Love, Passion, and Star-Crossed Love
|"Dear Richard: Greetings, and hello's," Becky's letter read.
It was like electric charges jumping off the page and speeding up my heart as I read it. Becky had quietly married in March of 1987 in South Carolina, and it had been a little over two years since I had heard any word from her at all.
How much I had wanted to be Becky's husband, her knight-in-armor, dashing to her rescue, and when the question was asked if anyone had any objections to Becky marrying a guy named Chris Risk - it would have been my voice that rang out: "I do!" - But I didn't, because I didn't know. Becky was in the Air Force in South Carolina - and I was in Tucson, held by my responsibilities which I now had, unmarried, but now, with two children.
Becky knew, married Chris, and moved to Bangor, Maine.
“This may or may not come as a shock to you," Becky's letter continued, "but (brace yourself), I am in Tucson, at this very minute, as we speak. My brother's leave coincided with my ten-year class reunion - So I couldn't pass it up. I also couldn't pass up writing to you."
The electric charges suddenly became hot August thunderstorms. And my heart had found a new home pounding somewhere between my chest and into my neck, as I started thinking that, somehow, this is just not real - just another one of my many dreams about Becky, from which I'd wake-up elated, only to have it dissolve into painful despair by the reality of her absence, just like a shadow dissolves with the light.
And that empty pain of despair is something that's always with me; sometimes it fades into the background, but it's always there - never so far away that it can't be felt. And never is there a day that I don't think about Becky. Becky's the only woman who makes me nervous, and makes me feel the extremes of my emotions. I loved her, and I missed her.
And that's what life's about: To feel - To love - To stand out in the thunderstorms of emotions, getting soaked in the feelings, and in the emotions, and the passion that is life. And occasionally, if you're lucky, you'll get struck by lightning bolts of emotions - love. And I was in love with Becky.
I walked outside and sat on a shaded aluminum park bench in La Placita and there - with the scent of the wet fresh-cut grass, bird songs drifting in the air and a warm morning breeze blending everything together into the summer August sky - I continued to read Becky's letter.
"I know the last time we spoke I had to make it plain that we couldn't correspond any longer. I was rather blunt and it seemed (on my part) cruel and unfeeling. I hope that you don't hate me forever for that. Having to do that was painful, quite so actually, but I had to do it. Chris is not an unfeeling ogre, as a husband tho, I can understand and respect his feeling and wishes.
"So why am I writing? I just wanted to tell you that the scars have healed and I have fond memories of you! I had to tell you that. I don't know what good that may do - unless it can gulf this rift between us. hopefully, your scars have healed also and your memories are fond also. Maybe we can get together for a soda while I'm here, and talk, and maybe laugh a little. I'd like that. I'm staying at my mom's, so for obvious reasons I can't give you her number or address.
I'd like to introduce you to “Buttercup-2”: It's the pay phone by the pool. I'm here between 8:45 to 9:30 am every morning, taking my morning plunge. 748-9646 That's the one. Anyway... It's getting incredibly hot out here, so I've got to dip. Hope to hear from you! Interestingly enough,
I couldn't help but smile. “Buttercup” was the name we had given to an old payphone by the swimming pool at her mother's old trailer court several years past. The name taken from the heroine in the novel “The Princess Bride” by William Goldman. That name brought back memories and a smile of amusement.
Phone conversations are like chess games. You try to plan in your mind the moves you can make. Do I say this? Do I say that? My move, your move, my move again - A chess game. But no matter how well you plan or rehearse it, you can't predict how the other person will respond - What unforeseen move will they make that will change the way you see things? How will they change the direction of the conversation, and how will you respond to that?
Whenever you pick up a phone things change. Information transfers from one point to another. Ideas are exchanged. Plans are created where no plans existed before. So, when I found myself with a phone in my hand listening to the ringing at the other end: All opening gambits of conversations came to an end. My move was to call. It wouldn't be my move again until someone answered. I was nervous.
I didn't have a long wait. The phone rang five times then:
"Hello?" Becky's familiar voice sent a flood of memories rushing through my heart. I was excited and unexpectedly relieved. She was slightly out of breath. I could almost see the puddle of pool-water forming at her feet as she stood there on the phone.
