***Out
In The American Neon Wilderness Night- At 16 Or 68 It Never Ends- The Romantic
Trials and Tribulations Of Sam Lowell-Take Two
From
The Pen Of Frank Jackman
This
is the way Sam Lowell told me his sad story over several meetings at one or
another of our favorite watering holes a short while back where he felt he had
to get something off his chest about his latest love interest gone sour.
Through his activity on our high school 50th anniversary reunion
committee we had communicated and met each other several times recently and he
had carried me along with his enthusiasm about the event. Got me interested in
the old days, and possibly going to the reunion. And he in turn confided in me
about this love problem, wanted me to write something up about it as a form of
therapy or something. I am no expert on the issue of love, or maybe better
having been married three times and having had numerous affairs and flings I am
as clueless as he about how to deal with the subject. In any case here are my
recollections of what he had to say on those sad whiskey-filled nights:
The
last time Sam Lowell saw Melinda Loring he was looking back at the headlights
of her automobile veering off as dusk approached to go north on Route 133 just
south of Amesbury along the New Hampshire border in the early spring of
2014. He did not know that that glimpse
would be the last, the last physical time he saw her, although given the
all-out fight they had had earlier that evening including an enraged outburst
by him he suspected as much. But like many things in this wicked old world of
romantic relationships that would not be the last of it, although that indeed
was the last physical time he saw her. There were some final shots, some last
metaphysical kiss-offs before the real end. And so as Sam had muttered to
himself at some point during the last not so metaphysical dust-up whether 16 or
68 years of age the romance game never gets easier. And so this story, or end
of story.
Let’s take a step back to figure out about the whys of that last
headlight glance before we find out what happened after the subsequent fall and
the last dust-up. Sam had been thinking about his 50th class reunion
at North Adamsville High School since he had received an invitation to go to
his 40th reunion back in 2004. At that time Sam had dismissed the
invitation with so much hubris because then he still thought that the bad luck
that had followed him for much of his life had been caused by his growing up on
“the wrong side of the tracks” in North Adamsville. He told me, a number of
times, that he had spent half a lifetime blaming that bad luck hometown affiliation
on everything from acne to wormwood.
Subsequently through some family-related deaths that took him
back to the old town Sam had reconciled himself with his roots and had
exhibited the first stirrings of a feeling that he might like to see some of
his old classmates. In late 2013, around Thanksgiving he, at least marginally
savvy on such user-friendly sites, created a Facebook event page in order
to see if anybody else on the planet knew of plans or was interested in making
plans for a 50th reunion. One day, a few days after setting up the
page, he got an inquiry asking what he knew about any upcoming plans. He answered in a short note his own limited
knowledge of any such plans but that his intention in setting up the page had
been to seek others to help out with organizing an event if nothing had been
established as yet. In that reply he had forgotten to give his name. And that
is how the “girl with the pale blue eyes” came into view.
“Who are you?” asked Melinda Loring returning his message, a
name that Sam immediately remembered from his high school days although he did
not know the woman personally. He shot back a blushed reply about being sorry
for forgetting to include his name, gave it, and casually remarked that he had
remembered from somewhere that she was a professor at a local public university
in the Boston area. He asked if she was still there. She sent an immediate
reply stating that no she was no longer there but that she had been and was
still a professor at a state university in an adjacent state, at the University
of New Hampshire, and had been for the previous twenty-five years. She also
mentioned that, having access to her Magnet,
her class of 1964 yearbook, she had looked up his class photo, and said he was
“very handsome.”
Naturally any guy from six to sixty would have to seriously
consider anybody, any female in Sam’s, who throws that unanticipated,
unsolicited comment a man’s way especially since she sent her class photo back as
well. That got them started on what would be a blizzard of e-mails over the
next several weeks.
During the early stages of their correspondence Sam told Melinda
that his previous knowledge of her had been perked a few years earlier when he
had as part of his reconciliation with the old home town looked up and found
his old high school running and running around buddy Brad Badger through a
school-related Internet site and he had gone over to Brad’s house in Newton to
look at his Magnet and talk over old
times.
Sam, having had a few
drinks that night and feeling expansive, related the following story to Brad
and which he subsequently related in an e-mail to Melinda to her delight if
disbelief. It seems that in his junior year at North Adamsville Sam had noticed
Melinda around school (they later confirmed they had had no classes together,
although having been in the same junior high and high schools for five years or
so they agreed that they must have run into each other or been in the same room
sometime if only the auditorium, gym or cafeteria) and had an interest in
meeting her after seeing her around a few times.
