Bottled Water and Other Lost Loves

I suppose if we live long enough, at some point in our lives, we reflect on the past and what might have been or what could have been different if we had made different choices in our youth? When we are young they are not choices as much as every day decisions and in the daily humdrum of life we hardly take note. It is only when age matures us that we see where we are and where we might have been.  This is a story of what might have been. This is the one true regret of my life and how it affected me.



This all starts back around 1970 or so. I had been back from Vietnam for a little over a year.  I was living at home but moved out, within the year, and found an apartment. My family, such as it was, disturbed me to the point that I had to get out just to maintain my sanity. My father was a border line alcoholic, my mother was too weak to stand up to him and my younger brother was trying to follow in father's foot steps. A stronger person may have been able to tolerate the arguments and situations, but I decided that moving out was the best thing for me.



I'd be a rich man today; if I had a nickel for every time Pop came home drunk at 10 or 11 o'clock and raised hell because there was nothing to eat (oyster stew was his food of choice when he was drunk).  I never developed a taste for it. I wonder why?



We always celebrated Christmas on the evening of Christmas Eve.  We would go to my maternal grand parent’s house and exchange presents. I can remember maybe 2 Christmas', out the first 20 years of my life, that weren't ruined by him coming home late, soused to the gills and in a pissy mood after going to a bar with his bar sop friends. He would smell of stale beer and tobacco.  When I was very little, 7 or 8, he would love to get me in his grasp and rub his smelly 5 o'clock shadow against my cheeks. I hated it!  As I got older that stopped of course but his general behavior remained the same in all other respects. Then there were the rare occasions when he would come home drunk and particularly argumentative. After working himself into a rage he would storm into the bedroom and open the top drawer of the dresser.  That is where he kept the German Luger that he brought back from his war. He’d come out waving it and yelling "I'll kill us all”. What an ass!



He was also very critical of others.  When I was 14 or so I had a crush on a girl at school but he, of course, thought her father was a “hard nut to crack" as he put it. In fact he had a hard time finding anything good in most of my friends. His intolerance of others was only surpassed by his personal vanity and distain for anyone not of the 'beautiful people' category. To this day I have never met another person so narcissistic. I decided that moving out was best for me. I was embarrassed by the disfunctionality and disgusted by his intolerance.



I found a nice apartment, had a good job as a computer tech, and settled into the single scene.



As a child I was very sensitive and also somewhat gifted in that I could draw quite well from a very young age.  I also developed a talent in music and taught myself the piano.  Mostly play by ear but I could read music moderately well.

I started taking a correspondence course in art and then eventually started classes at the local Junior Collage. My drawing table went with me to the apartment and I set it up in place of where the dinner table would have gone.



I made the rounds to the local singles bars, made a few new friends, but of course at the age of 25 the most important thing on my mind was finding Miss Right, or at least getting lucky from time to time.



The 'getting Lucky' routine had average success and I bounced in and out of relationships for a couple years nothing really serious.



In 1972 I decided to get me a convertible car since the talk in the news at that time was that convertibles were a thing of the past.  The auto companies were going to stop making them. I found a beautiful dark green Olds Cutlass and snatched it up. I still have that car. Just recently had the paint refreshed and started driving it again, but I digress.



It was the spring of 1973 I think. Early spring....February or March. I was at a local gin mill one evening, standing at the bar talking with a guy who was in my high school class some 10 years before.



Quite unexpectedly we became engaged in conversation with a young perky blonde girl.  She was about 5' 4", blonde hair, 110 lb soaking wet.  She was as cute as a bug and very easy to talk to. I don't remember what, exactly, was said but I do remember being enthralled with her. After a few minutes she said she had to leave.  It seems she was with friends and had other commitments that evening but she promised that she would see us again. I was very disappointed that she could not stay.  She was the first girl in a long time that I felt a link to...albeit a very brief encounter.



I figured that would be the last we ever saw of her and as the weeks passed I had more or less forgotten about her.



Then one evening, as I was sitting and talking with friends at that same "Gin Mill", someone.... some female someone,.... passed by me touching my shoulder and said "Hi!" in a most friendly and engaging manner. At first I was taken back and didn't really know who she was but at the urging of my friends I went over to her table and introduced myself to her.  Her name was Debbie . She then explained that we had met before....some months earlier and I remembered the girl at the bar that I was so taken with.



We talked and danced a couple dances....slow dances...very nice, tender, slow dances.  I was fast becoming smitten with this jewel.



She asked if I was free the following weekend and if I would accompany her to the wedding of a friend, in St. Louis.  I said I would and we then made arrangements with her friends for me to take her home that night so I would know where she lived.