"Becky?" I said venturing forward a pawn.
"Rich!" Becky's voice lit up.
It felt good to hear that particular sound, that particular voice again. It was sweet and fresh.
"Hello there," she said, "I knew that was you calling! How are you?"
"Fine,” I said, “and yourself?"
"A bit out of breath... I was at the other end of the pool when I thought I heard the phone ring, so I swam quickly to get over here. You know, I knew that I'd hear from you today. I figured when I sent off the letter that it would reach you today."
"Yeah, I just received it. God, it's good to hear your voice again!"
"I wasn't sure that you would call. I figured that if I didn't hear from you by today, that you wouldn't call."
"I'll always welcome you with open arms and a warm heart." I said softly.
"So," I said moving out a Knight, "Will I get to see you?"
"I guess we can meet somewhere," she said, "I've got my mom's car, we can meet somewhere close by here."
"Okay. Where are you?"
"I'm on the east side. Is Guggy's still in the Mall?"
My mind flashed. Guggy's was a small restaurant in the Park Mall. It had a nice cozy atmosphere and lots of stained-glass. It had been a long time since I, we, had been there. "Yes," I said, "What time?"
"Meet you there at 12:30. That will give me time to shower and change clothes."
"Okay, see you there."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" She said with a bit of an edge.
I knew that tone in her voice. It was a playful jab. Bex's humor in the face of nervousness.
"I might have changed a lot," she continued, "I might have a wooden leg or something."
I nearly laughed. Becky was so incredibly beautiful, she could make even wooden legs fashionable.
"I'll take that chance." I said.
"Wooden leg and all?"
"Wooden leg and all." I confirmed.
"Okay, see you there."
Guggy's was a restaurant in the Park-Mall, it had a cozy romantic atmosphere and it had style. It was embellished with stained glass everywhere; its windows, doors, even the booths were immured with clear and stained glass panels.
Tiffany style lamps adorned each booth. There were legions of old, obscure, books which were no longer in print, on shelves built into the booth's paneling and between uniquely-crafted bookends which were neatly tucked out of the way on the booth's tables.
Books like: "Farm Festivals" by Will Carleton, "An Opal" by Ednah Proctor Clarke dated 1896... Each book, each title a page out of a past gone by. Guggy's was cozily lit, quietly personal and a great place for a romantic rendezvous.
I met Becky at Guggy's at twelve-thirty with a few champagne colored roses. She wore white jeans and a V-neck pullover. Her hair was the same as I remembered: Beautifully full and a dark honey-color.
It had been several years since we'd seen each other - but there was no strangeness between us - it was like we were never apart, no time separated our hearts, there was no distance between our souls. We ordered a couple of beers.
"Where do they get all these old books?" Beck said leafing through an old volume she had pulled from the shelf. "Do they ask their employees to bring in old books, or do they go out of their way to find such antique books?"
"I don't know," I said quietly, "Perhaps a little of both. God! You look good!" And she did. Becky smiled.
"I've missed you." I said.
"I've missed you too. What have you been doing lately?"
"Some writing, here and there, mostly. How long will you be here?"
"About four more days. My high school reunion will start tomorrow, we're meeting at a hotel in Oro Valley and we'll get together for the next two days beyond that. I'll be leaving shortly after that, perhaps the next day."
"Is Chris down here too?"
“No. I'm by myself. Chris wouldn't let me take the car, so I had to take a flight here. He asked if I was going to see you, I told him that I didn't know."
"Why did you marry him?" Perhaps it was a bit audacious for me to ask, but there were questions that I needed answered, I needed to know. But Becky didn't seem to mind.
"Because, he asked." She said. "You get to a point in a relationship where you either split-up, or you get married, and at that time I didn't feel like I wanted to split-up. So, I got married."
"Any children?" I was almost afraid to ask. I didn't know how I'd react if she said yes. "No!" She said quickly and with a bit of a laugh, "My cabinet is so full of birth-control, it looks like a military zone!"