Of course in high school, at least back then, maybe now too, a
guy didn’t just go up to a girl and start making his moves. He got
“intelligence,” found out if she had a guy already, stuff like that. Usually
this information was gathered in the boys “lav” (especially the Monday morning
before school session when all the “hot” news of the weekend was discussed) but
in this case since Sam was a trackman this happened after school in the boys’
locker room where he inquired of two guys he knew who knew her what she was
like. Both agreed instantly that she was a “fox” but told him to forget it
because she was “unapproachable.” Meaning low-rent raggedy guys like Sam forget
it. Meaning, as well, that Sam as is almost always true with the young just
moved on to his fantasy next best thing. And so they did not meet then. Melinda
said she laughed when he related that story to her and in their further
exchanges related lots of information to Sam about what she was really going
through back then with an extraordinary tough family life with an abusive
father and passive mother, lots of low self-esteem, and other problems too
intimate to detail in an e-mail.
Frankly, after the first few exchanges Sam had been more than a
little intrigued with Melinda, intrigued enough to think about further
discovery. And as it turned out Melinda had
been as well. They discovered they both had much in common academically,
professionally, politically and personally. I won’t go into the specifics of
those “things in common” because in looking over my notes from Sam that would
take more time than necessary to make the point.
A point necessary to make though since it contributed to the
fall was Sam’s “relationship” status
which he introduced to Melinda after an initial blizzard of e-mails and phone
calls:
“Hi Melinda –Well we have been on a roller-coaster so far and we
have not even met in person yet. That is what is so surreal about this whole
thing that had developed between us. That business from last night about me
tracking your record down got me thinking though. Kind of has forced my hand
about something that I had intended to bring up tomorrow when we meet in person
for the first time as the first order of business to clear the air and give our
friendship a proper footing. I was struck by the way you said you have been
honest with me and that got me motivated to write this now instead of waiting
until tomorrow. I have, unlike you, not always been honest in the past. For
example, not to brag or anything like that but to deal with the honesty
question, a couple of times way back I have had five girlfriends at one time so
there was no way I could be honest and juggle all that. So I was lying to beat
the band. I have gotten better and tried to be honest with you and have been
doing so. But sometimes you can be honest and still omit things and that is
what this e-mail is about. I take it as something that we will work through as
we go along and I hope you agree.
You know as well as I do that we both carry a lot of baggage,
busted marriages, affairs, and so forth. On the other hand we are both old
enough to have whatever level of friendship we want from just friends to an
affair because we both as far as I know have no ties that would prohibit that,
neither of us is married. And even if we did in this day in age we could still
have whatever relationship we wanted. As long as we both have our eyes open and
know the score. That “know the score” part is what I want to talk about. It is
nothing bad but it is a complication. And even if we decide to be just friends
it is part of what is unfolding. I have decided to do the rest of this as a
narrative so here goes.
Up until a few weeks ago for the past ten years or so since the
end of my last serious relationship I was just rolling along writing, doing
legal work, doing politics, playing golf and all the rest. Doing all of that
while living in the same house as the woman that was my last serious romantic
relationship, Laura, who is still my closest woman friend. I have known her for
over twenty- five years and about twenty years ago we bought this modest house
in Whelan. As time went on though we had, as couples will, our problems until
about ten years ago we decided that it wasn’t working. But we both wanted to
keep the house and be friends. I won’t go into all of that now but you can ask
me about it. So that is what we did. And nothing wrong with that people make
such arrangements all the time. And so time moved on. I did my thing-she did
hers and we do things together. For example we still go out to Saratoga to
Laura’s family for Thanksgiving and Christmas since I don’t have family that
way. Stuff like that. At some level we have deep affection for each other but
it is just easier and more comfortable to be friends.
Then out of the blue you came along. You know how we “met” and
all so I don’t need to go into that but what happened is that I was not sure
where we were heading (at one point if anywhere) and so I made a point of
keeping that information to myself. Remember I made a point about just
concentrating on us and not on other baggage stuff. Part of it obviously is
that if we were not going anywhere then such information didn’t matter and if
we were then that would just be an awkward situation that we would deal with.
That is what a lot of my concern about expectations, the way we have met and
all of that has been about. I have told Laura about you in general terms (the
only way to put it since we still have not met) and since this whole thing has
been topsy-turvy that is where things stand right now.