I spoke to her via phone during the week prior to the wedding, making arrangements and setting times. The week end came and I was very excited to be driving out to New Baden to pick her up.  When she came to the door she was the most beautiful vision of loveliness I had ever seen. She was wearing a formal (she may have been in the wedding party) and I remember that I was over powered by her loveliness.



I remember that we became held up in traffic on the Popular Street Bridge and the Cutlass started to over heat.  It was one of those typical Midwest, humid, hotter than blazes summer afternoons and I had the top up and the air conditioner on. There was a ball game that afternoon and the traffic was at a stand still on the bridge. I don't remember exactly where we were headed but I had worked in St. Louis until just recently and knew my way around so I pulled out of the stand still traffic and took RT40 west. The Cutlass cooled down soon after we started moving again and we made the wedding on time.



The wedding was a Catholic wedding.  The church was not air conditioned. I smoked in those days and I was dying to get outside and catch a breath of air and have a smoke.



After the wedding ceremony I remember we talked with the newly wed couple out side of the church. I don’t' think we stayed long and I don't remember going to the reception.  In fact the remainder of that evening has been lost to the ages.



We started dating and seeing each other on a regular basis, after that.  The next week end we took in a show and had supper at a local restaurant. Afterward we went back to my place. She asked if she could stay the night and of course I said yes. We wore ourselves out making love and finally fell asleep around midnight.



The next morning I awoke before her.  I remember waking up and being aware that she was next to me.  I turned slowly and watched her as she slept, so beautiful, so peaceful and content. I remember thinking to myself, "Is this the girl I will marry and spend the rest of my life with?”...”Time will tell."



Finally I could stand it no longer.  I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.  She opened her eyes and smiled that wonder smile of hers and gave me a big hug! We stayed interlocked that way for several minutes, enjoying the closeness and each others' warmth.



The rest of that summer we were together, everywhere.  We went on a float trip with people we knew from the bars, we went camping to a Historical Re-enactment at Grand Tower, IL. we went to another wedding up north in Illinois ( I think it was around Bloomington?) and I got stinking drunk.



We were pretty much inseparable!



As we became more comfortable with one another I learned that she had a sister.  They were twins but not identical twins.  Sister's name was Diane.  She was married and had a baby, a few months old. I actually met Diane and her husband one evening when I went to pick up Deb.  It was one of those "Hi! Nice to meet you! Got’ a run!" kind of introductions. She also had several older brothers, who I never meet and a younger brother whose name escapes me now.  Walter, Warren, William?  I just don't remember.



What is significant about this, however; is that she did not seem particularly close to her sister. I remember thinking that perhaps she was jealous of the fact that Diane was married and had already started a family? This became more noticeable as we continued to see each other and become involved with other people. She fussed over childern, especially babies when ever possible.



As the summer wore on we went to events like the Ice Capades and were invited to other friends homes for supper.  She came over to my apartment one week end and fixed supper for us.  Chicken Parmesan I believe?  I think I cracked a bottle of wine. It was very good.....she was a good cook.  Probably is even a better cook now. We ate off of the coffee table because I didn't have a dinner table, the drawing table taking its place.



She invited me out to her folks for Sunday dinner. Her father grilled some chicken and she made the side dishes and deserts. It was all very good and I enjoyed her parents very much but I had the distinct feeling that they (her parents) thought she was trying too hard to be the perfect little home maker, trying too hard to impress me.



About this time I started hearing those 3 little words, creep into the vocabulary; "I love you!". It was a surprise, seeing that we had only known each other for a few months. I knew that I thought more of her than anyone else, that we were comfortable with each other and enjoyed each others' company but this didn't feel like Love.......not what I thought Love felt like, anyway. I couldn't reciprocate.....I really felt that this was too soon to be so certain and yet, looking back on it...........?



That fall I was slated to go to Phoenix for some training.  The company I worked for had a training facility in Phoenix and we would be sent there every couple years to be retrained or trained on something new. It was a 2 month stint this time.  She asked me if she could go with along with me. That would have been impossible. This was 1973.....men still wore suits to work on a daily basis.  Corporate America was still in the conservative mode, even though we had just passed through a very turbulent decade with strong liberal overtones.  Taking a girl friend along on this trip would have raised eyebrows. In other words company policy would accept a wife going along but a girl friend???  It was not a good idea on many levels but I'm sure she didn't see it that way. In retrospect I wish I had taken her.



I think I called her once while I was out there.  She didn't seem all that pleased to hear from me. I asked what was wrong and she just said we would talk about it when I got back.