"I wanted so much to have children with you." I told her.
It was so easy for me to get lost in her eyes, blue and beautiful, like being adrift on an ocean. And I loved the way she gazed at me.
"I love you so very much." I said.
"I know that too."
There was a silence between us, words spoken through our eyes - communication not with words, but with feelings - a connection between us without the need for words.
"Want to leave here?" I asked.
"Sure. Where to?"
Well... We could go visit some old haunts."
"I'd like to go to Sabino Canyon." She said.
"Actually, I had that in mind."
We finished our beers and then headed out. We stopped at a store along the way to buy some beer, then continued on our way to Sabino Canyon.
Sabino Canyon is nestled at the base of the Catalina Mountains. The Canyon itself grows from the dry desert sands of Tucson and flourishes into a picturesque desert oasis.
A gallery of trees, from cottonwoods and sycamores to mesquite and Palo Verde, give protective umbrage to lush green vegetation and grasses, which are fed by numerous nurturing streams whose tranquil sounds are hypnotically reflected back by the quiet canyon walls.
We put the beer in my backpack, and then Becky and I left Sabino Canyon's parking area and walked up the main path. Our conversation flowed from subject to subject as we walked, catching up on the missed moments of time that drifted between us; segueing on to whatever caught our attention at the moment, an observation, a thought sparked by something that was said, or a fond memory of something from our past.
Our conversation, and memories, flowed like the waters that ran through the canyon; it was refreshing, nurturing, and in many ways life sustaining - sustenance to a parched soul. We walked without discussion as to our destination, but we both knew exactly where we were going; it was knowledge communicated and shared without the acknowledgment of words.
Leading the way, I diverted off the main pathway at a small inconspicuous trail that ventured down a rocky ravine, and then we navigated the old familiar trail which curved and followed the cliff back around to the running waters below.
The mid August humidity carried the scent of the desert creosote, as freely as the breezes carried the songs of the birds that flew in this desert paradise. It was beautiful here, and Becky made it even more so. We reached level ground, walked thirty feet forward and down to the left by the rushing stream.
"Here we are!" I said walking over to the concrete picnic table.
"This place..." Becky said rapt in memories, "It's been years." Becky walked over to the barbecue grill, "This is the one we cooked on!"
"That's the one," I said, "L.S.28: Our spot!"
L.S.28 stood for Lower Sabino site #28. It was a concrete picnic table and bench which sat cuddled in a semi-circle of creosote bushes, just under the arms of a mesquite tree which gave shade to the rough and warming concrete. "L.S.28" was deeply carved into the concrete construction at the bottom portion of the table.
A black, crusty, metal barbecue grill stood in the sun just off to the left - It was here, several years ago in late February, on a morning when the cold night's rain transformed into a surprisingly warm spring like day; Becky and I cooked eggs and hot-dogs on an impromptu outing here, while we cooled a two liter bottle of Coca-Cola in the ice water stream that ran behind the bushes beside us.
We had sat holding each other on this very bench; Becky on my lap and in my arms, being lulled to sleep by the rushing streams behind us, my head resting on her chest listening to her heartbeat, as she rested her head against the top of mine and her arms embracing me. It was at that point that I knew what it was like having Heaven here on earth. I was in love with Becky, soul deep.
L.S.28 became "our spot" in Sabino Canyon, a little niche away from the rest of the world, which we shared when we were a couple, years ago.
Things hadn't changed much in the intervening years. The water still flowed through Sabino Canyon; L.S.28 was still there; Becky was still as beautiful as ever, and I was still in love with her. All was the same... except, she was married; and although I wasn't, I had kids.
Becky walked to the far side of the bench, while I sat down on the table's top.
Becky was so beautiful, her lips so inviting - and as we chatted, this feeling grew of how much I wanted to kiss her, and hold her once again in my arms. I wanted so much to ask her for a kiss; but how do you ask a married woman for a kiss?
"You are so beautiful." Was all I said.
"Can I kiss you?" Becky asked.
The question took me by surprise; Becky had caught what I had been stumbling on in my mind and lobbed it straight at me!
