No Sweeter Love

NO SWEETER LOVE

Looking back to the day I first met him, I can’t help but think, God, we were only kids! At least back then, we would have been considered kids. I was 16 and he 15.

It was an innocent era - not the times of today when children grow up being wiser than their years. Kids back then never experimented with drugs or sex - or if they did, it was a rare occurrence. Back then, we believed that only bad kids did drugs and had sex. It was what we were taught - what we were taught to believe. And we did.

Maybe that’s why after all these years, meeting him again had sweetened and softened our emotions.

We all looked forward to summer vacation. School was out and our weekend curfews were extended. While everyone looked forward to days at the beach, I looked forward to my first full time job after graduation.

Mike and I attended different schools and that is what created our biggest problem. My elementary school had a skip program; his did not. Depending on your grades, you could skip the last six months of one particular grade in the first four years of school and then again in the last four. My fourth-grade class fell into this category and in the blink of an eye, we were projected into the fifth grade.

That incident happened again in my sophomore year in high school. My entire class began combining sophomore and junior studies. In doing this, about 130 young men and women were released into the world of the working class at the tender ages of 16 or 17 years old.

Many of us applied for and received our working permits and began hunting for jobs. Others chose to apply to other high schools in hopes they would get accepted where they could stay until they reached their eighteenth birthdays.

Knowing my family’s financial situation, I chose to work.

Mike, on the other hand, attended schools that offered no such program and that would cause him to graduate from high school at the normal age of eighteen.

The day we met was one week after I began my first job.

My job wasn’t the greatest but for a sixteen-year-old kid, it wasn’t bad, either. Being paid the minimum wage didn’t bother me. It afforded me the opportunity to put a few dollars in a savings account each week and help my mom buy groceries during the few weeks my dad was out of work. It felt great to be useful and I was happy to help my family.

My happiness expanded to almost delirium when I met Mike. It might sound corny but the second he looked at me, my heart was gone. It would belong to only him.

At five-feet, three-inches, I was not considered short, yet I was far from tall. Mike, on the other hand, at fifteen, was already just shy of six feet. He often told me that my eyes reminded him of a refreshing pool of water that he could swim in for hours. His soft brown eyes became thick, liquid-chocolate every time he looked at me. I could have been content to stand on the corner with my friends for the rest of my life as long as Mike’s arms were around me.

Unfortunately, that would not happen.

While my parents never took the relationship I had with Mike seriously, his parents did. My parents never asked how I felt about Mike but instead, assumed I was too young to be in love, therefore, I wasn’t. Mike’s parents, on the other hand, although they didn’t ask him about his feelings, just jumped ahead and assumed the worst.

Mike had been my boyfriend for exactly ninety-two days. Our summer was the best I’d ever had but it was soon over and while I was still working, Mike returned to school. That’s when it happened.

Through casual conversation between neighbors, Mike’s parents learned that their son’s girlfriend was older and had already graduated high school. To put what happened in a more polite way, I’ll quote a phrase from years ago: “The defecation hit the rotary oscillator.”

Without being given a chance to explain the way things were, Mike was given an ultimatum by his parents: stop seeing the “hussy” who was out to corrupt their son or be sent to permanently live with his aunt a few states away.

Through the open window of their apartment, the loud voice of Mike’s father could be heard demanding to know what that older “woman of the world” wanted with his young and innocent son. It was clear to him my intentions were not good.

Mike was never given the opportunity to defend me or explain that I was exactly 123 days older than he was. As I said, they didn’t understand, and that lack of understanding caused the breakup between Mike and me. I never saw him again. I cried that night harder than I thought possible. I cried alone not daring to go back home and have my parents wonder what happened. How could I possibly explain and get them to understand that the only person in the world that mattered just tore out my heart and ripped it to pieces?