When I finally DID get back I saw her soon afterward. Apparently she had been seeing other men and things were not working out the way she had hoped. It seemed to me that she was in too much of a hurry. That she was too desperate to be married and start that family. Our relationship seems to have cooled after that trip to Phoenix. I remember thinking that maybe this was best?  Maybe she would slow down a bit?  Maybe she just needed to be on her own for a little while so she could see things more clearly?



I'm not sure if it was this part of our relationship or not but I distinctly remembering being with her at a restaurant, "The Hitching Post" was its name.  A rustic place with a great old fashioned bar area and nice little country decor restaurant. It's gone now.  It burned down in the '70's. We were there for supper and the time frame seems to have been between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I remember her asking me, "When will I meet your parents?"  Ah yes, my parents....my dysfunctional parents. I dodged the question. I wish I could have discussed it with her instead of dodging it but at that time in my life it was not possible. I had not come to terms with the situation myself and I could not expect her to understand, though I probably gave her too little credit. If she really did love me then she would have understood.  I was not mature enough to see that.



Christmas came and went.  Some time the following spring, she came to me in tears.  Her mother was in the hospital.  A heart condition I think.  She asked if she could stay with me, over night, rather than drive the 15 miles back to New Baden, her home town. Of course I said she could. The following day I asked if she wanted me to go with her to the hospital but she said I didn't have to. I would have felt very much like an outsider, not having met the older brothers or any other of the local family members but I would have gone if she had given me the slightest hint that she wanted me to.



Again, I had not seen her or been with her for several weeks when one day she showed up on my door step.  She was having trouble with one of the men she had been dating. It seemed like this was her 'safe haven' when things were getting her down.  Or, was she trying to make me jealous or even feel sorry for her? Was this all a ploy to get me to the alter? A lot of things passed through my mind. Unfortunately I did not know how to 'talk' about these things with her. It's strange, in my old age I have become a great communicator.  I find discussions very stimulating and can talk about most anything with any body.



Another period of weeks passed after that and she showed up at my door once more. This time she came by to tell me that she joined the Air Force.  "The Air Force?", I said. "Yes...I will be leaving in a week." This was to be one last fling before she went away. And one last chance for me to say I would marry her. As we began our intimate encounter she advised me that she was no longer on the "pill". That should have sent a very strong signal to me. I should have realized that this was my last chance to have things my way. It was now or never for us. But, with the hormones running wild and in the heat of passion, the sex was the only thing on my mind.



After the heavy breathing stopped and we were relaxing in the living room; I was on the floor, in front of the coffee table, putting on my shoes, and she was sitting on the couch nearest me, she asked me, " Are you ever going to get married?"



A thousand thoughts and responses flashed through my mind between the asking of that question and my response. Yes, I did want to get married.  I did want to start a family. I also wanted my biological family to stop being an embarrassment to me and I wanted Debbie to slow down. Of all the things I could have said to answer her, I replied, "I don't have time for that right now!".  Aggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! What a ridiculous, cruel statement.  Even as I spoke those words I thought, "Did I really just say that?" It was as though I was watching someone else play out this conversation. And yet, what could I say in response to her question?  She has committed herself to four years in the Air force.  If I told her I would marry her today, she would still have that commitment.



She left soon after that. I walked her to her car.  Actually it was her fathers old white Chevy.  She had sold her car in preparation for enlisting in the Air Force. I opened the door for her and she got in and rolled down the window.  As I stood there next to the vehicle she looked up at me and asked if I would write to her and I smiled and said I would, though I don't think she believed me.



She backed out of the parking spot and drove away.  As I stood there watching her leave, I was over come by a sinking feeling. I remember thinking that this is the last time I would ever see her and I didn't like that. Was I really in love with this girl? I almost called out to her, "Wait!"  "Come back!" "Let's talk a bit."  There were things I wanted to say. But I didn't.  I just stood there and watched her drive away.



The day was gloomy.  Not cold or rainy but over cast and very dreary.  I walked back in side and now the apartment seemed suddenly cold and empty.  Where, just a few minutes earlier, two people were fondly embracing, happy to be in each others arms, now there was emptiness, loneliness.



I paced the floor incessantly.  I reached for the phone several times and each time I had an excuse why I should not call her. First it was too soon.  She has not had time to get home yet.  Then it was around supper time and I didn't want to interrupt the meal.  Then I guessed that she might be out with friends since she would be leaving in a few days.  As day turned into night I realized that I did not have, or could not find, the phone number to her parent’s home in New Baden.  I could call information....no wait, what was her father's name.....Alvin, Edward.....????? I don't remember!!