If all of this seems like too much then so be it-but as for me I
still say forward- if you don’t that is okay and we can work on some other way
to be friends. I think we both strongly want to be friends and should be damn
it if that is what we want. Later Sam”
The tipping point for both of them, the piece of information
exchanged that startled, hell, flabbergasted them both, made them think for a
moment that destiny’s wings beckoned, made them think their flame thing might
be written in the stars was an event that occurred when they were nine. Here is
what I wrote at the time when Sam told me the story (after he told me that he
was “smitten” with Melinda and I begged
him to be cool, be cool for Laura’s sake although I had always had an abiding
interest in her, if she ever fell off of Sam’s wagon. Laura never did, damn,
she never did.):
“Now you have to know a little bit about Sam Lowell, about
his attitudes toward things like mysticism, fate, kismet, the unknown and all
of that to appreciate that he does not truck with any of that stuff. He fancies
himself a man of science, or at least of there being rational explanations for
things and this is why the information that he imparted to me baffled him. Me,
I am more agnostic about such things but this one did have me scratching my
head a little so I might as well get to it: “The year 2014 will be a milestone for Sam (and the same for me as well) marking the 50th anniversary of his graduation from high school, North Adamsville High School. For a whole number of reasons that should not detain us here Sam had been looking forward to that event for a couple of years in the expectation of going to his class reunion. He had never gone to any before for those whole bunch of reasons. Moreover he had actively attempted to put himself into the mix by setting up a class reunion event on Facebook. What he was doing at that point was making an ad hoc attempt to enlist fellow classmates to help organize the reunion. He got the usual early sparse response and then the response that triggers this sketch already mentioned.
A woman, Melinda Loring, a fellow classmate commented that she was interested in helping out but due her professional career commitments would not be able to do much. Also she lived up in New Hampshire and since the reunion would be held in Massachusetts that too would be a barrier. In any case Sam, looking to find some kindred help, began a blizzard of e-mail traffic with her. It seems that this Melinda was what they now call “hot” back in the day, a real looker, as a look at her yearbook picture testified to that Sam had forwarded to me, a fresh dewy “girl next door”- type who wore cashmere sweaters and who by popular opinion (boys’ locker room after sports’ practices opinion) was “unapproachable.” In any case Sam had seen her around school but that was about it.
Well some things change in this wicked old world, some things are not eternally etched in stone and Melinda like all of us from the Generation of ’68 has learned a thing or two, had been through her share of ups and downs and survived to tell about it. Naturally Sam was all ears to hear about this life if for no other reason that he could say that he had actually talked to her, even at a fifty year remove, for some such reason which only Sam is privy to. And so the blizzard of e-mails continued (her almost as crazy as him to write, write, write).
One exchange, the one that matters here, involved the question of where they had gone to elementary school, she to Adamsville North and he to Adamsville South. That Adamsville South response by Sam brought out the fact that Melinda’s mother, Margaret, had been a swimming instructor down at the Adamsville South Beach during the 1950s summers and had during her career there saved a drowning boy. Melinda, nine at the time, had been present at the event.
Sam said he had flipped out when he heard that information. See, and I remember him telling me one time about his love of the ocean but fear of it, fear to go too far out when swimming because he had almost drowned when he was nine down at the Adamsville South Beach one summer. Typical boy story: as the ocean was rising he had spied a log, an abandoned telephone pole, and had grabbed onto it. He drifted out for a while and then, as he said sheepishly, he realized he had gone too far but instead of holding onto the log he decided to try and swim for shore. Not a good swimmer and just too far out he started going down. His brother who was on the shore called for help and the swimming instructor came out and saved him in a nick of time.
So what lesson did Sam draw from that today. Anything about fate, karma, or just plain good luck. No. He told Melinda that since they had already “met” maybe they should get together and discuss the matter more fully. And guess what, she agreed. Jesus.”
A couple more cell-phone calls and another round of e-mails got
this pair to setting up the meeting in person, having a “date” like some
hormonally-driven teen-agers. (Sam could not remember who suggested the idea
first but neither flinched at that possibility.) They both admitted to
nervousness as they planned to meet in Portsmouth up in New Hampshire at a
restaurant that she had selected (he was to be at a legal conference in Maine
and that locale was the closest convenient city for both of them). Needless to
say they hit it off remarkably well.
And Sam, with two divorces under his belt and that also untold
number of liaisons, was also in his less lucid moments thinking along some just
such lines as an affair with Melinda, maybe more. Except. Oh yeah, except here
is where it got tricky, where Sam’s calculations sort of misfired. Sam was, as
he learned as they went along, ah, “married,” had been “married” for many years
to Laura, although for a number of years past they had been living as
“roommates.” Roommate meaning separate beds, mostly separate lives, and most
definitely no sex. That hard little fact, that “marriage” fact, a fact that I
kept mentioning to him as he got deeper into the human sink of Melinda.
Naturally he would not listen at that point.
Although not because, and it can face the light of day now, I secretly,
secretly then, wished that Sam would leave Laura, Laura who had disturbed my
dreams for years. We later discussed this situation after Sam’s fever over
Melinda had broken. Sam said he knew of my feelings for Laura, had known for
years and acknowledged that if things had gone differently with Melinda he
would have wished me well in my pursuit of Laura.