My feeling of bewilderment led to hurt and sadness which eventually through the years led to defiance. There was this deep seeded need I felt to get on with my life. Brooding over Mike and what we had only hurt more each time I thought about him - which was daily. Yet, not seeing him made me realize what we had was over. Crying would not bring him back.

In a way, that first cool Saturday night in September without him became a changing point in my life. I became determined to start again - create a new me - and it would all begin that Monday.

After calling my job with the excuse of a really bad headache, I called an employment agency and made an appointment for later that morning to fill out the paperwork necessary for them to find me another job. By two that afternoon, I sat in the office of another company, filling out the forms for employment and insurance. I was hired. Not only was it a better position but closer to home and a bit more money. My life was now on an upswing.

Or so I thought.

That job taught me more about life than I could have ever learned at home. It taught me that just because someone appears nice, they aren’t always.

Take Jake Mahoney for instance. One afternoon, he came rushing into the office where I worked, holding a bottle of champagne. “Meg,” he said excitedly waving the bottle like a banner. “Meg, we have to celebrate!”

My office was in the Personnel Department that handled everything from past employment records to insurance policies, and because of that position I knew about the lives of the other employees and knew that Jake’s wife had just given birth to their third child.

“Congratulations, Jake. When do I get see some pictures?” My supervisor frowned on personal conversations during working hours, but he’d gone to lunch, so I felt more at ease speaking with Jake.

“When I have them developed but in the meantime, we have to celebrate.”

Letting him notice my deliberate glance at the bottle in his hand, I said, “Jake, you can’t celebrate here in the office.”

His smile grew as he said, “Yeah, I know but I thought you and me could go somewhere after work.”

I was shocked but trying to stay non-committal to my emotions, I said, “Jake, you can’t celebrate the birth of your daughter with me. You need to celebrate with your wife.”

The glow on his face didn’t fade as he replied,” True, but she’ll be in the hospital for another few days and I want to celebrate with you – now, later, tonight! Meet me after work. I’ll get a room and we can celebrate till dawn.”

For a few seconds, I sat there stunned at his implication. Recovering from my shock, I said a bit louder and certainly clearer, “Jake, I’m not going to a motel with you; I’m not drinking champagne with you and I’m certainly not staying out with you ‘til dawn. Go celebrate with your wife since I’ll be calling her to wish her and your new little girl my best.” I wondered, Doesn’t he realize I only just turned eighteen last week?

He frowned but left my office and left me in peace. But that was one lesson being out in the work force taught me.

Years have a way of sliding by when you’re young. You take youth and innocence for granted. When something happens to someone, you find yourself thinking, “That could never happen to me.”

That’s what happened two years after my breakup with Mike. I may have reached my eighteenth birthday, but I soon realized it was only a number. What I didn’t know about myself was that I still had so much about life to learn. I was about to learn the hard way.

Still trying to keep Mike out of my mind, I began dating. Most of the men I knew worked for the same company as I did. Many of those dated me once. That was because I never allowed them to go past - as they would say, “First Base.” At least it was that way until I met Pete.

Pete was tall with wavy black hair and the dreamiest bluest eyes I’d ever seen. His square jaw only enhanced the fullness of his lips. And his smile! Oh Lord! His smile could make you forget your name. No matter where he walked in the halls of our company, every female turned her head. It’s difficult to explain how I felt when he asked me for a date.

I might not have a need to say this, but I will. It didn’t take Pete long to not just get to “First Base,” but he had me so dazzled, he hit his “Home Run” in a matter of weeks.

My innocence was a thing of the past - almost. Yes, I gave him my virginity, but my innocence remained mental until the day I told him I was pregnant. His only reaction was to say, “They have operations for things like that.”

To say I was horrified is putting it mildly. Here was a man I thought I loved. Not as much as Mike but enough to give him my body and soul. Enough to want to make a future with him. In one sentence he shattered that - shattered my life, my dream, and my innocence.