Why did I not know these emotions previously in our relationship? Was I really in love with her or was this just the emotional reaction to possibly loosing a very good friend? Did I become too complacent in this relationship? Did I feel too comfortable the way things were? Did I expect her to always be there? Was it all too easy in the beginning?



I started to get in my car and drive out there to her home but before I did I had rationalized that this was just me over reacting.  My emotional side always did run hot and cold.  Maybe I was over reacting to this situation? Maybe this was really a good thing.  Four years in the Air Force would give her time to settle down. She could meet new people, see something of the world and broaden her perspectives so to speak. We could see each other when she came home on week ends.  She may even be stationed at the local air base so that would be like she never really left. At the very least, she would not do anything brash until I heard from her......right?



Days turned into weeks and weeks into months as I waited to hear from her, waited for her letter and a return address so I could send my letter to her. I had started a letter to her in preparation for this.  I had told her many of things that I have written here.  It seems that I was always better at writing things out than speaking them so this was my way of explaining. My family situation was something we both would have to come to terms with but suddenly, as I composed this letter to her, over a period of days and weeks, I had adopted a more mature and realistic attitude toward that part of my life.



I had been dating other women, occasionally, over the past few months. The situation with Deb and her urgency had caused me to re-evaluate our situation. I was not sure of my feelings to extent that she was, or appeared to be. I didn't date any of these women more than twice.  They were dates of convenience more than anything. I think I was trying to find myself, to see if this thing with Deb was more than a sincere friendship or even just lust. Her announcement that she had joined the Air force was a shock to me. Possibly, this was the first real threat to me that she had posed? The other men she had seen, when I started paying less attention to her, apparently didn't scare me. This Air force thing did! That and the fact that she told me she was off the 'pill'. That really concerned me.  She gave the impression of wanting get pregnant in the worst way, so to speak, at any cost!



While I was waiting for Deb to send me a letter and give me her new address I may have seen other women but I really don't remember. Obviously if I did they did not make an impression on me. I think I mostly just waited for her letter.



The weeks passed slowly, at first. I knew from my personal experience with the military that the first few months would be quite hectic.  First there was basic training which involved getting everything and learning everything that would get you by in a basic sense, in the military environment. After 'Basic', she would go to a training base to learn the job duties she would be doing for the Air force throughout her enlistment. This alone would take several months and then she would receive an assignment to some base or facility. With all that was new I did not expect a letter for a while.



Summer turned into fall and I was patiently waiting, still. Then one day, when I came home from work, I opened the mailbox and immediately saw a pastel letter size envelope among the bulk of junk mail stuffed in the box. I pulled that envelope out, anxious to see if it was from Deb. My heart was jumping. I turned the envelope over to make sure it was addressed to me. It was not uncommon to get someone else’s mail at this apartment complex.  Yes, there was my name, but wait.....the return address........"Amn. Deb Sxxxx"! That was not Deb's name.....I quickly checked the address again.....yes it was addressed to me.  Is this someone else I know....a Debbie from work ( I had worked on the local air base for the previous couple years so I knew many Airmen)? No, I do not know anyone by that name. Slowly my heart started to sink.......I now became reluctant to open the letter. My anxious excitement had turned to fear.



I removed the rest on the mail from the box, mostly bills and junk mail, and slowly walked to the apartment door. I went inside, closing the door quietly behind me. It was as though I was in slow motion. As much as I wanted to hear from Deb I feared what was written in this letter. It was as though I wanted to postpone reading it for fear of what it said. Perhaps more accurately for fear of what it would do to me.



I laid the regular mail on the kitchen counter and sat down at the drawing table. My unfinished letter to her lay in front of me. I sat there and stared at Deb's letter for a long time. The faintly scented stationary reminding me of the times we were together. Finally I mustered the courage to open it. I raced through the usual greeting and the "I've been very busy" part and then, there it was. "We were married in a small town in Southern Illinois. It was a civil ceremony. My parents were there."...."He's from Maine and a lot like you. He likes the outdoors."



My heart sank.......I was crushed.........I felt devastated! I closed my eyes and lay my head back, my arms limp on either side of the chair. The letter slipped from my fingers. After a while, I leaned forward placing my face in my hands, supporting myself with my elbows on the drawing table. I remaind in that position for a long time. I really don't know how long. My mind was flooded with thoughts of us when we first met and how excited I was to be with her. There were also thoughts of guilt because I did not talk things out with her and of course because I started paying less attention to her in recent months. Here too I saw less of her because I felt guilty about not being able to return the feelings that she said she had for me. Why couldn't we just be friends and lovers a while longer? I felt my eyes begin to water. Then a lone tear escaped and ran down my cheek. Why was she in so much of a rush to make that commitment? People were waiting longer to get married. Schooling and careers were delaying the starting of families. She was only 25, and there was plenty of time. Why did she have to rush into this with the first guy that said he would marry her?