Naturally, or maybe not so naturally for the senior set,
for people in their sixties, and
supposedly beyond sexual desire as they dote on grandchildren, gardening,
golfing or whatever, the question of sleeping together, staying overnight
together came up after several dates. Sam as part of his professional duties
often went to Maine on legal business and so he suggested that they, he and
Melinda, meet at a hotel a mutual distance between them and they did one Friday
afternoon in frigid January. Melinda, assuming that the offer of meeting at a
hotel meant that they would sleep together, had made provisions unbeknownst to
Sam to stay that night with him. Sam, perhaps a little more backward in the
dating game and its progressions expected them to just have a few drinks, go
out for some dinner, come back and have a nightcap, let her go back on her way,
and leave it at that. That afternoon Melinda came on strong, almost caught Sam
flat-footed with her desire but he was not ready, had not been prepared for
Melinda’s desire and so nothing happened that night except an unhappy Melinda
who left unfulfilled around midnight.
That event left Sam in a quandary. He knew, just like Melinda
knew, that he desired her, wanted to have sex, make love to her. But he also
knew that once that happened that a bridge would be crossed, or so that was his
thinking at the time. Still Melinda was there, still he wanted her so the next
Friday afternoon he called her up out of the blue and told her to meet him at
that same hotel. Oh yes, and feed the cats and bring an overnight bag. She was
thrilled and arrived a couple of hours later. And that was that. Well not
exactly because that night they a great long sex bout like fifty years of
unacknowledged, unknown, unknowable desire surfaced. And that was their high
point, the acme of their thing. That was also the point where Sam,
back-tracking, began to squirm a little both at what he had done, that bridge
that he had crossed and that home he had left behind for a minute. The omens
thereafter were not good, although he never spoke of those nights to me and I
only knew about them from the notes he handed to me.
Who knows how some relationships turn from spun gold to dross in
a short time, in time for a “forever” man to turn into a never man (the first
designation an inside joke as it turned out since Melinda had started to call
him that in the early days when she was still smitten with him and expected to
share her time with him that long, and everything was possible. In the event
“forever” turned out to be, ah, significantly shorter).
Maybe the turning point was Sam’s response to that second date,
a December Friday a couple of weeks before Christmas date at a Tapas restaurant
in Portsmouth. Sam had never been to such a restaurant where they give you
small portions of many good things to eat, well-prepared, served at intervals
and a place which provided a relaxed atmosphere to while away the time in. They
talked up another storm and could barely keep their hands off each other,
gathered closer as the evening progressed. After the meal, the weather New
England winter cold he escorted her to her car and before she left they
exchanged several meaningful hugs (and he might have kissed her on the cheek).
They left knowing they both definitely had a thing for each other.
But Melinda was a fretter and a planner, not necessarily in that
order so at some point between that Friday and their resumption of e-mail
traffic the next day Melinda possessed of some dream future with Sam tried to
find out more about Laura, about that “roommate” arrangement and what was to
become of her. See Melinda had certain rules as we all more or less do in that
she took pride in her serial monogamous relationships. She was with a man, and
a man was with her, or no dice. Once she finished with a man that was that. She
told Sam that in an e-mail exchange set. He in a little panic over her position
kept trying to calm her doubts, kept trying to pass over his longtime
relationship as some platonic boy-scout trip, kept trying to keep his head
above water with Melinda. That night, that restless Saturday night he tossed
and turned trying to mull things over in his head and came up empty. Came up
with the only conclusion that made sense-end the flirtation and walk away. He,
and this is characteristic of Sam, “wrote” the thing out in his head first and
then at the crack of dawn gathered himself from his bed and went to compose the
following e-mail which he sent later that morning:
“Dear Melinda
I have to admit that I am all balled up about you but in the
cold light of day I have also admit that I am perplexed by the tone of your
e-mail last night (the “down the snowy road” one in case you have sent a later
one). I am a little confused now about your reasons but from early on you
seemed interested in my pursuing you, and encouraging me to that effect. And I
certainly have been interested in pursuing you and encouraging you to make me
feel that I should. Also I like you am amazed by the fateful number of common
things we share but now I am beginning to believe we might be star-crossed. It
is with you do not know how much great sorrow I have to write the following, I
hope you will respond to my e-mail with an e-mail (seems we are better on such
issues this way) and if you don’t I will understand and accept that you agree
with my solution. In any case I hope you will think and reflect on what I have
to say and not think too badly of your old classmate.
We are cursed you and I, we, the both of us with the three
curses, A tendency to intellectualize things, over-analyze them, fret them to
death, try to engineer things rather than let them take their natural course.