Yet, because I was pregnant and refused his suggestion for surgery (I was still so mentally innocent, the word abortion was as foreign to me as a late-night burrito – which back in the 60’s wasn’t found in my area of Brooklyn), he married me a few months later. It didn’t take him long, however, to admit he wasn’t the “fatherly kind” and suggest we end our marriage. Again, I refused his suggestion and held on to what dignity I could find as well as my so-called marriage for as long as I could.

To give Pete credit, and maybe because his mother and I were extremely close, our marriage lasted for another 9 years. Within those nine years, another son was born. Pete was not happy!

The morning after my second son turned seven years old, Pete left for work and never came back. This time, I didn’t contest the divorce. He wanted out and after nine years of being ignored, except when he came home drunk, and after seeing how he completely ignored his sons, for the sake of our emotions and sanity, I quickly signed the papers.

The day our divorce was final, once again, I found myself picking up the pieces of my heart and beginning again.

For the next fifteen years, Pete somewhat supported his son and me. I say “somewhat” because he didn’t give me much but what he did, combined with my salary, helped pay the bills.

He knew the job I had paid a bit more than minimum wage and because of that, money was tight but rather than increase his monthly support, he chose to offer me a deal that at the time, I couldn’t turn down. I thought what he offered would last years. Boy! Was I wrong! I thought that once his lump sum check cleared the bank, while all the monthly support would stop, it would be enough to pay off all the debts I incurred and have some to put away to get my son through school. As I said, I was so wrong! But naivety once again took hold.

Positive note or not, I never heard from him again.

Years passed and I watched my sons grow from the small babies I worried over to handsome young men with dreams of their own. Although reluctant to leave home (and mom behind) and begin their own lives, I encouraged and reassured them I’d be fine. I still had my family around me and accumulated many friends through the years - enough friends where I knew loneliness was a thing of the past.

Yet, I did find myself lonely. The man who fathered my sons, the man I tried desperately to make a life with decided he’d rather not be a part of that life. But the loneliness began long before I met, then lost Pete. Looking back now, I can’t help but wonder if that loneliness made me more susceptible to his good looks and charming ways. Maybe I wasn’t really in love with him. When he looked at me with those icy blue eyes, he took my breath away, but those same eyes never warmed with passion. I guess rather than live without the man I truly loved, I only convinced myself I loved Pete.

Mike was out of my life and now, so was Pete.

What I didn’t know at the time was that Mike also had his share of personal problems. He eventually married - and eventually divorced, leaving behind no children and a flamboyant ex-wife. Years after my divorce, I’d heard from a mutual friend that when Mike married Marilyn, he’d hoped she’d settle down. She never did and four years later, her wild ways took their toll on the marriage. Mike never remarried.

I must be getting old, I thought sighing deeply. If only things had worked out. I wonder if they would have worked out if Mike and I could have had a chance.

Oh well. That’s part of my history now and on a cold, rainy and dreary day, makes for a wonderful and warm daydream.

My son called last week and invited me to his home for the following week. Although we both live in Florida, he’s on the East Coast and I’m on the West. I decided that since my memories were bringing me down, it was a good time to spend a week with my son and his family. I planned to enjoy my long weekend visit.

My, how time flies. I still remember the day he was born. And now! Now, here is a grown man who just turned thirty-five.

I walked to the bathroom and looked at my reflection in the large dressing mirror. No longer did I see a perky sixteen-year-old kid. Instead, I saw lines and wrinkles with my blonde hair now streaked with gray. Age hasn’t been all too bad to me. Fortunately, my lines are few. Unfortunately, my weight is more than I’d like it to be. “Middle Age Spread” my doctor told me. After all, I am 54 years old. I can work out until my arthritis acts up - which is more frequent than I care to admit. But I am still not drastically overweight, so I don’t complain.

After finding my suitcase in the overhead closet, I carefully picked out the clothes I’d need for the trip to my son’s house. I soon realized a few tears had rolled down my cheeks.

