Last night, I was incredibly bored and kind of depressed. It had to do with money, love life or the lack thereof and mostly just this question in my mind. Is this all that there is? I'd received an email from one of those websites where you can hook up with people you knew a hundred and ten years ago, but haven't seen since. The site goes unnamed in this blog, for reasons that will become clear later on.

Anyway, out of curioisty, I click on the "who's new?" link to see if there's anyone that I might want to contact for any reason. The name of my first love jumped out at me. I haven't seen him in years. He was the first man that I'd made love to. I thought he was a man at the time; after all, he was eighteen years old. and he shaved. Heady stuff for a 17 year old girl. I always kicked myself for my infidelity that caused the abrupt end to our relationship. The infideity was fleeting and meaningless, even then. Silly, because there have been other loves in my life; larger regrets, stronger loves, children, divorce... Yet, he lived in my consciousness like a sad, beautiful ghost.

It all started one night, in 1977, when my friend and I decided to visit her boyfriend with the hopes of catching mono and losing a few pounds. K, I never said I was a rocket scientist, did I? Seventeen year old girls aren't always known for their "brains" or good judgement. He was there with my friend's boyfriend. We drank after the boyfriend, consumed an illegal substance with the boyfriend, making sure that we drew in as many germs as possible and left. Incidentally, neither my friend nor I came down with mono. Apparently, in all our midwestern wholesomeness, we both had inpenretrable immune sytems. Within a day or so, the friend asked my friends boyfriend to have his girlfriend ask me if I would go out with him, as was done back in the day when we were all filled with post pubescent insecurity. I'd already commented to my friend that this guy was strangely quiet and shy for someone, who was so handsome that he had every girl in the neighborhood falling at his feet.

Why would he want to go out with me? I wasn't the caliber of "beauty" that attracted boys like him. I was cute, in that wholesome kind of way. I didn't fall at his feet, probably because I knew he was way out of my league and I thought that he probably had a girlfriend who was a dead ringer for Farah Fawcett. In spite of finding him extremely handsome, I also sensed something very uneasy about him, a lack of confidence that you just didn't see in "guys like him," who seemed to have it all going on. I think the quote was, "gosh, he's cute, but there's something strange about him."

I fully admit to only going out with him because I was wounded by a recently ended relationship, with a guy who was not nearly as good looking, popular and in my view ten times as awkward. My heart was relatively broken by this other boy. As I got to know the boy who became my ghost; I found him to be sweet, incredibly gentle and when I could make him laugh, his smile lit the room and eventually, my heart. He was incredibly shy and kind of sad. He was self-conscious and had surrounded his psyche with this thick wall. On hindsight, I'm sure thats what felt like his "strangeness" to me. I became convinced that his sadness was a really tough homelife that he kept to himself. He intimated it to me, and I loved him for sharing it with me.

So, imagine my surprise when I read his "profile" last night. He was so incredibly happy and light, articulate and full of joy that I literally flipped back to his picture several times to make sure that this was the same guy. It definitely was., Over the years, he'd become this question mark in my mind. He haunted me, for reasons that I've never quite understood. I came to accept the haunting in my mind because there are some things that none of us can control. His ghost was one of those things.

He went on to say how he'd survived a life threatening illness. How he had found happiness living on a farm with his little sister after a bad marriage. He spoke of his wonderful son, now grown. In the last sentence, he expressed his joy at finally meeting the one person he thought he could spend the rest of his life with... "and he's great!"

I wanted to weep for him, in fact, I did cry a little bit. Not because I want him back, or out of disappointment, or judgement. I cried for that sad, beautiful boy, who had every girl in a ten mile radius throwing themselves at his feet. I cried for the pain and confusion about what must have been very hard to deal with in the conservative midwest of the 1970's. It all became clear to me, and I understood that ghost in an instant. I sent him an email, letting him know how happy I was for him, including my email address. I want to know him again, because I want to know who he is without the pain. Whether that happens or not, remains to be seen and I'll respect his wishes.

Most of all, I wish him the best things. I wish for him the strongest love and all the joy that it brings; and for maybe the first time in his life...

peace