We have also been around the block enough to be wary, defensive about
relationships and things having taken and given our bumps and bruises. Of course,
as well we carry those long ago created scars about expectations,
acceptance, need to be wanted, praise and the like. A lot to carry for sure.
I know and I have said it before that you have had a rough
time with men and now it looks like with me too. That has to color your
perspective and that is not wrong. However your e-mail got me to wondering
about why you have kept trying to throw up roadblocks to our blooming romantic
relationship (formerly known as our possible “affair”). Not when we are together
or on the phone but in your e-mails. I won’t argue the point if I have done the
same but let me point out some things that will show what I mean:
Your general early wariness of my intentions and what I was
about and lately about my “marital” status.
The criminal report incident where you assumed that in the
whole universe I did such a goofball thing
The whole FB/ring thing
The womanizer issue
Now this thing about my true relationship with Laura
I wasn’t going to bring it up but since you asked
about it and I have told you more stuff about myself than probably any other
woman including Laura we have not been intimate for over fifteen years (part of
our problem). Sure on trips and stuff we have shared the same room and even the
same bed but that is it. If that isn’t platonic I don’t know what is.
We share a seven room house she has a room and another room
for her singing/mediation/photography- I have a room, a small office (which I
am writing this in now) and we share a living room, dining room and kitchen.
All modest and kind of small but with room for guests.
The big thing is that all of this in really uncharted
because Laura and I have never had to confront a situation like ours. Who knows
what would happen. All I know is she is the innocent party here and should be
treated like that.
Of course if our romance had blossomed then I would
have no problem bringing you to my house. But I do not think you are thinking
outside the box. I/we have resources so if something had bloomed I know (since
I have done it before) that other arrangements could have been made. Laura
keeps the house and I move out to an apartment. I move in with you and share
expenses. We both move some place together. We run away to a cave off of the
Pacific Coast Highway-they are plenty of alternatives.
All of this to say I really never would want to hurt you. I
am sorry if I have but there are no guarantees. Although I would much rather
have you holding my hand right now dear sweet Melinda I think perhaps it is
best that we stop right now, accept that our time together has passed. We have
been on a roller-coaster so I think just friendship would be hard, although
maybe when I calm down and knowing the limitations maybe we could work
something out. I hope you will respond but in any case I still hope to see you
at the reunion. That after all is what got this whole thing started. Sam”
Sam never gave Melinda a chance to respond since a few hours
later, maybe two, he called her up and begged her to forget what he had written
and that they should keep on going as best they could but that he planned to do
right by her. Of course he sent me this new information and I blew my top but
since it cannot do anybody any harm, or minimal harm let me show you an e-mail
he posted to Melinda after their “mini-break-up” episode:
“Melinda -Glad to reach you this morning to
make sure things were right between us and thank you for being understanding
about me being a little crazy yesterday. Yes, crazy because why would any guy
in his right mind walk away from somebody who was certifiable good for him. In
any case the time for walking away is past. If I really wanted to do that I
could have just done that yesterday. And you could have indirectly done the
same by just saying to yourself why should I go forward with a guy who doesn’t
have enough sense to come in out of the rain when somebody that is good for him
walks through the door. So the walking away is done and while we probably still
have rough patches ahead we are moving along-along in case anybody asks to the
hand-holding stage. So something is up.
I still can’t get over my response when you
started tearing up Friday night. I have been accused and rightly so in the past
of not showing enough emotion but I almost instinctively reached over to you to
comfort you like we had been together for a long time. I won’t forget that.
Hope you are okay after your dental
work-rest and take it easy tonight. Later Sam.”
Maybe it was San Diego- Sometimes a guy can’t quite figure out
what to do, can’t for the life of him, despite his age and the fact, the hard
fact that he has been through many mills before what the right thing to do is,
or maybe is too callous, too concerned with having his own way, having his
kids’ stuff “two women” thing that he gets blindsided by the truth, by the
equally hard fact that he cannot burn the candle at both ends. Melinda had
screamed at him, raised bloody holy hell about the fact that he was taking
Laura to San Diego with him, a few days in the sun he said to give her
winter-weary body so Melinda would have to put up with the fact that he would
be with “another woman” in the same room in the same hotel. That drove her to
rages, to fits, to tantrums which made him cry bloody murder. He made sure that
he called her every day but that every day was like a prison as she took aim at
his situation. He made the supreme mistake though of one call making a
comparison between the hotel room in San Diego and their love-nest in
Portsmouth. That caused a burning flame for days after.