Where has the time gone? Even after all these years, Mike is still so present in my mind and my heart. I wonder how he is. Is he happy? Is he well? Would he like my sons?

I sighed deeply again as I tried to shake these thoughts from my mind in order to concentrate on packing.

The time on my clock told me it was only two in the afternoon. I had the next three days to finish packing for my long weekend trip.

As I laid the clothes on my bed for folding, the ringing of the doorbell caught my attention. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so caution caused me to peek out the dining room window and look at my porch.

I saw an elegant looking gentleman holding a bouquet of one simple white rose trimmed in scarlet surrounded by baby’s breath and a bit of fern. He wasn’t wearing a suit but a tan pair of khakis and a blue, cotton, button-down shirt. From where he stood, I saw a full head of thick graying hair, and yet, while his face wasn’t visible, there was something familiar about his stature. I felt my heart skip a beat as I opened the door.

His smile was radiant as he handed me the rose. “Hi. It’s been a long time. Remember me?”

How could I forget those liquid-milk-chocolate brown eyes? Or those slight dimples on each side of his mouth whenever he smiled?

A flood of tears streamed down my face as my arms curled around his neck. Between sobs, I mumbled, “Every day of my life.”

We stood at the open door feeling the cool breeze of my air conditioner blow past us. We stood in each other’s embrace as memories overtook us. Finally, realizing where we were, I invited him.

“Mike, oh Mike. Come in. Sit. I’ll put on coffee. We have so much to talk about.”

Then it occurred to me. Maybe he’s not single. Maybe he’s just passing through. Maybe ... wait! Wait just a darn minute, I thought. He had to be looking to find me. My phone number wasn’t listed so finding me wasn’t just a walk in the park. Florida is a long, long way from New York, where we grew up. If he were married, he wouldn’t be looking for me. If he were just passing through, why bother?

While my head buzzed with all sorts of thoughts and the coffee brewed, he began, “Meg, I guess there’s no need to explain what happened so many years ago. But I need to go back in time and tell you everything - from the beginning.”

Mike explained that without a second thought, his father, indeed, made the arrangements to send him away from “that awful woman,” (meaning me). He spent the next three years in Florida. On his eighteenth birthday, he left his aunt’s house and joined the Army. On his first leave, he returned to New York to find that my family had moved, and I’d gotten married.

He remained single until three years after his discharge. Then he met and married a young woman from New Jersey. Without going into too many details, he simply said, “Family life wasn’t her first priority.”

We talked for hours about the past and the present. Although he never had children, he enjoyed hearing about my sons and their families. As it turned out, Mike’s aunt hadn’t lived too far from where I am now. When her health began to fail, her family moved her into a nursing home where she stayed until her death at her wonderful age of ninety-six. Mike visited her a few times before her death and never knew that I lived only twenty-eight miles away.

As we talked, time seemed to have stood still. Or better yet, seemed to retreat back to a time when we could dream of a future. Our conversation was easy and warm and yet, also seemed a bit strained.

I kept wondering, Should I tell Mike that I never stopped loving him? Should I explain the circumstances of my marriage? What should I do?

Finally, Mike stood. It was time for him to leave. He smiled and asked, “Meg, I’d like to see you again.”

My heart skipped a beat as I tried desperately to compose myself.

“I’d like that very much. How long will you be in town?”

His smile broadened and his dimples deepened as his eyes turned to warm liquid.

“For quite a while,” he answered. “You see. I inherited my aunt’s house. I’m moving down here.”

Well, that was three years ago. Mike went with me when I visited my son, and they formed a quick and unique friendship.

Since then, both sons have spent what I’d consider “quality” time Mike and upon my sons’ encouragement, their children are now calling Mike, “Grandpa.”

I guess that makes sense since Mike and I were married last year.

Maybe I did have to wait what seems to be a lifetime to be with the only man I ever truly loved but you know what? Waiting only made it sweeter.