We were high school sweethearts.
You know, in the way that only exists today in very small towns. (High school sweethearts, in that sense, seem to have gone out of style.)
I wore his letter jacket; we passed notes, left trinkets in each other’s lockers. I used to turn all the house phones off so my parents wouldn’t wake up when he got home from practice and called to say good night. We had a song.
We met when I was 14. He was a year older. And being the daughter of an over-protective father, I wasn’t allowed to date until I was 16. House rules. But at 15 ½, the law was bent and we had our first date. Both sets of parents agreed that it wasn’t in our best interest to form any serious ties. So, there were rules. So many rules. And we kept them all. I remember that he couldn’t take me to the winter formal one year. I had to go with another boy.
His mother died when I was 16. And not suddenly. Because of treatments and surgeries and transplants, her death (of a rare blood cancer) dragged out. It held everyone hostage, in a way. It pulled at some strings, tightened others. I remember when they crowned him Homecoming King, his mother standing by him on the windy football field, one arm linked through his, and the other holding down her strawberry-blond wig. And I remember sitting at her funeral, not too many months later, watching him carry her casket away. And I remember thinking that I hoped I never loved anyone as much as I loved him. Because it was unbelievably painful to watch him cry.
I went away to college when I was 17. We wrote. But over the moths, we wrote less and less frequently and eventually went the way of all high school sweethearts (at least those who leave their small towns). And there I was at 17, in possession of years of letters signed, Always, Chris, and absolutely certain I didn’t want to love anyone as much as I loved him. Because it was unbelievably painful to watch him leave.
He married when I was twenty-something. I don’t even remember the year. Because, of course, by then, I was completely recovered. Because at 17, we don’t know anything about our own resilience. And at twenty-five, I rarely think about him, except as an entry in my dating resume.
I do keep all of his love letters, though. Mostly because I’ve never gotten another.
They seem to have gone out of style.
how i love those love letters.
Posted by: dahl at January 6, 2004 02:26 PMtotally. i mean, how LONG do you hold onto those emails that give you butterflies? Actual in-the-print love letters are simply amazing.
Posted by: Fish at January 6, 2004 02:36 PMi remember my pile of letters, some with rose petals, some with tear stains... i loved them, too, but had to let go.
Posted by: mingaling at January 6, 2004 03:47 PMan ex of mine and i used to exchange cards and letters on what seemed like a weekly basis, and, of course, i've kept them all. actually, i've kept just about every card or letter ever sent to me because i am either a sentimental slob or a packrat. the art of the letter is slowly getting lost. sure, i'll take a "hey babe you rock my world" email, but, oh, boy a folded sheet of paper bearing their sweet words in their own handwriting. delicious.
Posted by: sassylittlepunkin at January 6, 2004 04:08 PMWhen I read this stuff, I realize how my romantic nature has changed or is different.
The last time I read my high school love letters
I laughed so hard I cried. Because, of course, high school love lasts about as long (for most highschoolers) as an insect's life. And the writing...is offal. Nothing to hold to one's chest and wish for, unless you like Harlequin Romance.
High school and teenage life didn't come wrapped in pretty snowflake gauze for me. It was largely a horrifying experience for me and my friends who found it all stupid. We couldn't wait to escape from it and become adults.
Posted by: Katherine at January 6, 2004 04:31 PMI have a shoebox filled with notes from my HS sweethearts - I dated a senior boy when I was a freshman... it was so innocent and sweet.... and dated a fellow senior, senior year. I'm so glad I kept it all - because some days it's easy to forget those moments ever happened.
Now it's all about instant messaging and cellphone short mail - at least according to my hip cousin Josh who is just finishing his senior year of HS. No more swapping of school rings or draping a letterman's jacket over your girl's shoulders.
Damn I feel old!
Posted by: Mala at January 6, 2004 05:26 PMI have a shoebox full, too. There are ones where he wrote about wanting to hold me in his arms while the New Orleans rain beat down around us... it was... poetry. Bad poetry, but poetry nonetheless. It's sad that todays "tormented" teens won't get to experience a real love letter. I mourn for them.
Posted by: Daniella at January 6, 2004 07:11 PMthat was moving.
thank-you
Ah, high school sweethearts. Mine was Erin, and ours was an intense, heady romance that lasted... what? A year, year and a half, maybe. My mother hated her guts, and still does to this day. For no reason. We had friends who were meddlesome, too. In the end, we broke up; well, she broke up with me. I was despondent for... weeks? Months? I don't know. It stands as the most intense emotional pain I've ever experienced, still.
Not long after we broke up, Erin announced that she was pregnant. "There's no possible way that this baby is yours", she said. I thought there was a chance, mathematically. There must have been an intervening period, because she was certain of it. We went our separate ways. I joined the Air Force, she married. I later married, divorced, finished my four years in the Air Force.
I went back to the old home town, and looked Erin up. The baby was a girl, a rambunctious thing, and had a little brother, too. The boy's father had trouble with the concept of fidelity, and he and Erin were divorced. We didn't get back together, just hung out for a while, then she was gone again.
Years passed. Seventeen of 'em. For the first fourteen or so, we were completely out of touch with one another. Then she signed up at classmates.com (before they started charging for membership) and asked me in a message board, "Would it be okay if I emailed you?"
Uh-oh.
Sure, I said, fire away. I was married again, had been for about seven years, and with no intention of quitting. I made the vow, and that was that. So we emailed back and forth from time to time, got caught up as much as you can with someone you're not going to fully open up to. She was divorced from her second husband, her kids were grown. The oldest had started early, made her a grandma. My one kid, a daughter, was in middle school. Chit chat chit chat...
I ended up divorcing wife number three. It was inevitable, and Erin had nothing to do with it. Not a thing.
But on March 10th, we'll have been living together for a year. It's a long way from high school to middle age, but we're sweethearts again. Joined In Oneness With The Twin Flames Of Our Souls.
She still has some of the poems I wrote for her all those years ago.
Posted by: Patron Saint of Drunken Fornication at January 7, 2004 01:09 AMLovely post as always.
(I've just nominated you for every Bloggie awards category I could, Fish - you're the best!)
Posted by: Lisa at January 7, 2004 06:50 AMI dont think they have necessarily gone out of style, I just dont think many people have skills in the fine art of love letter writing, I blame it on people not reading anymore. My girlfriend gives me a book entitled "Why Tamar Loves Dave" I counter with a "101 reasons I love Tamar" list of my own, she gives me a 2004 calender filled with scheduled playdates, anniversarys and sleepovers, I stick love letters under her car windshield at work or hide them in shoes before I leave in the morning. Being romantic is hard and you always need to be one step ahead of the competition but when I see my girlfriend with a huge smile on her face, it's totally worth it. Extremely sappy I know, but I thought I should chime in.
Posted by: David at January 7, 2004 10:39 AMloved that.
Posted by: michybrit at January 7, 2004 12:14 PM