"I was just about to ask you the very same thing." I said.
I got off the table and stood between the table and bench, as Becky came over to me; and suddenly Becky enveloped my senses. Her lips became my entire world. She was once again in my arms, and we became “whole” by our giving of each other to each other.
It was like I had been a desolate planet adrift in the dark emptiness of space, and Becky had just become my sun; The fires of her soul burned inside me and gave me life, and made me whole inside. It was as if the reason for my journey through this life of darkness, was simply to find her, to find the light and the warmth of her love.
The embodiment of pure beauty is Becky; and I was completely immersed in that purity, beauty and love, that it was as close as anyone can get to being in the presence of God... all there in the arms of my Becky. I was lost in nirvana.
My hands found a wonderment of sensations in each strand of Becky's hair that I touched. Her hair was full, and beautiful, and I was as much lost in the light brown-amber of her hair as I was lost in the taste and touch of her lips on mine.
I leaned back on the top of the concrete table, and we found the support of an old lost friend that we had known so many years before. It was an incredible feeling to have Becky, her tenderness and love, before me once again in my arms.
It was like the first time we had kissed, so many years ago; We couldn't stop, and each new kiss was like the first, and led to another, and another, and another...
I tilted to the side and Becky shifted onto her back. I felt the wonderful softness of her hips pressed into mine as we continued kissing.
Becky held me tight in her embrace, and my hand found Becky's hip, which I started to both caress and massage as our mouths explored each other.
Becky broke our kiss, turning her head so that her lips lingered at my ear, her breath hot and quick; and my lips slowly explored Becky's neck just below her ear, kissing further down her neck which she presented to me like a free gift of love.
"We had better stop," Beck said softly, "People may come by here." And once again our lips greeted each other with intense passion. We continued to kiss, not wanting to stop.
They say that when lovers... “love”... their souls combine, their fires burn together as ‘one’, and their energy together is greater than the one by its self, and separating takes effort, for there's a natural tenancy to preserve that fire of love.
And it's true. We were soulmates. Tearing away from Becky was hard and pulled me back into myself, making me aware of my own quick rate of breath; but she was right.
We gazed at each other, I brushed back a portion of her hair and found myself musing over how beautiful Becky really is, even her hair was ravishing, and I caught myself wondering what wistful thoughts beleaguered behind her pensive blue eyes, as she gazed at me.
Becky's lips met mine for another couple of lingering and playful kisses.
"I love you, Becky." I said, "So very much." Then suddenly, a vivid flash of memory struck me like lightning.
"Come on!" I said, helping Becky up, "I know a place.” I took Becky's hand and led the way from L.S.28.
"Where are we going?" Becky asked as she followed me upstream.
"Just wait, you'll see."
Walking any distance in Sabino Canyon leads to vastly different terrains: A stream running through large rocks and desert grasses, gives birth to islands of tall Cottonwoods and Sycamores that harbor a deeper stream; Navigate through them, and there are open patches of desert sand, small cacti, and dry knee-high grasses surrounded by yet another coursing stream and massive bushes and trees.
"I hope this place we're heading to has grass," Becky said as she followed me over a rocky rivulet that led to a stretch of desert sand, "I'm not going to lie on rocks and sand."
"Yes, it does actually," I said, "I discovered the place the last time I came up here to do some writing. It's close by a running stream near the base of a small hill. You'll like it."
Becky didn't say much after that, but I had a feeling that she had her doubts as she followed me.
There is a quiet brooding energy that breathes in Sabino Canyon, which is one of the reasons why I continued to journey back to our spot at Sabino even after Becky had left. Besides the memories that were here for me, it was quiet, beautiful to explore, and a good place to think and to write.
The very essence of writing is energy. Energy which flows from the brain into a non-physical universe where it catches faint glimpses of images, and words, which no one can see. Energy that exists deep within my very soul and empowers words to flow into ink, and imbues it with the energy of my soul for someone else to see and feel.
It is there that writing from the heart has its price: It leaches your energy and extracts a portion of your soul.
