Unforgettable Love

For years now I have loved to dance.
I used to go to clubs virtually every night just to do so -- I didn't go to meet girls or talk with friends.

One early summer night I was at a club in Atlanta and I noticed a girl dancing. She was absolutely amazing -- there was some presence about her that just made me watch her. Such confidence and power in the way she moved.

Later that night I got the courage to speak with her, and we had a light conversation. Over the following weeks I would make a point to speak to her whenever I saw her. About a month and a half after we met, she turned to me and said "My friend Curry loves the way you dance ... why don't you go talk to her?"

I was very disappointed. Even though this "friend" was very attractive, I wasn't interested.

Later on I was headed to the dance floor when a girl intercepted me and said, "Hi, I'm Curry. I love the way you dance."

*blink*

*rolling of the eyes*

"Thanks ... " I mumbled, and then fled.

After that, Curry would follow me around the club, and I would pretty much ignore her. This went on for a couple of weeks, until one night the DJ was particularly poor, and I was bored. So I decided I would get to know a little about this shadow I had acquired.

I quickly became captivated. She was very intelligent and open. She had this appealing curiosity about the world. We talked for hours until the club closed.

I saw her there again the following week. We talked some more and started down the road to friendship. But alas -- I was to leave that weekend to go back to school in St. Augustine, FL. I gave Curry my address down there.

And so a whole chain of letters began. They started out as the "getting to know you" type but then moved on to secret dreams and thoughts.

I was so thrilled when her letters arrived. I'd give a little yip of excitement whenever I found one in my mail box and would skip class in order to run down to the old Spanish castle and read it while sitting on the seawall between the bay and the castle. I would often write her back from that spot at night, under the autumn moon.

With every letter I became a little more enthralled with her.

Weeks went by, and then she hinted at some secret she was keeping from me. I became worried that this "secret" would turn out to be a boyfriend.

But this secret proved to be even more problematic ... "I was dishonest with you. I'm not in college yet. I'm in high school. And I'm only 16."

Oh No.

I was 21 at the time. Five years seemed like an insurmountable obstacle.

I called her that evening and told her I thought we should just be friends. When she asked why, I told her that sixteen was too young to have a deep and long lasting relationship. It wouldn't last.

I told her what I thought would happen -- she would start out being very entranced by me, and I by her. We would have an intense relationship for awhile. But eventually she would become tired of the commitment and the distance and end it, leaving me holding my heart.

She became very angry and said, "That's ageism! I have a great capacity for my age." And on she went. She eventually convinced me that she was right, and that my sense of foreboding was needless.

To be honest, she only convinced me because I wanted to be convinced.

So we started to see each other. I would drive up to Atlanta every few weekends and we made the ordinary magical.

Grocery stores suddenly became happy wonderlands, all because once we went to one together to pick something up and ended up chasing each other around with various food items, sneaking kisses while no one was looking.

Cafes became great places at which to spend hours because we could sit together to talk and gaze into each other's eyes.

That year, I had a month off for winter break. I spent it all in Atlanta. That was perhaps the happiest single month in my life.

I spent it being immersed by her presence. The things we did were fabulous. Once we went up into the Georgia Mountains and we found a wooded valley with a stream. We cuddled under a blanket while we fed each other little finger foods.

But my prophecy came to pass.

I went back to school, and within a couple of weeks I received the goodbye letter from her. She felt things had gotten too intense and she just wasn't ready for that. Could we back off and be friends?

I wandered the streets of St. Augustine crying my heart out and ended up on the seawall, where I had written my letters to her. The pain was just overwhelming.

Time has made that pain fade into a shadow of its former self, but even so the shadow is a fearsome thing.

I never told her I loved her. I honestly didn't know that I was in love. It had never happened before. I was so caught up in the swell of feelings that I never questioned what I was feeling. Never put a name to my emotions.

But this story has a happy ending.

A year later, I got a call from her on Valentine's Day. We saw each other that week. Ever since we have gotten together to talk in some café a couple days out of every year, and something grand has grown.

We've built a loving union that isn't quite a relationship, but is something more than just a friendship.

I move around the country a lot. Recently it occurred to me that in my chaotic life I have one constant: I have her with me always, inside of me. I know that she will never leave.

I finally got to tell her that I loved her, and she came to accept it after a while. She started to tell me that she loved me. This made me angry at first, because I love her romantically, and I knew the love she spoke of was friendship. Her equating the two seemed to diminish what I felt.

But I too have come to accept her love. Our feelings are equal because although they are different in substance, they are the same in their fierce intensity.

I always tell her that one day, sixty years from now, an old toothless man is going to show up on her doorstep bearing flowers.

And it will be me, telling her yet again how much I love her.

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