A letter to the one who gave me the “going steady” ring shown on my Sunday Sundries post.
“Hello to you. That isn’t a photo of my ring, only a similar one. When I decided to write you, I went to get the ring you gave me when I was fifteen so I could make a photo. It wasn’t where it should have been. It wasn’t in the only other place it could have been. It makes me really sad that I can’t find it. It’s something I’ve cherished for decades.
I remember the first time I saw you. We were at school. Seventh grade for me. Eighth grade for you. You were with an eighth grade girl, your girlfriend, and she stopped to talk to me because she knew me from church. I was so shy and trying to navigate being in junior high, but I do remember thinking how nice both of you were to talk to me, a younger kid. Seventh graders were on the lowest rung of a school that had grades seven through twelve. My sister was a senior that year, maybe the first time we’d attended the same school.
In time, you and [name redacted] broke up, and maybe you had another girlfriend or two before you turned your attention on me. It was the way of things at that age–people pairing up and breaking up as we explored this boy-girl thing being modeled for us by older kids. It wasn’t too serious, and I don’t even remember when or why it ended. I didn’t have a broken heart as we both continued the dating rituals of two people who really didn’t understand we were still children.
The summer after eighth grade, Lynne and I were out one night ‘ratting the streets’ as my mother called it, when we ran into you and one of your guy friends. Somehow, over time, we coalesced into a group with several other people (including another of your friends, Riley). I don’t think any of us were ‘dating.’ Some of us were reading The Hobbit, and that’s when Riley began to refer to himself as Frodo and imagined adventures for all of us readers. In order for me to be eligible to go on summer night adventures with ‘hobbits,’ he changed Merry into a female. From then on, it remained one of his names for me.
I’m sure you and I flirted–everybody flirted with everyone. Over time, you and I became an official couple, definitely a while before my fifteenth birthday party at Lynne’s house. There’s a poster hanging on the wall of the room where I’m writing this, signed by all of you, yours in big sloping letters that say, ‘Love always’ and your name.
We began a kind of dance that would take us through at least three years together. We would break up, usually because some other girl caught your eye. Our friends couldn’t understand why I always agreed to get back together. It drove Riley nuts, and probably Lynne, too. I’m sure I cried plenty of tears over you–I was a moody teenager!–but I also knew this, even then. I preferred to go through an honest breakup than be cheated on and lied to. You gave me that much respect.
I’m not sure how many times that pattern repeated, but I remember at least two of your girlfriends contacted me. One said in a phone call, ‘He’s still hung up on you. He always talks about you. Please stay away from him.’ Which was funny, because by then, my parents had enrolled me in a different school (sophomore year, and yes, it was to get me away from you and friends they thought were a bad influence–I was really just being an adolescent girl) and I wasn’t old enough to drive, though you were. I had no way to pursue you, even if I’d been so inclined. I was going through a lot–I hadn’t wanted to change schools. I missed my friends, whose lives were going on without me. I missed you–you, Riley, Lynne, and I had been in the same English class the first six weeks of sophomore year before I transferred. I felt sick inside almost every day about the pending separation from all of you.
I was rebellious and unhappy in our new house, different small town, different school. So when you were between girlfriends and came to hang out with me, I was glad of the company. Another of your ex-girlfriends took me on a drive one night. She talked about how much she loved you and asked me how she could hang on to you. I seemed like the wrong person to advise her. As we were driving around–she was probably taking roads where she thought we might run into you–that actually happened. You and Riley ended up in your car behind us, and Riley said, ‘That’s Becky with [her name],’ and you argued there was no way; we didn’t know each other. When Riley told me this later, I asked how he could possibly have guessed I was in the passenger seat. ‘You propped your arm on the back of your seat and buried your hand in your hair. You always ride that way.’
Oh, that endless year. You came back. Left. Came back. Then there was a night I’ve written about on this site before, when Riley and his girlfriend took care of me after a football game when you stood me up. That wasn’t the last time I cried over you, but it was when I knew I had to make changes. I needed to accept that I had two more years before graduation. I needed to adapt to my new school, make friends, and find some kind of life for myself that wasn’t so lonely. (I must add here, because I think we’ve both been teachers at different times in our lives, that the teachers at my new school were the people who kept me from going crazy. I had some great ones.)
And so… you continued your serial girl-friending. And my junior year, I finally began dating someone else. Four years later I would marry him when we were college juniors. I’m not really sure when you married your first wife.
I remember the last time I saw you. It was maybe twenty years later, and Lynne, her son, and I were flying from Houston to Alabama for some family thing (her family). I was on my second marriage (to Tom–still married!), and I think you were divorced by then, but I can’t remember if you’d already remarried (I think you’re married now and assume she’s your second wife).
We were flying Southwest, and touched down in New Orleans for some people to disembark, others to board, before we resumed the flight to Birmingham. I looked up and saw you walking down the aisle toward me. Our eyes met. Yours widened. We both smiled. Seating was rearranged so that you and I could sit together for the flight. I can’t think of any way it could have gone better. We caught each other up. We talked about politics (we were aligned). I’m sure we talked about our jobs and shared details about our personal lives, but I can’t remember all the conversation. Just that I couldn’t have written one that made me happier. It was comfortable, friendly, sweet. I had then, and continue to have, only the greatest affection for you. You’re a good memory. I have so many visual memories of your expressions, the way you looked at me, the ways you made me feel special. I’m glad you were my first love. I hope you’ve been happy in your work (I think you’re retired now) and your personal life. I wish you all the best. Always.–Becky”
I love these and put together a poem in my Inspire journal (all its pages are related in some way to the Neverending Saga and its characters). I finished that page today. I’m glad I did something creative to end the week, because today (March 8) is Riley’s birthday. One of the ways to resist, overcome, and stay steady when the world is full of chaos, confusion, conflict, and catastrophe, is a far more important “C” word: CREATE. I know Riley would be the first to agree with this. His life was often a series of struggles, and that’s when he sat at the piano or picked up a guitar and turned it all into music and lyrics. And even if the world, or at least some part of the world, will never acknowledge this, humanity does need art and find it healing. Sometimes it feels like the real division in the world is between haters and healers. I’ve learned a lot about that in the last couple of months.
I pulled out all the tiles from my Magnetic Poetry® Wood Words box. From the moment I began to assemble my poem from among them, I knew exactly who and what inspired it. When I placed a specific word, I also knew what photo from my archives I hoped to find to share with the finished poem.
Today is the anniversary of the date Riley died in 2008. The L.A. fires and their consequences have kept me emotional for the last week already, so this year, Riley’s loss feels a little sharper. The other night, Tom and I watched The Last Waltz, which I haven’t seen probably since the late seventies, when it was released. I still remembered the songs, the performers (band members and musical guests), and some of the conversations with members of The Band as they talked about how the concert (the focus of the film, as directed by Martin Scorsese) was bringing to an end their sixteen years of performing on the road.
Title is a Beatles lyric. Took my most recent coloring page (started last night; finished this morning) from this book. If I tell you the book’s one of my favorites, you’ll probably roll your eyes and think, They’re all your favorites, but it’s not true. There are a whole stack of coloring books I rarely open, so you see mostly coloring pages from my favorites. And I’ll offer again: come up with a coloring page theme or something you’d like to see colored, and I can probably find it on my shelf.
