I recently had cause to recollect my first love, a girl whom I met my senior year in high school in Reno, Nevada. The occasion for this nostalgic backward glance was, sadly, the aftermath of the signing of the divorce decree between me and my now ex-wife, its location a dimly lighted booth at my favorite neighborhood bar. Large snowflakes drifted down outside, eerily peppering my pale reflection in the window glass.
That I even had a favorite bar was a sign of how badly my marriage had deteriorated. Fourteen years of marriage never achieved the bliss that our nuptial vows had promised. If I were to be completely honest with myself--a condition from which I only rarely suffer--I would have to admit that we were badly suited to one another from the start. Yet both of us were either too stubborn or too deep in denial to voice or even contemplate what would be the likely outcome of our ill match. That is, not until many fruitless years had passed and the consequences of persisting as a couple became too stark even for us to ignore.
I felt hollow sitting there alone, sipping straight scotch and absently watching the bubbles rise and delicately sizzle at the surface of a soda chaser. The snowflakes melted quickly on the sidewalk outside, their fragile impermanence mocking that of my own marriage. The sense of relief I naively thought would accompany the finality of the decree eluded me. I was emotionally enervated, incapable of mustering the optimism that would fuel a risky look into an uncertain future. So it was only natural that I should fill that void by looking to the past, to a time when I was emotionally unencumbered by years of guilty baggage and imagined shame. The evanescent beauty of the cold, white flakes on the other side of the window evoked old memories with unexpected force and clarity.
I met her during the spring term of my senior year. As I recall the semester had begun quite inauspiciously. I was a member of the track team with aspirations to be invited to the state meet at the end of the school year, at least as part of the 800-meter relay team, and perhaps in the 200-meter sprint, which was my best event. I had trained hard over the holiday break and the first couple of weeks of the semester and had established myself as one of the best sprinters on the team. But at the first meet of the year, on a clear but cold day, I felt a twinge at the back of my thigh as I accelerated into the straightaway in the first heat. I finished that heat, but the leg tightened up over the course of the day and I could barely limp around by the end. A pulled hamstring, the docs later said, at least four weeks to heal. That was bad news, but didn't necessarily end my aspirations. If I could keep myself in decent aerobic condition, do lots of stretching and ease back in to running carefully, I still had a shot at state.
Not a week after that, an all-you-can-eat pizza and wings buffet at the local pizzeria on a Friday evening turned ugly. At first, I just thought I had over-eaten, if an athletic teen-aged boy can possibly do that, but after a night calling dinosaurs it was clear I was really sick. I was particularly bummed because the next night was a big party for two new exchange students from the Boston area. One girl, Victoria, was being hosted by my friend Shelley's family, and the other, a girl whose name I didn't know yet, was staying with the family of one of Shelley's friends, Maureen, a girl I knew, but not well.
My hopes for a quick turnaround were dashed as I seemed only to get sicker over the weekend, ruining my prospects for meeting Victoria, whom I had already heard described in glowing terms by Shelley. Shelley and I had been friends for years. I liked her for her honest, no-pretense attitude and acerbic wit, although I had no romantic inclinations toward her. I don't think the same could be said about her feelings toward me, however, and I believe if I had given any sign of desire for her she wouldn't have hesitated. Shelley seemed instead to have channeled her romantic feelings toward me by becoming my matchmaker, having set me up with various of her female friends and acquaintances over the previous couple of years with, sadly, limited success. I tolerated this state of affairs partly because of my genuine affection for Shelley, and partly because I needed all the help I could get: I didn't seem to fare any better in love when left to my own devices.
Shelley had spoken glowingly of Victoria and was anxious for us to meet. The Saturday night party was supposed to be my opportunity to meet this raven-haired beauty with a dazzling smile and bubbly personality (so Shelley), but it was not to be. To make matters worse, not only was I sick the whole weekend, when I still felt ill the following week, a doctor's visit confirmed a dreaded diagnosis: I had mono.
They call mono the "kissing disease". If that's true, mine would have been the first documented case of disease transmission via dreams. However I got it, as mono goes I didn't have an especially severe case. But it kept me in bed for a good two weeks. The first week I was worthless. I basically just slept. The second week I could muster enough energy to sometimes do a little studying in bed, working on assignments my best friend brought me after school so I wouldn't get too hopelessly behind in my classes. By the third week, I could attend half-days, but needed a long afternoon nap and spent evenings doing schoolwork. Oh, and did I mention that I spent my 18th birthday as an invalid? It just doesn't get any better than that!
So it was mid-February before I was back at school and more or less functioning normally again. I had given up any hope of qualifying for the state track meet. Although I was strong enough to do everyday tasks, it would be weeks, if not months, before I could begin seriously training again. I dropped the track team and used the extra time to try to catch up on my schoolwork.
I was having my first lunch in the cafeteria since coming back to school full time when someone came up from behind and gave me a robust slap on the back between mouthfuls of mystery meat (or was it shit-on-a-shingle that day? I can't remember).
"Howdy, stranger! Welcome back to the world of the living!"
Shelley grinned as I choked and coughed on my mouthful of food.
"You trying to send me back to the hospital?" I exclaimed once I had recovered. I stood to give Shelley a hug. Since we didn't share any classes this semester, this was the first time I had seen her in weeks.
"No, you seem to do well enough maiming yourself on your own," she retorted. "But if you can keep yourself out of the ER for a few minutes, there's someone here I'd like you to meet."
Behind Shelley I now noticed a dark-haired girl standing unobtrusively off to the side.
Motioning the girl closer, she said,"This is Victoria. Victoria, I'd like you to meet Robert."
"It's Robbie to my friends," I said, extending my hand. Victoria placed her carefully manicured and delicate hand in mine, but returned a surprisingly firm handshake.
"So you expect us to be friends already?" she teased with a mischievous smile. She turned to Shelley. "You didn't tell me he would be so presumptuous."
"You will just have to forgive him. Once you get past the fact that he's sickly, maimed, and lacks social graces, you'll begin to see his appealing qualities. Both of them."
I was not thrown in the least by Shelley's ribbing. This type of banter was our standard mode of communication.
"Victoria, your name befits your regal countenance," I countered, bowing slightly with exaggerated deference. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance. And I find it especially generous of someone of your station to associate with my rustic friend here." At that I gave a Shelley a prolonged glance from head to toe to point out her wardrobe, which was her usual cowboy boots, jeans and Western shirt. Shelley loved horses and used every spare minute to ride or care for her horse, which was stabled on the outskirts of town. Today she was clearly planning on making a trip to the stables as soon as she could get out of school.
Shelley's outfit couldn't have contrasted more from Victoria's. Whereas Shelley's leggy form looked like something straight out of a John Ford Western, Victoria's petite frame was carefully clothed with tight-fitting designer jeans, simple but stylish flats and a tight-fitting pale-blue sweater that highlighted her slim waist and small round breasts. Her round face was tastefully highlighted with makeup, showing off her sparkling brown eyes and delicate nose. This was a girl who took great care with her appearance, without question. I found it curious that she and Shelley seemed to have hit it off so well since they seemed total opposites.
Victoria glanced at Shelley with raised eyebrows and nodded approvingly. "He seems to have some wit about him," she observed with mock admiration. "I think perhaps he is worthy after all of the invitation we had discussed."
"If you say so," Shelley replied. "But I take no responsibility for any social embarrassments that may ensue."
Shelley turned to me and dropped the faux haughtiness. "So wadda ya say? You done with your faking-mortal-illness-for-sympathy routine long enough to come to Beth's birthday party on Saturday night?"
