Casual Choices

by Tom Corbett

  I love knowing you’re there.

  BH!. xoxoxoxo

  To Leni:

  Yeah, we finally agree on something. You ARE dumb, inexperienced, fearful, and repressed. Oh wait, that was back in college. Now, of course, you are worldly, sophisticated, and sexually savvy. I’m sure you could teach me a trick or two, heh, heh! Anyways, as I waxed eloquently yesterday, I wondered about the contradiction of fearing that women would fall in love with me at the same time as feeling that I was unlovable. The answer to that conundrum was easy, though. I concluded that women were infatuated with the notion of love; it was not that they really liked these poor schmucks with whom they were stuck.

  But that was not yesterday’s real epiphany. That came in my text about how you would have fallen madly in love with me had you known me longer and presumably better. I texted it with a distinct “tongue in cheek” attitude. But then, I thought, she probably would have. Sure, there are reasons why we might not have worked, but a bunch of reasons why we might have worked beyond imagination. And it hit me, a lot of quality gals who are smart, successful, and attractive have liked me, some an awful lot. I must have something to offer. More than that, I really feel a lot of affection coming from you now. I believe it is sincere and real, something I could not have considered back then.

  And so, my epiphany was just how far I’ve come from this totally insecure and self-hating schmuck I was all those years ago. And it struck me that you made the same kind of journey. In your heart, you know that people admire your competence and smarts (even if you backslide momentarily on occasion). You know that you are likeable and attractive to others. You can now accept the fact that you are loved. So, if we now could go back in time, I’m sure you would have fallen madly in love with me. More than that, I would have been able to admit my love for you, without fear or reservation. All these epiphanies are liberating. Thanks. You really are better than the gals they send over from Rent-A-Friend.

  Big hug…xoxoxoxo

  My god, Rachel thought, they sounded exactly like soul mates or what she thought soul mates might be like, at least in her mind. Then again, how would she know? But to Rachel, the banter reminded her of the way Connie and Josh related. It was easy and natural, what two very quick people who trust and respect each other would do. This must be how people in love relate to each other. It is not grand passion, but the small intimate communications. It is the laughs, the mutual discoveries, the ongoing connecting. Suddenly, Rachel felt an ache in her own heart. It hit her. She was missing out on a big part of life. Talk about being incomplete.

  To Josh:

  My dear Josh, I know that you asked me to just humor you about wondering what would have happened if I professed my love to you. I understand the value of your dialogue with the blessedly silent me, but your thoughts prompted me to wonder if I could ever have said I love you back then. I’ve said this all before, I am sure, but just in case one of us learns something, maybe it’s worth repeating. I had never said “I love you” to anyone. I understand the superficial reasons (I was taught to never be the aggressor, that love meant sex, sex meant marriage, that love was a commitment), but since you’ve been pondering this, I’ve been forced to wonder whether I truly understand love, especially back then. I don’t think I had a clue. And it’s not “understanding” love that I really mean. I guess I wonder if I really felt it…ever. It seems to me these days that if you feel it, you say it, one way or another. Although I understand why I never told you I loved you, it saddens me greatly to think that you didn’t sense my affection for you. I do know that I’m all about affection.

  I am convinced that you and I were just much too immature to commit to each other…or, sadly, to even help the other. The question about love? It is still a question for me, but, with your permission, I’m going to put off getting any deeper into those murky, scary waters.

  Much love to you, You’re a gift…xoxoxo

  To Josh:

  Hey, you are still there! You’re such a good guy…and such an easy sell. I like that in a person. Regarding the 17 years of my first marriage, perseverance has always been one of my stronger traits. But whenever I see that trait as only positive, I remind myself of someone’s definition of insanity…doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

  Thank you for your thoughtful (and very kind) insights on my abbreviated saga. Two comments struck a chord with me. One led to a strong confirmation, the other to a question. I fully agree that expectations are the root of most disappointments, and I must take responsibility for much of that. As the kids of this generation would say…“my bad.” I never discussed or questioned much before getting married. I just assumed. I never asked Jack for his thoughts about children, monogamy, housing, retirement, or…? Let me count the questions I never asked. I just assumed that our compatibility was sufficient to get us through future questions. I have no idea where that idea came from, but there it is. As I think about it now, part of my naïve thinking may have come from never hearing a rational two-sided debate in my family. I thought there must be a better way to decide things. Some things would just happen naturally; everything else could be decided by a rational discussion. That plus the fact that as we have already determined, I was as dumb as a rock.

  The second comment was about males and redemption. That reminded me that one of the final very strong protests about the divorce was that there would be “no chance for redemption.” That was and remains a total puzzlement to me. At the time, I thought that maybe it was the attempt of an avid Wagner fan to live out a “Flying Dutchman” fantasy. I didn’t get it at all. After 17 years of trying???

  MLMH…xoxoxoxo

  To Josh:

  Good morning and good grief, Connelly! It will be impossible to answer your questions and still sound sane. I know…so what’s new and I should trust you, you’re a doctor of sorts. I can’t wait until it is my turn to ask questions. Soon, right?

