Casual Choices

by Tom Corbett

  After forty-plus years, I can still feel the moment I first saw you. It was some event toward the end of semester or during the summer break. I could not understand my reaction, very intense and frightening. Let us say I did not like emotions of any stripe at the time. I knew they were strong because I waited until that fall, screwed up my courage (after weeks of procrastinating), and then asked you out. Of course, you said no and had some kind excuse. Normally, that would have been it, but I tried again (after weeks of angst). That was a big clue that my sanity was gone; I never tried a second time.

  The relationship was intense and baffling to me. Dating Sarah was cool and easy, kind of detached and cerebral. I liked that. With you, it was intense, volatile, and uncertain. I know I tried pushing you away emotionally to maintain my sense of order and control) and I felt you doing the same to me. You know, I cannot recall ever saying that I loved you and I cannot recall you ever saying that to me. Maybe we did, but I cannot recall, not a single time. I’m not sure I would have heard the words back then.

  I think you don’t know if you love someone until much time has passed. For the next four decades, there always remained a sense of loss, a dull ache, a bit of sadness and regret. Occasionally, I would fantasize that we would somehow reunite. Then I snap to and think, hell, she is probably a fat shrew by now, with seven kids, and bad body odor. You can’t go home and all that. I rationalized that those feelings were most likely a product of time and place and lack of maturity—a childish puppy love. From where I am now, would I have done things differently back then?

  I’m not one to live in regret, to whine about what might have been. We make choices and we live with them. From where I am now would I have done things differently. Yes, I think I would. I would have at least given you a shot. Would it have worked? I don’t know, maybe passion and intensity are the worst foundations for a lasting relationship. Maybe we could not have found a core on which to build a life. But it would have been fun to try. I recall spending one night with you on the Cape. I have an indelible image of you waking up in the morning with a breeze blowing into the window and you at my side. I’ve never recaptured that moment. So yeah, something rather irreplaceable slipped beyond my (our) grasp.

  Josh

  To Josh:

  Sure. Go ahead. Enjoy yourself while I sit here stewing, agonizing, ruminating, and rationalizing. Don’t worry about me—I’ll be fine :-)

  Thank you for sharing your thoughts and memories so freely—I’m very grateful. You’re a brave man. I’m totally useless after reading your emails, but I needed to prepare for a meeting after the last one and didn’t want to give you a hurried response. As if a hurried response were even possible.

  That was yesterday. Today, after much thought (okay, obsessing), I still don’t have a clue where to start. The most natural place for me, always, is to beg forgiveness. I think I’ve always understood your ambivalence, but I wasn’t as aware of my own. I know I have a pretty selective memory, but I don’t remember any of the bad stuff—the volatility, the pain, the pulling away. I’m so sorry about that!

  One of my favorite memories (apparently indelible, thank goodness) was that morning on the Cape that you also remember. It was beautiful and magical and fleeting. As I was thinking about all this over the past day, I think I finally understood something that had escaped me before—“we” just didn’t have enough time to develop. Duh! We were together so infrequently and briefly that we didn’t have time to get beyond the exhilaration that any new relationship creates or to figure out that maybe it wasn’t so perfect after all.

  In my convenient selective memory, things seemed to be on track until you left. I just felt I never had a chance to say goodbye. That wasn’t a great start to any long-distance relationship. I cherished your letters (still have some of them) but talk about mixed messages! I’ve always wanted you to know that the night before my wedding, my mother came into the room and closed the door behind her. I was afraid she was going to launch into a dreaded “wifely duty” kind of talk, but she didn’t. As we attempted an intimate chat, she finally came out with it. “Eleni, whatever happened to Josh? He was such a nice guy.” The night before my wedding! Score one for the away team!

