The Gift I Could Not Keep

[Teach]

The Gift I Could Not Keep

“I’m mesmerized,” I said. "I can't take my eyes off you," I added. I looked over at Barbara. In a moment, we were passionately kissing.

I had met Barbara that summer. The summer of ’65. We were both taking a geography course at a Boston-area college. Barbara was an undergrad. I was a graduate student.

Well, that first day of class. The first time I saw her, I was enthralled. Awestruck. I thought to myself, “What a beautiful face!” As our professor was handing out the course syllabus, I was stealing glances at this beautiful co-ed. If my eyes were iron filaments, Barbara’s face was the magnet.

In the succeeding days, I was trying to find a way to broach a conversation. Then, I noticed that Barbara was carrying a paperback entitled “The Jungle” by Upton Sinclair (I had read the book about the abuses of the Chicago meat-packing industry as an undergraduate). As she was walking, I said, “Pretty gory stuff.” Barbara nodded her head in agreement. It was then that we struck up a conversation.

In the days that followed, we would talk in the cafeteria after class. I would learn that Barbara lived in a town south of Boston. She was thinking of going into teaching. Yet, most of all, I was becoming totally infatuated with this lovely, young woman. Her beautiful gleaming face cast a hypnotic spell over me.

As I recall, about a week after classes started, I asked her out. Barbara suggested that instead of going out on a date that I join her for dinner at her parents’ apartment. Well, I didn’t want to show up empty-handed so I decided to bring a single red rose in a tube of water. I did just that (little did I know at the time that in parts of Germany a man who brings a Fraulein a single red rose is asking for her hand in marriage).

That evening, I recall knocking on her parents' apartment door. Barbara opened the door. She looked beautiful. I remember that her hair was coiffed in a page-boy look that framed her lovely round face. Her glasses were perched above her forehead. Her look totally captivated me.
Well, Barbara invited me in. Soon after, I met her parents and her younger sister. I recall handing Barbara the single red rose. She smiled. Her face lit up the room.

Shortly after I had arrived, Barbara’s parents and her younger sister left to do some errands. Barbara and I then sat down to the chicken dinner she had prepared. It was delicious. Afterward, we sat in the living room and talked. I must tell you that my libidinal energies were building. I was coming out of my skin.

As I recall, Barbara was wearing a black skirt that a red slip was peeking out from under. As we sat, I noticed my mouth was dry. I was sweating. I don’t know this for a fact, but my pupils must have been dilated.

It was then that I recall trying to put my arm around Barbara. As I did, I accidentally hit one of her mother’s potted plants (pottery shards and dirt flew everywhere; I felt like a complete clod). I recall Barbara made a joke of it, something about her mother not liking the plant but not wanting to throw it out. “Now she had an excuse,” Barbara said.

In the weeks that followed, Barbara and I would see each other in class and go out on dates on Saturday evenings. I remember we went to plays, movies, and out to eat. Yet, one particular date will always stand out. I recall that I took Barbara miniature golfing. We had finished early. It was then that I had remembered that a neighborhood friend had invited me -- and a date, if I had one -- to come to his house for his 23rd birthday party.

Well, as soon as Barbara and I arrived, my friend’s cousin, a fellow named Steve, pulled me aside, “Where did you meet her?” he asked. In one of my college courses,” I replied. “Attractive,” he said. "Very attractive," he added. I remember saying, “Yes.”

In the next hour or so, Barbara and I danced, had a couple drinks and chatted with the guests. It was then that I suggested that we leave.

When we reached my car, I recall opening the door for Barbara and then just sitting for a moment before putting the key in the ignition. It was then that I told Barbara the hypnotic effect she was having on me. I then looked over at Barbara. She looked back. I recall in that instant Barbara and I shared a moment that only two people who are becoming romantically involved can appreciate. Soon, we were locked in an amorous embrace. It was wonderful. Idyllic. A warm summer night. A beautiful woman. A romantic interlude. I felt like I was in heaven. I literally had to pinch myself to be sure I wasn't fantasizing. Oh, how I wish I could have bottled those fifteen or twenty minutes. I know I would have held onto them, forever.

Well, about two weeks later, just as the summer course we were taking was coming to an end, I took Barbara to the movies. We then went “parking” in a Boston suburb.

Well, I remember putting my arm around Barbara. I began to kiss her (or at least I tried). Yet she seemed aloof. Unresponsive. I think I asked, “Barbara, is something wrong?” Well, the events that would then transpire would remain with me for the rest of my life. Barbara said, “Walter, I don’t think we’re right for each other.” I was in a state of disbelief. Stunned. I felt as if someone had just taken a sledge- hammer and had repeatedly whacked me over the head. I was now numb. Devastated. It was if I were a balloon filled with love, joy, and happiness and then, unexpectedly, someone had suddenly released all the air. I began crying. Tears were streaming down my face like Niagara Falls.

As if to add insult to injury, a cop shows up with this humungous flashlight. He shines his flashlight in my face. He sees that I'm crying. He asks me to roll down my window. He then asks, "Is everything all right?" I tell him I'm fine. Not really!

Moments later, I looked at Barbara and said, “Is there any hope for us?” She replied, matter-of-factly (I’ll never forget): “Where’s there’s life, there’s hope.” A short time later, I drove Barbara home. Well, I was so despondent that after I dropped Barbara off, I had thoughts of crashing my car into a telephone pole (fortunately I didn’t).