And so, it has been in my sojourns to Sabino, exploring out-of-the-way places, where I ‘rejuvenate’ by immersing myself in the energy that flows here, and discovering new worlds dwelling within my soul.
Keeping true to my “mental map” of landmarks and distances that I create when hiking out in new territory, we followed the stream up.
"How far is this place of yours?" Becky asked, trudging between two closely growing bushes that I had just trekked through.
I had begun to wonder about that myself actually. My "X-Marks-the-Spot" place seemed closer on my mental map than it actually was becoming.
The problem with Time is that “matter moves” and things change over the course of it. Floods change the breadth and depths of rivers, and droughts take the known banks away, trees die and fall, and bushes overgrow an area, changing the remembered landscape forever.
I was pondering the possibility of this geological change occurring within the few short months since I was here last, when I stumbled across a forgotten landmark; A large rock in front of a small four-foot bottlebrush tree embedded in an outcrop of calf-high grass. We were right on course.
"It's just a little further," I said, "Just around that mound there by the stream."
The place was a small open grassy area, the lower portion of a small hill, which sloped down slightly towards the rushing stream. It sat quietly out-of-the-way, cloaked by the surrounding bushes and trees that huddled along the stream's path.
"This is the place." I said. I set the backpack down and sat on the grass. Becky sat down beside me.
There is a world of beauty and spirituality that lies in nature, which exists beyond words or understanding. And with Becky sitting there beside me, everything seemed so surreal. The stream's burbling-rush in the warm open air, became a sound that hid us from the rest of the world. Breezes swirled through the Cottonwood trees that huddled around us, making their leaves quiver in heightened ecstasy, as if applauding the wind's teasing dance. Sabino Canyon breathes.
"This really is a nice place." Becky said quietly.
"I told you it was. Would you like a beer?"
"Yes; open one up." Beck replied.
I pulled out a couple of beers from the backpack and handed one to Beck.
"Tell me about Chris. What's he like?"
There were things that I wanted to know... things that had flooded my mind ever since I heard the news that she married... things I wanted to know about the man that now possessed my Becky.
Becky sat there for a moment lightly handling her beer.
"I really don't feel comfortable," Becky said gazing down at her beer, "Talking about my husband with my old boyfriend."
There was an undercurrent of emotions that remained unspoken. Becky was blocking me from the answers that I had sought. I wondered at the reasons for her hesitancy. I wasn't going to push it, but for now, my questions would go unanswered.
I leaned over to kiss her, but she pulled back a little.
"What about this?" Becky said solemnly, lightly
twisting her wedding ring.
I took her hand in mine and lightly circled my thumb around the tiny diamond stone of her ring.
"Yes..." I said half to myself, and I sighed, "What about that?"
"I guess that we've made our beds," Beck said, "Now we have to lie in them."
That was not a cheerful thought... and one which I didn't believe. Deep-down Becky wasn't happy... she didn't have that lighthearted, flamboyant, "Becky flair" that I knew so well, and missed. It was like she had some sordid dark-secret that remained unspeakable. But it reflected in her eyes, her quiet demeanor, and in the words she chose. Becky remained quiet, reserved, and seemed unsure of letting me get too close.
I turned her hand over and gently kissed her palm, letting my lips linger at the warmth and softness of her hand. Her fingers softly caressed my face and lightly urged my head up. And then once again our lips met. And everything around us faded from awareness. The feel of her lips and breath moving softly on my lips became my entire world. Becky was my Becky once again. Each hot breath that punctuated our kisses, blended us together into the mounting humidity of the late August afternoon.
"Wait a minute." Becky said.
She stood in front of me and pulled off the pull-over V-neck that she had on, leaving her white blouse dangling slightly open in front of me. I reached and grabbed her at her hips and found my hands exploring the softness of her hips.
I pulled her close and my lips found bare skin between her jeans and her soft white blouse. She kneeled down on top of me and her lips found mine again. It was like a thirst that could not be satiated; and each new kiss urged me back for more; to savor the feel, the taste, of each new soft touch of Becky on my lips.
"O Becky... My Becky!" I uttered.
Becky was electric, and addicting, and I was intoxicated by her caressing touches, as my lips explored the changing electric-textures of her neck, down, into the territory underneath each newly undone button.