The clincher was the last couple lines of the letter. "I hope you are not hurt by this. You can write me if you want." Hugh? She is married to another man and she is telling me I can write to her? What would I say? Oh, I could be the gracious looser I suppose, and wish her the best, promis to always be there for her if she should need me, etc, etc., but that wasn't the way I felt at the moment. I picked her letter up from where it had fallen and tossed it on the drawing table then poured myself a glass of Bourbon.



Who would of thought that I would be so affected by this? Who could have known that my feelings were so strong? Obviously not even I.



The following weeks were very rough for me. I couldn't concentrate at work. I couldn't sleep at night. My every waking moment was devoted to memories of us and of her. I decided that immersing myself in work was the best thing to get my senses back and my mind off of Deb. I was always good with my hands and with the bicentennial coming up in 1976 there was a lot of interest in hand made things reminiscent of the 18th century. I started a little business making things for the people that were involved with the re-enactments and living history demonstrations. I made a little workshop out of a room in a building that my grandfather owned and bought the necessary equipment. I would work from midnight to 8AM, at my regular job and then go out to the shop for 5 or 6 hours and then back to the apartment to sleep. It was a grueling schedule but I hoped that I would be tired enough that I could sleep.



For the most part it worked. My schedule along with the passing of time allowed me to more or less get back to normal. The worst times were the first thing in the morning when I awoke and then again at night when I tried to go to sleep. In the mornings I would wonder if she was up yet. Was she eating breakfast? Maybe she also worked an off shift and was still sleeping. I would remember that first night she spent with me and the morning after when I watched her sleeping so peacefully. I don't think a day passed that I didn't think of her at least once. Usually many times. But now I could at least get on with my life even if it was in the shadow of her memory.



When I moved around the appartment I instinctively avoided the drawing table where her letter still lay along with my letter to her that I never mailed. Eventually, several months after the fact, I threw my unfinished letter in the trash.  I took her letter and placed it in the bottom drawer of my dresser where I kept other correspondence and personal things. I never again opened it or re-read what she wrote, but I kept it for many years.



A year passed and my thoughts still found room for her. With the schedual I was keeping I didn't have a social life. Of the people I hung with, a couple got married and some others moved away. I tried going back to the bar scene and found the same old people sitting in the same places telling the same tired old stories. I think I spent all of two evenings reviewing the single scene and called it quits for bar hopping.



I saw and ad for a singles dating service in the Sunday paper and decided to try that. This was before the internet and archiac by todays standards and methods but it was the best we could do at the time. Nothing came from it.  The people that I met through the dating service all seemed like they had a quirk or two that made them just that little bit out of phase with what I thought was normal. That made me think that maybe I also had a quirk or two and was not so normal. After a year of that and 8 or 10 dates, each with a different woman, I called it quits there too.



It wasn't until two years later that I found I could actually think about Deb without becoming exceedingly mencholy. I wrote her a letter at some point in this time frame. I told her some of the things that I had said in my first, unfinished letter and other things that I thought she would be pleased to hear. I mailed it to the only address I had for her. The return address on the letter she sent, telling me she was married. My letter came back, a couple weeks later.  "Addressee unknown". I also tried to locate her through the Air Force. I asked around with the active duty personel to see if there was a way to find someone in the Air Force if the exact base or location was not known. The best they could do in those days was to call the base locator at a specific Air Force Base, but I would have to know which base she was at. We tried Colorado Springs because that was the address on her letter to me, but there was no one listed at that location by that name.



Around 1977 or 1978 I fell in with three other guys who like the same kind of music that I did.  Blues and jazz. Dixieland, New Orleans, River Boat, music. We formed a group with me on piano, a clarinet, drums, and string bass. We played weddings, picnics, and got a gig at a local bar where we played every weekend for a while. I was socializing with people a generation older than myself but I enjoyed the music and it was just one more thing to do to keep my mind from meloncholy memories.



About that same time, a young woman came to work in the same facility that I did, out at the Air Force Base. She worked Mid shift same as I did and over time we bacame good friends. She was several years younger than I but we seemed to get along well together and the years never really became a topic of much concern between us. She was a Staff Sargent in the Air Force. I would see her for a week or two then her shift would change and I wouldn't see her again for a couple weeks. After a couple months of this I had worked myself up to asking her out. Something casual. Nothing too heavy handed. Then, as luck would have, I didn't see her again for quite a while. When she did return I noticed something on her finger.