Maybe it was after that Washington, D.C in February which was a
trip that solidified, mainly, their desire for each other, but because she was
taking a scheduled bus back to New Hampshire and he was grabbing his car from
an off-site lot they had a rushed good-bye after furious movement at the
airport where she had an odd exchange of luggage problem getting hers’ mixed up
with another causing several headaches and problems for Sam at his house when
Laura received a telephone call from Jet Blue asking if that mislaid luggage
was there. The next day feeling some
ill-wind had crossed their paths Sam had refused Melinda’s request of him to
call her when she was confused by an e-mail that he sent because he had written
it hastily as he had his hands full with Laura and her furor as fallout over
the luggage problem.
Probably though the end started to crumble the month before the
end when a few days after coming back from that fateful Washington trip Melinda
took a big spill, a serious fall at a pool in Portsmouth where she swam to get
exercise, that broke her hip bone requiring surgery and their budding romance
came to a crashing halt as she convalesced and Sam took on the unaccustomed
role of care-giver- general. Not so much that incident itself since it was an
accident but what it did to enforce her idleness which left her too much time
to think about how she wanted him with her, wanted him to leave Laura, wanted
to make those 208 plans (roughly) that Melinda spent her waking hours doing in
order to have him come closer to her. And Sam needed to be in Boston, or wanted
to be, and not stuck in some winter wonderland town in Podunk New Hampshire at
the beck and call of her highness.
Not a meeting between them in that period went by without some
variation of the on-going argument. Although there were some nice times, (one
time he drove her to their North Adamsville youth homes and they had many
laughs, and some sorrows, over that). Even when he had driven up in order to
allow her to teach a seminar at UNH and then drove her the next day over to the
Portsmouth General to get her cleared to be able to drive she/he/they argued
over that same old, same old material. Now that Sam thought about it he
believed that was clearly the case, the place where all hell broke loose, since
he just from his end got tired of the arguments that were leading nowhere.
The few days before the end had not been better (really a few
weeks Sam thought since that damn accident put her out of commission placed a
damper on their affair as he became a care-giver and she a patient). The
inevitable Melinda war cry of when was Sam going to leave his “wife,” when he
was going to leave Laura, and what, get this, constructive steps he had taken
to break with her had led to a series of arguments starting with the day that
she was finally given the okay by the doctor in charge of her case at
Portsmouth General to drive.
Melinda, as an act of liberation from her confinement, had
driven them to Newburyport and then to Plum Island where when Sam had expressed
his concern about the change in their relationship from romantic to
care-giving, that the “spark” had gone out somewhere along the line (she took
his remark, the way he said it, as his displeasure at her). Melinda had
exploded and said that “she wished he had never taken care of her during that
month she was laid up if she was such a burden.” They talked but the fires had
not been put out. Newburyport was significant for that was where he had brought
her a trinket on their first trip there in December when they could hardly keep
their hands off each other (and had their first “lean-in” kiss). The next day
walking on Hampton Beach the smoldering fires erupted (slightly) again when an
issue came up about Melinda doing a favor for her ex-husband. They kissed a
statutory kiss and parted company she to Epping and he back to Boston.
Naturally the e-mail and cell-phone traffic (actually the
diminished traffic, significantly down from the days when they would sent
blizzards of e-mails to each other when he thought about it later) reflected
those unresolved tensions. She needed to spent that first week of liberation
catching up on work, house, social chores and could only spare that next
Thursday evening for them to get together and since she was going to be in the
Salem (NH) area they decided to meet in Amesbury for dinner. Before that though
Sam made what would be a mistake, a fatal mistake, of putting into writing some
of his feelings about where they were at in their relationship. Thus he sent
the following e-mail which was the final piece of evidence that things had gone
drastically wrong.
“Dearest Melinda -Where have those hands grabbing at each other
across the table in delight/need/want at Morry’s (and elsewhere) gone. Where
has your hand grabbing my arm while walking outside of Rudi’s (and elsewhere)
and me glad to have you do it gone. Where have the little stolen sweet kisses
of Portsmouth parking lots gone. Where have those endless phone calls where we
hated to sign off talking about great adventures ahead gone. Where have those
roundabout hours of blissful silliness gone. Where have those shy but
meaningful moments when our feelings for each other blossomed gone. I could go
on with a million more examples when were on the same page and were relaxed and
confident about our relationship and where it might head but you get the idea.
I sensed from this e-mail that you are beginning to get the
feeling like me that you/I/we are not in a good place these days. Think about
the first time at Newburyport in precious December and last week. I had already
spoken about this last week and now I think you sense that too from your side.
