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

 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Here is an early Valentine for those who spied their fate mates early, a true marvel of the modern social world with all its teen distractions and mis-directions, and survived the trials, tribulations, traumas of high school romance which in comparison made staying together for fifty years easy. You know those seventy-six other guys hitting on her, or the reverse shes on him (yeah, he wishes). 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 just so far. You 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 last 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 foreboding beach once they settled that issue of what was, and was not, appropriate watching the “submarine races,” saying they would stay together forever. Forever being, as such things went, 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 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 there were bumps in the road, he, getting a little thicker around the waist, looked off in the distance and she, well, she went on an exercise regime 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.   

Out somewhere up in Maine, somewhere along the coast, the waves ominously splashing against other seawalls far removed from youthful high school beach frolics on a cold December night a woman stood against a frosted window in a lonely dark room looking out with a vacant expression at the swirl. Stood thinking about that first 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. Thought about that second foolish marriage to that charming chameleon who had used her as a meal ticket. Finally she thought as well of that short recent affair that had held so much promise in the first days, 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 he turned into her never man. She sighed.

Down in some Southern California town 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. Blushed at that horror of a second marriage where he let his every addiction, affliction and predilection destroy whatever good instincts he had left. 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 too 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. Maybe he was not built for forever, maybe.   

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