She remembered her time with him, their first and second years of university, like it was yesterday. Those years shone in her mind because of him. She had shared so much with him. They had studied together and worked together. They had spent hours at his apartment together, cooked spaghetti together, talked together, did homework together, and, especially, laughed together. How they had laughed!
They had worked in a hotel gift shop, and often worked till the late hours, sharing the subway home. There were nights that he got off the subway many stops before his place, and she had longed to know where he was going. So jealous. Where would one go at this time of night but to a lover? So she was hurt. They shared so much, why did he never mention to her that he had a lover? The fact that he never mentioned someone else important in his life, despite all that they did share, made her find other reasons for his strange night visitations.
When she was with him, she felt wanted, and appreciated, and beautiful. He would say wonderful things to her. She vividly remembered one day at work when she was going to buy herself some butter tarts: “What shall I bring back for you?” she gad asked. “Just bring yourself.” She felt loved.
“Has he kissed you yet?” her mom once asked, after they had been sitting talking in his car for an hour in her driveway. “No.” “He doesn’t like girls,” her mom said. But she refused to believe it.
But those were the days of hiding and secrets. In 1976, "coming out" was not done. So she still refused to believe “it.”
She fell in love with him about a year after they met, one snowy winter day out on his farm, astride his Skidoo, her head leaning against his back. Or maybe it was that day they stood in a line that was snaking around the corner, waiting to buy tickets to "A Star is Born." The snow was falling and small blossoms were landing on his curls like baby's breath. It doesn't matter when, or where, but the awful thing was that she did fall in love with him.
She remembers the last time she ever saw him. He was dressed in a white coveralls. His curls formed a dark halo around his head. To her, he was the most beautiful creature on earth. Tall and slim, he looked like an angel. By that time, he had started avoiding her. That’s what happens.
A while later, she wrote him a letter. He sent one back. The last line was “Please respect me by never trying to contact me again.” He didn’t say why. But she had lost him.
For thirty years, even with a good marriage and three children, she lived with a fantasy deep in the back of her mind that if he would ever come knocking on her door and ask her to join him, she would pack her bags and go in an instant.
Every once in a while, she would try searching for him. She needed the “why” so much. Her searches were actually limited to the university alumni magazine, in the "Milestones" column. And also in the obituaries. AIDS loomed, and she was always worried about him. In the internet age, she would sometimes google his name, but nothing definite ever turned up.
So, she searched and scoured for thirty years, and last month, she found him on Facebook. On a whim, she searched his name and one match showed up with a picture that resembled him -- 30 years older, but still the same smile and the same eyes.
She wrote him to make sure and they exchanged some chitchat and caught up a bit on the years that had passed.
Some questions, especially the important one, have been answered. Moms are so smart.