  Leni

  A sense of shock shot through Rachel’s mind. Whatever they had was far deeper than anyone knew, than she ever experienced herself. Rachel scoured her memory of any mentions of this woman, or of anyone mentioning her. But nothing. The first time she even heard the name was earlier this week, and in a throwaway sentence, until she dragged more out of him. This was different. These messages had an immediacy that was not lost in the retelling. This was like getting an unexpurgated view into her brother’s heart. She grabbed some more.

  To Leni

  Anyways, something hit me this morning during our brief telephone chat. When you said, “I love you,” I thought to myself, she really means it, I can hear it in her voice. She is not just being nice! This is a breakthrough for me. Before I lost my virginity (and after), I could not imagine any woman “wanting sex” (or any physical contact) with me at least. It was unimaginable. If they did, I wondered what they really wanted? If a woman seemed to like me. I was perplexed, and confused. When they said that they loved me, which happened often enough, I was suspicious, no, incredulous. At some level, I thought I was doing gals a favor by not having sex. Okay, in your case, I was right. Point is, it has always been hard for me to accept affection and love as genuine. But I feel it from you now. Feeling that love sent a shiver through me this morning.

  I love you…xoxoxoxo.

  She grabbed a handful of pages and began devouring them. Some caught her attention.

  To Josh

  I need so much forgiveness from you it is scary. You mentioned that you thought I had a type A personally. I may have a type A schedule, or wish list, or to-do list, but if any part of me is type A, it is trapped in a type B body and brain. I’m totally overwhelmed. You are an island of comfort. So, forgive me again? It is the story of my life…attending to what is right in front of me and easy rather than what I know I should attend to. Thank you for being so patient.

  I am so hooked on you. I know I didn’t explain enough for you to understand, but I still love your easy forgiveness. You are so good.

  Much love & xoxoxo

  Rachel sat back. She brought the pile she had collected over to the bed. There she got under the covers and thought about what she was looking at. He did love this woman. She desperately wanted to go find a picture of her but decided that would be unwise. They were in that box, back in his office. She hesitated. She did not want to disturb anyone and the quest might well prove futile in any case. She pushed on with the email printouts.

  To Josh

  Just a couple of thoughts before becoming a focused, brilliant strategist. Right, that’s not bloody likely but gotta try meeting in the morning. I hope your day went well. During my breaks, I’ll be thinking about who should get to play the role of Connelly…stud…womanizer or, should I say, Connelly the gallant Romeo. That should be fun.

  But what I really wanted to say is thank you for granting me a pass for my role in our doomed relationship. I hope you know that I feel the same way about you. What I can’t stand, though, is that you won’t give yourself a pass! Even I have given myself a pass! We were all we could be, to ourselves and each other. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I’m going to be really mad if you don’t agree soon. You should be very afraid.

  Love, hugs, and a g’nite…Xoxoxo

  To Leni,

  Morris, my pup, is a treasure. I really love that dog. I keep thinking of the line from the Wizard of Oz where the Tin Man says he knows he has a heart because it is breaking. I know I only have a few years left with him…I am chagrined just a bit about my long rant this morning, my only rationale is that I feel better and that is what counts. One addenda, though (there always is one). Beyond the fear of being shot down, the universal male concern, I struggled with the possibility I migh
t feel something. Love for me was weakness. With all other women, it was not an issue. Take Sarah, she was perfect in that I merely enjoyed being with her and she was already committed to someone else. There was never any pressure. But you were real trouble, did I want to ask for more? I know I did…

  Sweet dreams…xoxoxo

  To Leni:

  Dear whack job #1 (you have beaten me out for the top spot), when I asked whether you thought you would be alone after your divorce (no man would want you or something like that), I knew what the answer would be and I also said a monosyllabic response would not do. I wanted to scream…how could you not know that men would throw themselves at you IF THEY THOUGHT THEY HAD A SHOT. You were, and are, so attractive it is probably illegal in forty-four states. And I don’t mean just on the outside. What you have inside counts for so much more. Let me say this (well, I guess you really have no choice), while I’ve been shot down by many women (as all men have), I have also been blessed with attracting some very beautiful and successful persons of the female persuasion (there is no accounting for taste). You are the only one I have loved. That must mean something. If you were not immediately hustled by guys when you became available, it is only because you walked around with the “do not touch” sign on your forehead. I’ve known many women with that sign. It is very effective though I doubt you were conscious of what you were doing at the time.