The next day, I wrote Barbara a lengthy letter. I pleaded for us to get back together. I remember comparing her to both the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo. Yet, I never did call. Oh, I do recall that just before I left for my new teaching job on Long Island, I swung by, unannounced, at Barbara’s parents’ apartment. No one was home.

When I began teaching on Long Island, I decided to write Barbara a letter. I didn’t expect a reply; however, surprisingly, she did write me. However, our letters were more newsy than anything that might be labeled romantic. We discussed things like the weather, the actor-singer, Sammy Davis, Jr. (Her favorite performer) and other mundane topics. Yet, I will say this. I greatly looked forward to her letters. I can never forget her rose-colored scented stationery. However, after a few months, the letter-writing stopped.

Oh, there would be one last gasp at rekindling our relationship. When I returned to Boston in the fall of 1968, I called Barbara’s home. Her sister told me she was living in an apartment on Comm. Ave. I called. I arranged a date. I remember pulling out all the stops: new suit, hair styling, fancy cologne, etc.

When I picked Barbara up at her apartment, she looked as lovely as ever. I recall we went to a movie and then to one of my favorite haunts, "The Kismet Lounge". I remember dancing with Barbara (I wanted so much to hold her in my arms...to feel her body against mine). I recall that we did go back to my Beacon Street apartment, but I sensed that things really weren’t quite the same (they hadn’t been since the night she told me: “we weren’t right for each other"). I do remember taking a Polaroid picture of Barbara, but it soon began to fade. That picture was a metaphor for our relationship.

As I look back at those mid-1960s days, I was going through some tough times. Although I had graduated from college, I still didn’t have a teaching job. There were also difficult circumstances going on within my own family. I believe Barbara was brought into my life to add joy and happiness. She certainly did.

In hindsight, I believe Barbara was “a gift”. A “gift” that I could not keep. I hope her life has been good. As good as the joy she brought into my life.

[Greyfox]

Count your blessings. The Universe unfolded as it should.

"There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants,
and the other is getting it." Oscar Wilde

[Parkview_Pirate]

Thanks Teach. It's not often one gets to enjoy a missive combining the elements of German courting customs, an expose on the Chicago meat-packing industry, and miniature golf.

That's a noble view of your unrequited affections. You've got company. I imagine it took some time for that to become "a gift" rather than "the one that got away..."

[FakeNameChanged]

Did you let her win at miniature golf? My first date was similar, and she "beat" me. Going on 47 years.

[RichieP]

Originally Posted by Whosonfirst

Did you let her win at miniature golf? My first date was similar, and she "beat" me. Going on 47 years.

Awesome!!!!

[mlyles1]

Great writing as usual Walt. Just seen this. Finding happiness is always a challenge in life. Moments like this are what keeps us going.

[thaskalos]

"The love that lasts the longest is the love that is never returned." -- W. Somerset Maugham

[garyscpa]

Originally Posted by Whosonfirst

Did you let her win at miniature golf? My first date was similar, and she "beat" me. Going on 47 years.

Try keeping your head down until you hear the ball go in the hole.

[Show Me the Wire]

"I'm mesmerized," he said. "I can't take my eyes off of you, "he added. I looked at Meach, thinking to myself please don't try and kiss me. Too late the Meach violated my space and lustily kissed me. Meach thought he was being passionate, but it was anything but. He was lustful and he clumsily groped at me with such inexperience. I thought to myself, this is the type of boring schlep a women would step out on and would have the misfortune of being caught, by the schlep, while excitedly banging a complete stranger.

I had the unfortunate experience of meeting Meach in the summer of '65, while I took a geography course in the Boston area. I was a young undergrad and Meach was an immature graduate student. My unfortunate experience started on the very first day of class.

Well, that first day of class. The first time I saw him, I was dismayed. Awe struck I thought to myself, "why is he leering at my breasts?”

As our professor was handing out the course syllabus, the leering glances increased. It was as if my breast were magnets and his eyes were iron filaments.

In the succeeding days, I was trying to find a way to avoid a conversation. Then, I made the mistake of carrying a paperback entitled “The Jungle” by Upton Sinclair. Big mistake, as I was walking, he said, “Pretty gory stuff.” Cornered by my mistake I could only nod my head in agreement. It was then that he awkwardly struck up a conversation. Once again, I had visions of banging a complete stranger, who was not Meach.

In the days that followed, he would stalk me in the cafeteria after class. Meach Mistook my politeness, as meaning I was interested in him. I was penalized for my politeness as he told me his life's aspirations. He was thinking of going into teaching. Yet, most of all, I was becoming totally disinterested with this unattractive, older boy. His unpleasant, lackluster face cast a toxic spell over me.

As I recall, about a week after classes started, Meach asked me out. The day I rued finally arrived. I suggested that instead of going out on a date that he join me for dinner at my parents’ apartment. This was the safest course of action, for me, as I certainly did not want to be alone with this leering immature boy.

For some unknown reason he decided to bring a single red rose in a tube of water. Meach was so cueless, he didn't know that in parts of Germany a man who brings a Fraulein a single red rose is asking for her hand in marriage. My parents almost died on the spot due to Meach's gaff. Once again, I had thoughts of banging a complete stranger, in front of Meach.

Well, having no choice, I invited him in. Soon after, he met my parents and my younger sister. I recall him handing me the single red rose. My forced smile, turned into a smile that lit up the room as I fantasized about banging a complete stranger in front of Meach.

to be continued (maybe) It is a very painful memory.











and a parody in good nature fun