Becky moved over onto the grass and laid back. I leaned over and re-adjusted my angle to accommodate her new position, and our lips greeted each other with renewed passion, and once again, I was lost in the feel of her lips between mine, lightly caressing, lightly touching her lips with mine.
"You're so gentle." Becky whispered, as if she was amazed.
I looked at her. She brushed back my hair with her hand. It seemed like such an odd tender little statement. Was I being too gentle? I wondered; or was it that Chris wasn't gentle with my Becky? Or was it nothing more than just a tender observation? I tried to read the answer in her eyes. Becky gazed at me softly, and yet, with a curious-quality that pulled me deeper into her eyes. Becky was so beautiful.
"I love you." I said.
"I love you too" She said softly.
And with that, we were kissing and in each other's embrace, softly caressing each other tenderly.
There was a lot of things culminating tonight in the hot-humid air of August: Becky and I were in each others arms; There was going to be a full moon tonight, and a lunar eclipse; and there was a thunderstorm building up over the mountains.
The Eclipse of the Barley Moon
Between the summer solstice and the fall equinox: The nights of August are that of change. August nights reminds us that the cycle of life never holds still, and that the summer is slowly slipping away. The temperatures of the days are still hot, but the late afternoon thunderstorms brings cooler air to the desert nights. It's a magical time which brings to life, only for this short period of time, before autumn begins, things that have waited for their time to flourish.
There was a full moon tonight.
To ancient farmers this full moon was known as the “Barley Moon”, and it was a time to reflect on the eternalness of this cycle of life, while their crops were ripening in the fields, and they would prepare for the upcoming harvest and the next full moon, the “Harvest Moon”.
And tonight, as things would have it, here with Becky, somewhere above the covers of the clouds was also a lunar eclipse, the legendary omen that is said to foreshadow the coming of disaster.
When the time came for Becky to leave, there was no final get-together, no good-bye, no explanations. I was shut out by her. Buttercup-2, the mysterious phone by the pool, just rang unanswered and I was left standing, much like our ancestors stood in the darkening of their world as that ominous shadow devoured the moon, standing in wonder and fear - and powerless.
Once again I was back in my dreams, waking to the fact that Becky was no longer here, the moving shadow of just a dream. Powerless to hold on, powerless to say good-bye. I was lost in the dark... groping around trying to make sense of all the things that I couldn't see.
How could she just walk away without explanation or even a word? Was there something that I had missed? Was there something that I said? Something that I did, or should have done?
I could still see her pensive blue eyes; and over, and over, I wondered - Was I just too lost in them to really read what she was trying to say to me with them? Why did Becky internalize her thoughts and not share them with me? Was there something that Chris had over her? Or was it me? I replayed everything over, and over in my mind, trying to make sense of it... and nothing made sense.
You can't have that much passion, as Becky had with me, and not have it mean something! And if Becky was truly in love with Chris, she wouldn't have been there in my arms. She had asked me for the first kiss. And there's the conflict in the words that she chose.
Why did she marry Chris? I had asked her: "Because, he asked." She said. "You get to a point in a relationship where you either split-up or you get married, and at that time I didn't feel like I wanted to split-up. So, I got married." Was there any true passion there in her words?
And the words she had chosen in her letter to me: "Chris is not an unfeeling ogre, as a husband tho..." What kind of true-love would choose those words? Chris might not be an unfeeling ogre, but an ogre, none-the-less, was implied by Beck... And there was also her comment on how gentle I was.
Yet, Becky left. And there was nothing that I could do.
When I finally received a letter from Becky from Bangor a few weeks latter, it was very nonchalant, cold, as if nothing had really happened between us, like it didn't matter to her, as if her feelings for me didn't exist. But, she was also with her husband now, so what could she really say?
Then I received a short note before just before Christmas saying that she and Chris were moving out of the state of Maine. And all communications ceased.