  My god, we were both pathetic. It would have been merciful, back in college, if we were taken out back and put out of our misery. I will probably beat you up more later on, but I do have exciting news to share. I found my favorite recipe loved by women everywhere. Oh wait, that’s my secret sexual technique. It is called Josh’s surprise!!! Had to end this on a light note.

  Much love and many hugs.

  Rachel smiled. They obviously had a warm relationship. They joked with each other, called each other endearing names even if they might sound odd to outsiders. Rachel knew that her brother reserved his biggest insults for the people he liked the most. She would know that Josh was upset with her when he became nice.

  To Josh:

  I won’t be sending this until the end of the day (so you can get some work done), but I need to get it off my chest so I can get some work done. God knows there’s enough weight on my chest. It is inconceivable to me that you don’t know this, but given our other misunderstandings, I guess anything’s possible. You do know that I never have ever, for one minute in my life, not just back in college, considered myself attractive. You had to know that, right? Surely this won’t be the kind of information that will bring EMTs to our house, will it? I don’t want to dwell on it, I just wanted to make sure you knew. Surely you did!

  Xoxoxo

  To Leni:

  One other thing at the moment. I’m sure some other people connect after four decades and experience something like we have, but I guess it is quite rare. I now would like to be in touch with Sarah, but it would be more out of curiosity, how they are doing and what they accomplished in life. This is qualitatively different. There is no emotional overlay with the others. For us, it is like making up for all the stupid things we did that somehow prevented us from getting to know one another. And the thing is, I want to get to know you as deeply as I can. There is no one else about which I have that kind of feeling. It is simple, there is one else I have loved.

  I’m staggered by how broad the misunderstandings were between us. Oddly enough, I give myself credit for being able to get people to open up. I never had any ambitions to be a counselor or therapist (listening to people whine for a living would have driven me over the edge), but I always thought I was good at getting others to talk, to reveal themselves. Maybe it is my deep voice or honest face…really! And yet we spent hours together, I pawed your body endlessly, I fell deeply in love with you, and yet I still failed to get to know you at all. How pathetic is that? Aaargh!!!! To use the old male metaphor, I came closer to hitting a home run sexually than I did getting inside your head, and I barely got to second base in the sexual game.

  You have stayed with me even as I have revealed my political escapades and some of my all-too-casual way with women (in the past). You are a very nice person, not a “bad girl” at all.

  Much love…Josh

  To Josh:

  Greetings guy. Your emails remind me of the Connelly I knew in college. I remember how intimidated I was by your intellect in college. You often seemed immersed in thoughts that I couldn’t quite get my mind around. In the beginning, I just accepted the obvious inferiority of my own intellect but think that as I matured (?), I could rationalize that the differences in our knowledge base and thought processes were due to our…ready for this…different majors. I told you! I can rationalize anything. I told myself that maybe if I weren’t taking organic chemistry and comparative anatomy with all their labs, I too would be able to worry about and converse about the John Birch Society or oppressive regimes in Africa and Asia. Even with my superior rationalization skills, though, it was humiliating to be so ignorant.

  I’ve told you this for a reason (I know…that’s different). As I started to think about it, I realized that my feelings about being so outclassed most of the time likely affected our relationship. Maybe I was so certain that discovery and rejection was inevitable, that I reflexively held back. Of course, that would only be a piece of the story, but it makes sense that such feelings played a role. I thought you were too good for me. I love telling you that! Is it new information to you?