"What's this?", I asked as if I didn't already know. "That's a wedding ring....I got married over the week end." Big sigh! Well, I thought, just another example of me waiting too long. We still remained friends but at a less desirable level, from my point of view.



The years wore on slowly. I had this thought in the back of my mind that Deb would show up one day, on my door step, like she did so many times before. I couldn't believe that any marriage to a person that she only knew for a few weeks, could possibly last. That thought didn't keep me from finding someone else but it was ever present. Every time there was a knock at the door or the phone rang, I expected, no I wanted, it to be her. I thought many times of going out to her parent's place and inquiring about her. Is she ok? Where is she now? Any kids? You know....the usual questions that come to mind when you want to find things out without really coming to the point. But that thought never lasted long. I figured they would think me quite a pathetic individual. I had my chance and muffed it.If I had only realized.



This routine of work at my regular job, work at my shop during the day and then with the band rehearsals a couple nights a week.....well it was a pretty heavy load. I was 36 going on 90. I was still living in that same apartment. I had nada for prospects in the romance department. Oh, there were a couple gals at work that I dated but those were dates of convenience.



I decided I had better get a permanent residence. Someplace I could call home. The apartment was becoming outdated for a 36 year old male. In 1981 I bought a house in my home town. It was a handyman's dream. It needed lots of work but I was good with my hands and had all the necessary carpentry tools. I was anxious to get started on renovating the place. The work I had been doing for the re-enactors and the history buffs was curtailed. Playing music also ended about this time. One guy was expecting a new baby in few weeks and another had a wife that was not well so we just decided to pack it in. I could only juggle so many balls at one time, anyway. 



That same year, that girl I had been interested in at work returned after a long absence. Two years had passed and it seems that her marriage didn't take and she was soon to be a free woman again.  Her name was Terry (with a Y) and she was from California, originally, and had been in the Air Force for about 8 years. We re-kindled our friendship and started dating, not long afterward. I was not going to let this get away from me like I did with Deb.



It's funny, in an ironic way; I read an article recently about the male biological clock. That's right; we males apparently also have a biological clock. It seems that a study was done to try and determine why some men just break off relationships when things really seem to be going well. It leaves their partners stunned and bewildered. It was determined, at least by this group of analysts, that men opt out of these relationships because they instinctively know that they are not ready to get married. They know, even without consciously knowing, that they are not ready for that big commitment. I wonder if Deb happened to read that article ,also? I wonder if she would even realize that I was probably running on my biological clock, back in 1974. Looking back on it I think that explains a lot of things. I was not ready for all the responsibilities that marriage brings not to mention kids. In '74 I still needed a few more years to mature and become hungry enough to want the 'married life'.



Terry and I dated for 2 years. She got out of the Air Force in 1982 and got a job in Civil Service at Scott AFB, IL. We were married December 29, 1983 at the Court House in Nashville Illinois. I thought of Deb's letter when we decided to go to Nashville. "We got married in a small town in southern Illinois. It was a civil ceremony." I also thought it rather ironic that we married people from opposite ends of the country. Her husband was from Maine and my wife was from California. We could not get much more opposite than that. It was ironic in another way, too. I had always liked the New England area, upper New York, the Adirondacks, the Catskills, the history. I had lived in the Boston area for about a year back in the sixties and when I got out of the Army in August of 1969 I took an extended vacation and drove up through New England and saw the sites, the French and Indian War forts and the Lake George and Lake Champlain areas.  It is remarkably beautiful up that way, even more so in the fall and winter.Strange that Deb and I shared a liking for New England life..



In preparation for my marriage to Terry I started rearranging the closet and drawer space to accommodate her feminine needs. I knew, of course that the bottom drawer of my dresser held a very precious array of letters and mementos that I would have to go through. Deb’s letter was one of those mementos. When I came to it, I suddenly became very sullen. I held it and stared at the return address and remembered the day that I received it. I held it to my face and still, after 10 years, I could smell a very faint aroma of perfume. I wanted desperatrely to open it a read again the words that she had written. It wasn’t that I had forgotten what they said. I knew the words by memory. They were burned into my consciousness, the first time I read them. It was more that I wanted to see her handwriting. See the words that were there knowing that she had written them. As if that would somehow help me feel closer to her.



Reluctantly, I placed the letter in the trash bag. I told myself that I had to get over this. I had not heard from her in almost 10 years. She was happily married, probably had several children, and was making a life for herself that she had always wanted. I also had a feeling of guilt, that I was still this melancholy over this girl on the very eve of my own wedding. Who would have thought that I would still feel this way, after almost 10 years? Obviously not even I!