And throughout the flow of years, all my letters either were returned to me with address corrections, or went silently unanswered. Until I ran into a website that her husband Chris had created: It filled in some of the missing pieces of time, and the gaps in the information that I had wondered about. But it seemed oddly detached, bored, passionless, and very vain. It had hordes of vanity pictures of himself, and a couple his kids; Becky had given birth two Children by then, but the site was completely absent of any pictures of Becky at all, and that bothered me a bit.
There's an old saying: "If you really don't want to know the truth, don't ask the question." But there were questions that I needed answered - and only Becky had the answers.
And It was in this quest for answers, searching on the net, looking for a way to open up lines of communication with Becky, that I discovered her husband's second web-site and his two, rather small, sections that he had there about his wife “Becky”: "Becky's Devotionals", and "THE POTATO CHIP WOMAN!!! See the ghastly sight of shocking horror"; they read. Both sections seemed very sarcastic and belittling of Becky, and not what you'd expect of a devoting ‘loving’ husband about his wife.
So with the help of a few friends, we sent Becky a letter campaign. And it was with that I reopened lines of communication with Becky, she had two children of her own now, and after the first few cautious steps of communication; was some of the most open and honest sharing of feelings that I have had from Becky in a long while, and although it was not what I wanted to hear, it was the answers that I had sought. And It was straight from the heart of my Becky.
"Dear Richard, There was a time years ago, when I was on the verge of leaving Chris. That's when I looked you up. Things weren't going well between us, and I was prepared to walk out and see if maybe you and I might start.
"At first I was kind of swept away and thought it might've worked. Then I realized you were still with Donna, and 2 kids too boot! That's when it hit me that you and I could not have a future.
"Had it been any other woman you were with, I would've gotten over it. But that it was Donna, the very one who broke us up in the first place, and 2 kids, I knew that if I chose a life with you, my life would forever be tied to hers. And I didn't want that.
"When I realized you two were still together, all tho not a "couple", I just had to shake my head in bewilderment. I figured if I was going to get a divorce and commit adultery, it had better be worth my while. But seeing my future, with her in it, seemed rather bleak.
You made a foolish choice Rich.
"Why didn't I tell you that we were having problems? Because I realized that, one: you were still with Donna, and two: you are a very melancholy individual.
"And yes at that time Chris and I were having problems, but I realized that going back to you wouldn't solve anything and would only cause a whole new can of worms to be opened. I realized that I would've been trading one set of problems for another.
"And yes I did pull away from you after that realization, because I knew I wouldn't be happy with you. I also knew afterwards that it had been cruel, (unintentionally) to have even contacted you and gotten your hopes up. I hadn't thought things out.
"For my hasty and unexplained retreat, I apologize, as I did not want to hurt you. But at the time, I thought it was better leaving things unsaid. I take the blame for that, for just not being upfront and honest with you about that at the time. I'm sorry, truly. Had I done that, I would've left no doubt in your mind that a future was out of the question for us. And you could've gotten on with your life knowing for sure, and saved yourself a lot of postage and wondering.
"That is what I regret the most. That I wasn't honest with you. That's what haunted me all these years, not that I actually left you, but that I wasn't honest and forthcoming.
"I did care for you, but I instinctively knew, that we would not have made it. The passion between us was great, but it wouldn't have been able to sustain us for many years.
"Anyway. I got stuff to do. More later.” - Becky
“The passion between us was great...but “instinctively” she knew that it wouldn't have been able to sustain us for many years”?! - Bewildered, I struggled to grasp that contradiction.
I read, and read, and reread that, at a lost to understand. What else do you have? If that love and passion isn't there to begin with, as time fades, and you don't have that passion... what are you left with?
Perhaps Becky was right about my choices; but, we are all where we are because of the choices we've made. Perhaps she was right about making beds.
And perhaps, it doesn't really matter... because Time always moves on. The fires of passion all transfers over to a ‘newer’ generation. The never-ending drive-of-life always shifts to the young, where passions spark-fires with an urgency never felt before, where the "need to have" outweighs the cost of everything else; shifting the focus of time from "What was" to "What is".
Death will eventually extinguish all the smoldering embers of passion's past. And life moves on. And all of this, will be as if it never really mattered, to anyone.