Our talk today where we got all theoretical about the future without any sweet
talk kind of epitomized that. Frankly, and you can speak for yourself, I am
unhappy with the drift of things now. I/you/we spent too much time thinking
about the future, future plans, about the relationship itself and not enough
about how to get out of the rough patch we are in. How to get the romance back
and just relax with each other. Why
don’t we take a step back, maybe two, today and tomorrow and think about things
we can say and do when we meet on Thursday to break the impasse. Why don’t we
step back and just forget about the future for a little bit and just think we
are “dating” for right now with all its sense of mystery in the now with no
future goals. Or maybe that we should think about just being friends for a
while. I always want to be friends with you that is for sure. These are only
suggestions. The main thing is that you/I/we think about this and not rush into
a blizzard of e-mails. This rough patch requires thinking not writing-
From a guy who misses those delighted hands across the table,
that grabbing hand on my arm, those endless funny phone calls waited for in
anticipation and nervousness, those sweet shy stolen kisses, that bubble
silliness when the outside world didn’t matter for a bit, those intimate
moments when you and I both blushed a teenage-like blush at how close we were,
those all night talkfests, those candles flittering in the dark, serious
Melinda and Sam just being foolish and off-guard, the kindnesses we did for
each other just because we were special to each other, the sense that our thing
was written in the wind, and lots of other things you remember as well as I do.
Sam”
They had a short acrimonious cell-phone exchange after that
e-mail but again agreed to meet in Amesbury the next day to figure things out.
That next evening things started well enough, after Melinda had ordered wine
with her dinner. The net result of their discussions was that they would go on
as friends for a while and see where that led. Of course to go beyond the
friend stage Melinda gave no uncertain terms to the proposition that she could
not go on, was “ashamed” to go on under the circumstances unless Sam got a
place of his own, left Laura.
Melinda ordered another wine, unusual for her, and that must
have given her courage to speak again of the e-mail. She said it read like a
lawyer’s closing argument, that she had been hurt and that he was basically a
bum of the month. He became incensed, yelled at her and threw money on the
table for dinner and walked to the men’s room to fume. When he came back he
tried to tell her his point of view but he was tired of arguing by then and
just said “let it go for now.” They left, she put her hand in his arm as usual
and he muttered that “they were in very bad place” as he walked her to her car.
He looked at her shoes, the shoes she reminded him that she had worn in sunnier
days down in Washington and he commented “that seems like a long time ago” as they
arrived at her car. Rather than the usual kiss good-bye he yelled out “I’ll be
in touch,” as he walked back to his own car.
Since Melinda was not good at directions (and the Google maps were helter-skelter on this
one) Sam had consented to have her follow him out of Amesbury on Route 27 which
she did until they got to the U.S. 495 South entrance. A couple of exits up she
veered off onto Route 133 for home. As he shifted gears from fourth to fifth to
push on up to speed in the U.S. 495 night after he saw her automobile veer off
to the northern route home he breathed a sigh of relief, and of sadness. They
never saw each other again.
That is prologue.
Sam was, frankly, heart-broken over the loss of Melinda, had had
many sleepless nights and days of forlornness, as he expressed the matter to me
on several occasions after that last highway parting when we met over drinks
later at one of our old watering holes of late Jacks’ in Cambridge and an old
time haunt of mine, Jimmy’s Grille, in Boston (where in the old Irish bar
fashion you can still get a beer chaser gratis with your whiskey, high shelf or
low). Of course there were other
feelings as well, feelings of rage and outrage after Sam had told Laura he was
leaving her and their household arrangement once Melinda forced the issue. All
for naught since Melinda had probably been preparing to give Sam his walking
papers at exactly the same time that he was deciding in her favor at least that
was Sam’s speculation after the fact. Speculation necessary, as will become
more apparent as well mull to over the dregs of the situation, since Melinda
refused to discuss her reasons in that last cellphone communication beyond what
he already knew. He had thought perhaps she was going back to her previous man
who was emotionally less high maintenance than Sam, maybe had gotten cold feet,
or just did not want the drama associated with trying to work out a kind of
long distance relationship since he had balked at spending too much time in the
Podunk New Hampshire town where she lived.
That telling he was leaving the household to Laura part had
caused more anguish than Sam expected especially since he freely admitted to me
that he had not managed that part well. Had hedged his bets on Melinda after
that last meeting feeling that she was going to “dump” him (Sam’s corner boy
sweet sixteen term, Melinda’s was the adult-like “breaking off the
relationship”). Fearing to be left with nobody once the dust settled he had
told Laura that he not sure what he was going to do and would need some time to
figure things out. Made the fatal error, which would come back to haunt him in
his relationship with Laura, that he had “two women” now. But said it in such a
way that he implied that he was happy or at least not unhappy about that
situation like some errant lust-filled schoolboy. Then when the Melinda other
shoe dropped all the mess of back-tracking to try to repair the Sam-Laura
relationship. That was a story in itself but since it does not revolve what Sam
did later we will let it ride (let it ride as well since I honestly have my own
privately-held outrages about what Sam did to Laura and how he maneuvered
himself out of harm’s way with a lot of fast-talking). No things had not gone well, gone well at
all. Hence the rage, and sorrow.