I knew that Terry and I would be alright. Our families were of the same social standing and similar backgrounds. She did not have the perfect family either so we shared something in that regard and now I could talk things like this out with the woman I was about to marry, unlike 10 years earlier.



The 1980’s were a time of loss, for us. That was when my grandparents died, all but my paternal grandmother. If there is any truth to the saying that “The good die young”, then I know why she lived on to be a centurion.  My parents were both still in good health. My father had been forced to give up drinking because of his liver. Mother was still knuckling under to his every whim. Younger brother was still single and a typical womanizing, carousing, image of our father in his younger years. I was not any more pleased with my relatives now than I was ten years before but now at least I could ignore the discontinuity and my wife understood because of the less than idyllic family she came from. I swear, at times I think I was adopted!



The 1980’s were also the decade that Terry and I tried to have children. We spent thousands of dollars to try and figure out why she couldn’t get pregnant. We never did get a definitive answer. We were both "approved for reproduction", as it were. No problems that any of those specialists could find. Eventually we just decided to let fate take its course. It was a disappointment but then maybe I, or we, just didn’t have the right temperament to raise kids. Lord knows that there are enough ill raised children in this country today as it is.



Terry's parents passed on in the early 1990's. Her fater first then a few years later, her mother. We made several trips back and forth the California in thoase years. In the early 1990’s I also rekindled and interest in Fly Fishing. There are no cold natural streams in the corn fields of Illinois but when we went back to California to visit Terry’s relatives I would go to the mountains, Sierra Madre, and fish for native Rainbow. There were also some streams in south west Missouri that were spring fed and stocked. We would go camping a couple times each summer to those places and I would get my fix for fresh water stream fishing and trout. There is nothing quite so settling as fishing a stream or river.  Standing in the water and having it run past, massaging your legs, the soothing gurgling sound of it passing over and through the rocks makes time stand still. I do wish I could live someplace where I could do that on a more regular basis.



Anyone who knows anything about Fly Fishing knows that Fly Tying is the next natural step in the hobby. We use string and fur, feathers and hair to make what we think are splendid looking bugs that a fish just can not pass up. In actuality, the buggiest looking flies fool more fishermen than they do fish, but hey……………it’s a hobby! I would pick up anything that I could, to feed this hobby and keep me in feathers and fur. I did considerable hunting when I was younger but we lost our timber ground to the development of the lower Kaskaskia River so now I had to scrounge. A lady I worked with at the Base had a son who was a taxidermist in a small town a few miles east of the Base. She found out that he had bunches of white tail deer hides and tails, which are great for making floating flies. He didn’t want these hides and was going to sell them to a rendering works, just to get rid of them. I arranged to take advantage of that situation and made plans to drive over



This was probably 1994 and the most direct route to the taxidermist was RT 161. That would take me through Deb’s hometown of New Baden. Actually Interstate-64 would have been the best route but I was running on 30 year old memories of what roads were available back then. I had not been back to New Baden or any of those small farm communities in that area since Deb and I dated. I had some concerns about that but there was also a feeling of anxiousness. I started out the following Saturday. When I got close to New Baden, the new I-64 highway goes right past that town now, I could remember how funny it looked back in 1974 when the overpass abutments had been built but were standing out in the middle of fields of corn and beans because the highway that would some day connect them was not yet there. The highway is finished now and it all looks quite different.



The first time I picked Deb up at her parents house she told me, "Remember to turn at the Shell station". Well, the Shell statiion has moved to the edge of town, closer to the new highway. There is a Mc Donalds out by the Interstate also.  I don't remember that but it certainly isn't a new Mc Donalds. Maybe my memory is not as sharp as I think?



I drove slowly through town and passed the intersection where the Shell station used to be. I glanced down the street to see if I could see anyone at the Baker residence. No, no one outside. No cars. I could feel that melancholy feeling coming back. My heart began to ache! I was feeling as alone and lonely as that afternoon when Deb walked out of my life. That dreary day when I watched her drive away and didn't do a thing to stop her. "Maybe I will stop on my way back and inquire?", I thought to myself.



The taxidermist had more than I wanted but I managed to get what I needed of deer hair. He was a very talented young man.  He had some really nice mounts in his little shop. It was well worth the trrip over there.



On the way back I turned down the street to Deb's folks place and pulled in the driveway. The place looked smaller than I remembered. Trees or shrubs were missing or diffent? The place looked deserted.  I knocked on the door. Things I would say were running through my head on the way back from the taxidermists' shop. I didn't want to sound like a complete idot when I spoke with her parents.. I was sure that if her parents were still living they would have forgotten me by now. I knocked a second time and waited. There was no answer.



