.