  L&H…xoxoxo

  Rachel could see how this girl would fall in love with her brother. He was a charmer and handsome with his dark hair and rugged good Irish looks. Blue eyes, what were called bedroom eyes, worked with many of the gals. But this gal was not seemingly impressed with his looks or his sexuality. The connection was deeper than that, on both sides. She loved him, she loved him for him, not his athletic prowess or his casual good looks. She loved him for him. How special is that? The way they talked to each other struck Rachel as extraordinarily intimate and meaningful, the way people who loved deeply would communicate. At that moment, she was desperately jealous of her brother.

  To Josh:

  So, help me out, Big Guy. I’m looking for a word that expresses the concept of slower with more meaning than glacially slow. That epiphany was yesterday’s? Really? It’s hard for me to get my mind around how you felt (feel?) about yourself. But then, you quickly pull me off my high horse by reminding me that I have similar, okay, identical…um, to be kind, can we call them “blind spots”? I’m so happy to be part of your epiphany. And I thank you for being part of mine! I guess you’re never too old for epiphanies! Oh, please keep talking to yourself (and me!). I finally decided to hunt down and start answering those questions you asked some time back. BTW, do you have any idea how much and how often we write? Good thing we don’t have real lives.

  You asked how I met Nick. Easy…a friend introduced us. What attracted me to him at least relative to Dennis? Not so easy. Dennis was an important stepping-stone n my rejoining the world after my divorce. He was the head of a department (mental health) in my building and was a friend of one of my friends. We bumped into each other occasionally on campus, but he didn’t know anything about my personal life until he saw me off campus one day where we had privacy and talked. He was bold and funny and enjoyed life. We started dating, and I could finally imagine that there might be life after divorce. That was extremely valuable to me, but I knew we were incompatible on many levels. I had decided that the positives greatly outweighed the negatives and that my relationship with him was a positive influence on my evolution into a post divorce adult. Our major incompatibility is a long story, but he was evolving into an Orthodox Jew. I’m flexible, but he was getting more and more committed to rituals that were difficult for me to embrace. He even went as far as to introduce me to his rabbi, perhaps for his blessing? As he evolved beyond Orthodoxy, because of his hopes for his spiritual afterlife (I think), he learned that according to scriptures, he was co
mpelled to marry a Jewish woman who had never been married (widowed was okay). We continued to date as he pondered all this. I knew “we” didn’t have a future (for many good reasons), but my feeling was that dating him was doing no harm to either of us.

  When I met Nick, I was upfront with him and with Dennis, but dating nights became more difficult to share and I “chose” Nick. Obviously, it was time to be pushed out of Dennis’s nest. Nick was different from anyone I knew or had known, I guess. Hard to believe, but for all my years of adulthood, I had only known and socialized with people from academia. I saw Nick as possessing great intelligence, integrity, and humor. I respected the way he ran his business, the way he dealt with his two teenagers as a single parent, his closeness to his Arizona family. Most amazingly, my PhD did not intimidate him. I think one of the reasons I made the cut is that he saw the bad girl in me. That’s not so easy to find in the south. I also think he assumed that because I was a “scientist,” I could always satisfy his need for logical straight-line thinking. We were compatible on an emotional level. We both had learned a lot from our histories and knew that wasn’t a given. Eventually, I passed all the tests. He tended to interview me. We went out looking for inconsistencies. He is a very careful man.

  How did I reel him in? I don’t think I did. I should mention that I learned early in life that “indifference” was a pretty safe place to land. I am pretty sure I had that “dubious talent when we were dating.” Nick, on the other hand, recalls the night of the “reeling in” and refers to it as the night I made “The Speech.” My view is that we were talking about our lives in general, what seemed natural to us, etc., and I casually said that I saw myself as comfortable as a partner. Not necessarily married but committed to and with someone in life. I guess I think there are people who can’t imagine that and see themselves with lots of people or other people who prefer to be alone. It was not “The Speech.” My closing argument to him was that if I had planned to make a speech, I wouldn’t have chosen a restaurant as my venue. I guess he proposed shortly after that (I don’t remember).