  Question 1: “Did you really love him when you got married?” I thought I did, but right away, your second question becomes important. I don’t think I knew what love was then. I knew I was very happy and very comfortable with him. Seemed like love, but how does one ever know? I also knew that our relationship seemed infinitely better than my parents. We had fun together, similar tastes in people, books, movies, lifestyles, no skirmishes. Not a bad start.

  Question 2: “After you became suspicious (or at least received allegations that he had been unfaithful), was the trust bond irrevocably broken?” No, it took me almost 20 years to get to the irrevocable part (duh!). I was infinitely forgiving and unrealistically hopeful that our professionals were going to solve our problems. They often commented on our obvious affection for one another. Somehow in their comments I saw approval to keep trying. No one ever talked about us calling it quits, as I recall.

  Question 3: “Were you always suspicious after that, checking, and was that the source of your distress over time?” The checking didn’t start right away. I started doing that when something didn’t feel right and when I finally understood that direct questions were useless. Checking is a god-awful humiliating process!

  Question 4: “When did you know it was over?” The first round of therapy ended with triumphant success and the unmistakable symbolism of buying our first home. I mean, what’s more romantic than a 30-year mortgage. Can’t remember what precipitated our return to the psychiatrist as I was about to walk out the door. Psychiatrist # 1 sent us to shrink # 2. We bought ourselves a lot of time (and probably a couple of boats and cars for these guys) with that round. More tears, denial, and lots of delay of the inevitable with this round of therapy. The breaking point was when I found undeniable evidence. I had really, really given the marriage my all. After all those years of counseling, forgiving, being duped, not understanding, not believing, I finally understood! It was over! The therapy had been totally useless. Jack was never straight with the therapists either. Aaargh! I took some comfort in the fact that both had been duped too.
After all, they were pros.

  Well, that was fun. Jack was totally distraught by the divorce, suicidal. You’d think that he would feel liberated. All that is still impossible for me to understand. My new life is such a blessing. I sooo appreciate Nick’s directness.

  All my love…xoxoxo

  Rachel put the papers down. For a moment, she felt as if she were prying into someone else’s life, their deepest secrets, on some immoral level. This is wrong, she thought. Would Eleni want anyone other than Josh to see this? Rachel sensed she would not want anyone seeing her private anguish if she were the author. But Josh had given these to her. He knew what was in here. So, she must have permission. But what if she meets this woman someday. Can she be friendly with her without betraying the level of intimacy to which she was exposed? No, Josh had given his permission, there was no doubt about that. Of course, maybe she was giving this dolt, who was her brother, way too much credit. He had probably forgotten just how revealing this material was. In any case, she was hooked, and besides, she would never get this level of honesty and detail from Josh directly.

  To Leni:

  I still think of what would happen if we had a do over (with the advantage of knowing a little bit about what we would be as adults). I’ll have more to say on this (don’t I always) but I have no doubt I would have given you my best shot. As I said before, I had no idea that I would never again feel that depth of feeling for anyone. There were, for sure, the moments of strong attraction, much lust, and even affection but nothing that was so complete and enduring. Having said that, there would still be the same impediments and insecurities, my “marriage is death” phobia, and the pull of protest. Still, if I had even an inkling of what I would uncover about myself over time, I would have tried my best to spend more than one lousy night with you. The night wasn’t lousy, only the fact that there was only one.

  Love…xoxoxo

  To Leni:

  What! No self-flagellation permitted, but I do it so well. Yeah, this rush of rather raw emotion took me by surprise. My friends and colleagues here would find it amazing, hilarious. Surely, everyone sees me as totally laid-back and unemotional. Hell, I’ve been erroneously declared clinically deceased on at least six occasions.

  But this has been good for me, really. For you, not so sure. I clearly had stuff inside that has been floating around on some level all my life. I’m very grateful to finally have had the opportunity to get it all out, if rather clumsily. Otherwise, I would someday be sitting around the nursing home saying damn, never had the opportunity to tell Leni how I felt about her. Now I can sit around the nursing home and focus on the important things, like chasing the pretty nurses up and down the aisles. But alas, they will surely outrun me.

  Reconnecting has been just a little like ripping open old wounds. A little pain, sure, but then some real healing. Hell, I bet most people go through life never having suffered a grand passion. The poor bastards are doomed to go through life happy…

  Love…xoxoxo

  To Leni:

  When did I get in touch? When I looked over the emails since then, I was taken with how far we came in a short time. It is almost as if we recovered the best of what we had 45+years ago and then immediately started moving beyond that point. Remarkable! When I decided to send that first message (and I did hesitate), I wondered if you would even recall me. I envisioned you sitting there going…Josh Connelly? I should know that name from somewhere…was he from Harvard?

  But you did remember and you apparently retained some strong memories of certain traits I guess I had back then. It strikes me that is why this dialogue may be important to us. It seems precious and rare to find someone with whom you want to share core feelings and thoughts. It is like finding a special place (and person) where you can go and feel again; here you can dig inside and better understand yourself. You can’t manufacture that connectedness. Perhaps our struggles with one another over so many years gave us a way to get to that special place. I do hope this makes some sense.

