HE WAS MY LOVE, MY HERO, MY EVERYTHING

HE WAS MY LOVE, MY HERO, MY EVERYTHING

Then he was gone

**

The first thing I noticed about Jim was his smile. It was only a short glimpse. He turned so quickly as he spoke to his friends that there was not enough to time to get a good visual of his face.

I couldn’t help myself; I had to know if the rest of his face was as handsome as his smile.

What excuse could I use to force my way into the conversation he shared with his buddies.

Hell, I was a fifteen, outspoken, nervy girl! I could figure it out.

“I’ll be back in a blink!” I said to my friends, then turned and walked to the corner where the boys were standing. Inching my way to where he stood, I looked up – yes, he was about three inches taller than I was and felt drawn to his milk chocolate brown eyes.

Doing my best to keep up my brazen façade, I said, “Uh huh! I thought so.” Then I turned and walked back to my friends.

Well, that left them all a bit stunned. What the heck?

Clearly, since my remark was directed at one particular boy, he was the one who now approached me.

What he said next was not said in anger, but the total confusion was front and foremost. “What the hell was that all about? And who the hell are you?”

“My name is Meg and I wanted to see if you were as cute as I thought and my thought was correct. You are.”

His mouth fell open a bit, and I could see that he wasn’t sure what to say, so I picked up on his silence.

“Now that you know my name, what’s yours?”

“Oh, uh, Jim. I’ve never seen you around here.”

“That’s right, you haven’t. I live six blocks north on Monitor.”

“Ok, so then, what are you doing down this way?”

We slowly wandered away from everyone, and he leaned against one of the cars that was parked nearby.

It seemed like five minutes passed when we heard many of our friends bidding the others a good night. “See you guys tomorrow,” many of them shouted as they walked away.

Jim looked at his watch. “Holy crap! It’s almost ten and if I’m not home by ten, my dad will redden my butt. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

“You’re right. I need to get home, too. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

What neither of us could have predicted was that as he walked away, my heart went with him. What I didn’t know was that his went with me.

For the next six months, every second we could find, we spent together. We were innocent kids but madly in love. We talked about school (we attended different schools), our parents, siblings, likes, dislikes, and discovered that our birthdays were one month apart. We were so much alike, and our personalities just “clicked”. We began making plans for our future together.

The only differences were our nationalities. We lived in a neighborhood where nationalities mattered. While it didn’t bother us, it bothered his father. He was strict.

I guess a bit of family history might be needed for clarity. My mom and dad faced the same ethnic problem. Dad’s father was fine with their relationship, but dad’s mother was totally against it. Mom’s mother was also fine with it, but her father demanded she break it off. “It’s him or the family. You choose him, you’ll be disowned in the blink of an eye.”

For the next two years, good old Pop walked around telling everyone that his daughter had died. Nanna walked around trying to clarify that situation.

Grampa was happy with dad’s choice but his mother refused to speak to him.

Because they defied the odds and made a happy home, they were determined to never put that kind of pressure on their children.

Jim rarely spoke about his mom but often mentioned his father’s attitude and prejudices. We decided to be more careful where we went. No longer did we hang out with our friends near the ice cream parlor. Every night, we’d meet at a different location. Being the young and trusting people we were, we never thought his dad would follow us – but he did.

One night, Jim and I were sitting in the park across from where I lived and we heard a loud, menacing voice. “JAMES, GET YOUR ARSE HOME!”

I saw the color drain from Jim’s face. As he stood to leave, he whispered, “Tomorrow, place number two.”

Yes, we coded each place – yet our codes were broken by a determined man who still had the attitude, “stick to your own kind.”

I never saw Jim again. It was his brother who told me about the beating, and I understood completely that the innocent love Jim and I shared would never have the chance to grow into something more meaningful.

Almost forty years later, I received an email.

“I hope you were able to find happiness. It seems like it took me forever, but it did take me fifteen years to meet someone. Her name is Joan and we have one son. While I love him with all my heart, he’s adopted. I doubt I need to tell you why, but I wanted you to know.”

We corresponded for a while but never met again. A few years ago, I’d heard from a mutual friend that said Jim had passed away from liver cancer.

While the news saddened me, as I pictured him in my mind, it was the image that I had of him while he was the handsome boy I’d grown up loving.

Then, I wondered if things had worked out, would I love the man he’d have become.

I’ll never know.