I had come this far and I wasn't going to quite now. I went to the neighbors house and rang the bell. A very nice, attractive, middle aged woman come to the door. I inquired about the Baker's.  She informed me that Mrs. Baker had passed away within the last year and the house had been sold to someone else. She didn't know where the children had all moved to but directed me to the realtor who had handled the sale. The Realty office was on Main Street, just a few blocks away..



I pulled into the small lot next to the building. It was a small building, old, very old, with 3 steps up right off the sidewalk. It looked like it probably was a store of some king many years ago. The old door opened smoothly. I half expected a bell to ring as I went in. You know, one of those little bells they used to put at the top of doors to let the shop keeper know that someone just came in. A lady behind a desk near the door looked up. “Can I help you?”



“Yes, I hope so” I replied. I introduced myself and explained that I had been driving through town, the first time in many years, and remembered a family I used to know here. I told the lady the name and she immediately knew who I was talking about. Yes, they had handled the sale of the residence. I continued to explain that I had been friends with one of the girls years ago and I would like to get in touch with her. I asked the woman if she had any contact information for any of the children.



She thought that Deb was living up north in Illinois. That was a surprise to hear. I suspected that she would have been out east with her husband, from Maine. There was no phone number though. She did have a number for Deb’s sister Dian. Dian lived in Collinsville or Centerville. I took down the information and thanked her.



The drive home was filled with thoughts of old and questions anew. Deb was living up north in Illinois? Maybe that marriage didn’t work out? Then too, maybe they were together, everything was fine, and they were living close by to help take care of her parents? I had no idea what kind of employment Deb or her husband would be involved with. I was excited that I might be able to see her in person and talk to her after all these years. There is so much I want to know and so much I want to say. Oh, I’m not deluding myself. She probably could care less about anything I have to say. There has been too much water under the bridge, for both of us. But then, it is always nice to know that you are liked or in this case loved. Would she be so upset to learn that my feelings for her then as well as now, are very strong for her?



When I got home I did not immediately call Dian. My wife, as it happened, was out of town, visiting relatives in California. I had to think about this for a while. What would I say? Did I even really want to find out what happened to Deb? Maybe it would be too unbearable?



The next day, Saturday after lunch, I sat down at the table and dialed the number. A female voice answered on the second ring. It was Dian. It’s amazing that the sound of her voice is exactly how I remember Deb’s. I told her who I was and made an excuse for asking about Deb. I said that my wife and I had recently been in touch with some old friends who we had not seen in years and that we had others that were wondering about. That was not a complete lie. My wife had been to one of her reunions a year or two before and renewed several friendships from her highschool days. I said I wanted to send a card, it was December, and wish her a merry Christmas and possibly renew our friendship.



I asked about childern;



"Yes, she has three."



"Three?" I replied.



"Yes, twin boys and a daughter."



I was choked up for a few seconds. Twin boys and a daughter! I was very happy for her. It was the childern she always wanted.



Dian told me that Deb had just gotten married. That was a bit of a disappointment, though I don’t know why I should feel that way. It’s not like we were both single. She was living back up in Maine. Sacco Maine, I believe? I wondered what had happened in her first marriage but didn't want to be over inquisitive. I took down the information , wished Dian a merry Christmas and we said  goodbye.



I should have kept track of Deb and her parents over the years. I could have driven out to her parents and inquired about her many times. What harm would that have caused? Of course that sounds so easy now but back then I would have felt foolish. I would have thought that they, her parents, probably thought me ridiculous. Perhaps Looser would be a better term. I thought that in their eyes I would appear that way.



This all transpired before the internet, of course. The internet makes it relative easy to find people and get news from other communities. I didn’t subscribe to any local newspapers, in those days, so I did not see the obituaries for her parents. I would have paid my respects had I known. Then too, my life was full of new things and although I still thought of Deb regularly I was very busy with the house and my new married life with Terry.



That night, I did not sleep well. I kept waking up and thinking about what I would say in my letter. How would I begin? How do you talk to someone you haven’t seen in 20 years, not knowing if they are receptive to your letter or not? What will I say? I can’t tell her how I really feel. I will have to tell her things like, when I got married, when I bought a house; maybe throw in a few little bits about the past to let her know that I DO remember.



I finally fell asleep sometime after midnight. I ended up sleeping later than usual and finally awoke, around 10:00AM. I felt very anxious, almost tense. I pace when I am anxious about something. I paced back and forth in the kitchen while the coffee was brewing. When it finished, I sat down at the table, then almost immediately got up and walked around the house while I drank the coffee. All the while I was running strings of words, sentences, questions, comments, through my brain trying to get just the right flavor to what I was going to write to Deb.





To be continued...................

















To be continued...................