  All of this is one of those indefinable things. I see the words you send to me and I can see you, the way you smile and joke and care and look sometimes vulnerable and sometimes emotional and sometimes unreachable. That is a unique package. We may look older and we may be beyond our innocent days. But at some level, I think we both retain qualities that were special then and remain attractive now. I think the important things have not changed.

  Love xoxoxo

  Rachel paused again. Fatigue struggled with curiosity. She recalled reading about this phenomenon where lovers from their teens reconnect a lifetime later and remain just as much in love as they had been as teens. It is if they last chatted six days ago, not six decades. This seemed different somehow, and she struggled to figure out why. They had a very brief, incomplete relationship way back then that flowered all these decades later. Is that how it worked? Was this unique? Perhaps if everyone could find their early love, they would experience the same intensity. Of course, she had no such love. No one had touched her so. She could not possibly know but found it all fascinating. Perhaps, just perhaps, if she had not pushed away those girls at Smith who fluttered around the periphery of her emotional barriers. If she had only let one or two inside?

  To Josh:

  You’ve given me such a great gift in reconnecting and sharing your memories and feelings so openly. I’m very grateful. I had never really understood how you felt. The mystery of “us” has been clarified greatly. There may be strong twinges, but for me, our connection has replaced the question marks with treasured, positive feelings.

  How do I really remember you from college? You were kind, sensitive, super smart, passionate about causes, and the best kisser ever. Frankly, I was awed by you.

  I am sure that my own insecurity and naiveté fueled your ambivalence. We were both just beginning to evolve. I was afraid to say the words “I love you” because back then, back then I had this dumb idea that saying it was a total commitment. Total, as in body and soul. I was scared.

  I have to admit. You write beautifully. I was blown away by what I read—from the beginning to the end. I had such a swirl of thoughts and emotions. As I read it, I’m not sure I’ll ever get my thoughts together well enough to respond. When I found it almost too painful to continue reading, I reminded myself that pain was my guarantee that I was still alive, that I still cared a lot. That’s a good thing, right? Sometimes you remind me of the old lyrics…the honesty is too much; I have to close my eyes and hide. You do take my breath away.

  The emotional dust hasn’t settled yet, and the worst thing is that I don’t have enough time to do your writing justice. I want to read it again, and probably again. Please forgive me for going first to a negative. I do know I’m overly protective and private, but I really would like to understand how you think about your “pieces.” All the “what-ifs” are choking me. What if, years from now, or tomorrow (!), you were incapacitated and some helpful family member, friend, or colleague found pieces of your work that related to them. Am I wrong to imagine that some of your details would be very hurtful. I’m sure I’m missing something. Maybe I’m missing the freedom of a totally honest life. One other great fear is that I will disappoint you. Just know ahead of time that I really, really didn’t want to. I hope to be able to read your piece again, this time with less emotional white noise. You knock my socks off. Thank you for taking the plunge and hanging in.

  So much love to you…xoxoxo

  Rachel stopped. For a moment, she wondered which writings Eleni was praising? But the lack of organization prevented any linear understanding about what was going on. Still, there was so much here that her head was spinning. She was stunned by the intimacy, what it revealed about a brother she did not know. She was also afraid about what this journey into his heart revealed about her. “Enough for tonight,” she whispered to herself as she lay down on her bed.

  In the morning, Rachel jumped up to take Morris out for his walk. In truth, Morris walked over her, suggesting that
it was time for his morning constitutional. The pup had bonded with her; she was not sure why. The morning air gave her a chance to think about her brother. He was capable of love, it appeared. Caring for another human being was possible for him. Who knew? It was such a shock. She had thought that perhaps there was a genetic anomaly in the family genes, that neither she nor Josh could fully commit to another person. Yes, when she asked, he had casually mentioned loving this mystery woman from college, but that seemed impossible. The connection was too ephemeral, too casual. In fact, she had never heard mention of this mystery woman until this week. And really, what kind of lifelong obsession could possibly arise out of a short unconsummated relationship in which there had been no physical contact since the 1960s? It struck her as ridiculous, a soap opera drama.

  She shook her head. Focus on the comfort and serenity of the morning, she insisted to herself. Josh had been right; this was a special time and place. Remaining city lights yet gave shape to the outline of Vancouver’s skyline. They would soon be extinguished as the sun rose to fulfill its daily obligation. Sunlight promised an interesting day. The group would journey north, through the city, and up into the mountains that framed the northern edge of the metropolis. They would spend the day at a favored tourist spot, particularly for the winter sports enthusiasts. She would prefer to journey to Tofino and the adjacent beach area, a location that Josh had described on occasion. It was an isolated, wild shore on the western edge of Vancouver Island, remote and subject to incessant assaults from a demanding surf. Perhaps she could get Josh to take her someday. She might have to extend her stay a day or two, but she had never anticipated how well this visit would turn out. Before arriving, she had wondered if the two of them could get along for a few days. He had been such an unknown to her.