Getting back to Melinda though somehow something (something
unknown and only half suspected by Sam) had snapped in Melinda about Sam’s
commitment to Laura, about the enraged last meeting, about that fateful e-mail,
that “closing argument” e-mail as Melinda had called it in an irate moment that
had expressed Sam’s apprehensions about their future. As mentioned before what
happened upon later investigation by Sam, or what he thought had occurred, was
that while he was giving Laura notice of leaving Melinda had independently and
unilaterally made her fateful decision. When Sam tried several time to call or
e-mail Melinda during that next week under the pretext that Laura had to make
plans to leave their household as she was anxious to do to get out of the
maelstrom (that leaving would be partially true later but she came back after a
few weeks) Melinda stonewalled him finally telling him to wait two weeks for
her reply.
That hard-bitten and anxious two weeks over and done Melinda
definitely and unceremoniously gave Sam his walking papers. Of course faithful
Laura locked into limbo during this period was frantic, was outraged (and
rightly so Sam kind of half-heartedly acknowledged to me as I scoured at him
when he mentioned to my mind the dirty way he had treated Laura) and had made
arrangements to leave when Sam told her that he wished to stay with her, for
her to stay. At that level I had some sympathy for Sam and his loss of two
women. Somehow though, damn, Laura did stay with Sam in the end but since this
is about Sam and Melinda I will let it go.
A couple of weeks after the Melinda break-up decision Sam sent
her an e-mail keeping open the old possibility of being friends, acknowledged
that they could not be lovers under the new dispensation. He did not expect and
did not receive any answer the way he posed the question in the e-mail since he
assumed that Melinda was still in furious mode and so left the that possibility
for some vague future. Then he made another fatal mistake. Not as devastating
as the previous ones since they had already done their damage and were done
with but for the events that would follow. He assumed the “no answer” was really
that Melinda was thinking things over about a friendship. Fool’s paradise and prima facie evidence that even a smart
guy like Sam can act as silly as a 16 year old. He went along with that idea in
the back of his mind leaving Melinda plenty of room to decide. Eventually after
several weeks as her birthday approached he sent another short e-mail with a birthday
greeting. Still no reply (none was expected, he said, as he presented the thing
to me as strictly a greeting like on a birthday card, oh, alright an e-card).
Then all hell broke loose.
As detailed previously Sam and Melinda met up through a
fortuitous searching for reunion information. That class’s reunion committee,
which included Sam in a secondary role, had set up a website to help organize
the reunion events. For a period in the bloom of their affair they had
collaborated on messages to the class, memory stuff mostly like lots of such
sites. That website gave all who joined their own profile pages to do with as
they liked (within reason and with some regard for taste and such). The site
had the now standard ways to tell each members’ story though words, photos, and
videos and ways, publicly and privately, to communicate with other on the site
( to the exclusion of the rest of the universe since it was a closed site,
closed to all but members of the class).
One day a couple of months after the break-up Sam noticed that
Melinda had updated her profile on the site. When he clicked on her page he saw
a photo (actually two) of her and her high school friend, Donna, at Donna’s
place in California. Melinda had gone out there to celebrate her own 68th
birthday. Under normal circumstances no big deal- a couple of good-looking
older women in a photo (good-looking to older guys, okay, maybe not to hungry
younger guys looking for fast sex and bouncy women). What made the photo a
problem for Sam, had him seeing red actually, was that he was originally
supposed to have been on that California trip to see Donna. Seeing the photo,
and seeing something that was not there (he thought that Melinda had placed the
photos there to stir him up or something, another fatal mistake) he sent Melinda a private
e-mail that was available as part of her profile page.
Mainly the message once again sent best wishes for her birthday,
congratulated Melinda on her trip, telling her that he had been in California
earlier that same month and that he still believed that their thing had been “written
in the wind.” No response. A few days later he placed a public message on her
profile page stating basically the same information. No response. The day after
that he noticed that his comment had been deleted by her (which he or she could
do the way the site was set up). A couple of days before this Sam had also
placed a rather long remembrance of childhood July 4th celebrations in
the Atlantic section of North Adamsville on the Memories section of the class website. A day later Melinda posted
an old photo of her and other North Adamsville classmates on a July 4th
float in the Norfolk section of North Adamsville’s celebration.
The posting of that ancient photo led Sam to write a public
response to Melinda, a kind of coded love letter (based on another fatal mistake
that he assumed she had placed the photo in response to his post, Jesus, didn’t
he see this whole thing as a house of mirrors, the poor love-sick bastard). Here’d
what he wrote (with some explanations by me where necessary although even I am
not sure what he was trying to get at so don’t shoot the messenger):
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