Last Day of School

   Rose was happier than she had ever been.  It was her last day of high school and the senior prom was scheduled for tomorrow night.  Tony had asked her to be his date and Rose and her mom had bought her first formal dress just last evening.  Though money had been tight since her dad’s death, five years ago, her mom insisted on buying the dress, telling Rose that she deserved it after performing so well in high school.

   In fact, Rose was elected to be the class Valedictorian and had been accepted to Stanford’s College of Architecture.  Since her childhood days, she was fascinated with modern buildings whenever her family would visit the city.  Having been raised in a small, farming town, the size and beauty of those structures never failed to inspire her.

   Last fall, when she and her mother visited the campus, the possibility of her acceptance seemed far-fetched and Rose had second thoughts about her goal.  Leaving her mom and younger sister would be difficult and, despite her stellar grades in high school, she wondered if she had the inner strength to succeed at the college level.

   But now, on her last day of high school, she had no doubt that she had made the right decision.  Following the prom and her graduation ceremony next week, she would begin her last season as a lifeguard at her town’s community pool.  She looked forward to a relaxing summer and, hopefully, to a few more dates with Tony before she left for college. 

   He had become a good friend since moving to town during their junior year and she couldn’t ask for a more kind and handsome companion.  In fact, Tony was her first and only boyfriend, reflecting her devotion to both her education and the needs of her family.  The possibility of a future marriage often crossed her mind but a college degree would have to come first and he had plans to join the Air Force.

   Entering the Art Room for the final time, she hung up her backpack and walked over to Mr. Moyer’s desk, thanking him for his inspiration and for the letter of recommendation, a glowing report that surely eased her way into Stanford.  He, of course, offered his best wishes and asked her to stay in touch through the years.

   As she was expressing her intent to do so, a series of pops echoed through the hallway.  Suspecting that one of her classmates had set off fireworks to celebrate their final day, Rose opened the door and turned to face the prankster.  She did not get a look at him and never had another thought.

   Five days later, three days before her planned graduation, Rose was buried in her prom dress.  

Meeting Frank

   It was Chuck’s fault.  Despite my long-professed aversion to technology, he went and bought me a smart phone for Christmas.  To be honest, I think it was just another way to keep me entertained, out of his hair.  He’s always tinkering with his old cars or watching ESPN.  We barely talk anymore.

   So I spent most of the next few days figuring out how to use the damn thing and finally got to where I could make calls and check my email.  And wouldn’t you know that one of the first emails was from Lovesick Companions, one of those online matchmaking sites, offering two weeks of free membership.

   Now, I’ve never been a fan of social media and often warned our girls about falling for some online cruiser.  I’ve seen enough bad outcomes on the crime shows that I watch and, as far as I know, they steered clear of those types.  But now that they’re grown, off with their own families, the idea seemed a bit more exciting.  Besides, Chuck and I might as well be cousins.

   So I signed up and looked through the male lineup, limiting myself to those over forty-five.  I figured the losers would be easy to spot, flaunting their money and looks.  Frankly, I was surprised by the large number of decent choices and, after some hesitation, responded to a gentleman who lived in our county.  His name was Frank and he described himself as fit, lovable and adventurous.  There was no mention of his marital status but, then again, I didn’t list my own.

   He responded the very next day and we developed an online friendship over the following couple of weeks.   Frank sent photos of himself, all of them taken outdoors to, in his words, capture his adventurous spirit.  He appeared to be tall, muscular and attractive, with a closely cropped goatee and soft brown eyes.   Since he was always wearing a hat, I suspected that, like Chuck, he had lost a good deal of his hair.

   I responded with photos of myself.  Most were from a few years ago when I was a bit slimmer but they were close enough.  Frank liked them anyway and commented on my warm smile and bright blue eyes.  We agreed to meet for lunch at a café just off the main highway.  He said he would wear a Red Sox cap so I could easily spot him in the lunch crowd.

   On the morning of our rendezvous I was nervous as a cat and unusually attentive to Chuck, actually preparing a hot breakfast before he left for work.  Of course, he didn’t make a big deal about my efforts but did ask for more pancakes and gave me a peck on the cheek before heading out the door.  Once he left, I showered and tried on several outfits, trying to capture the image in my photos.  I finally settled on a long dress and light jacket and then flipped on the television to catch The View.

   I decided to leave a bit early and stake out the café entrance.  If he looked dangerous I could bail and apologize later.  Just before noon, I saw him, limping toward the entrance.  He was a tad shorter and heavier than he looked in the photos but my fears about a dangerous hustler quickly faded.  After waiting a few minutes, I walked in and spotted him at a table near the window.

   He rose from his chair, shaking my hand and commenting that I was even more lovely in person.  I returned the compliment and we entered a light-hearted chat about the menu and the weather.  Once we had placed our orders and were sipping our chardonnays, the conversation moved on to our personal lives. 

   As it turned out, Frank had been divorced for several months and was close to retiring from his accounting firm.  He still lived on a small farm that he and his ex had bought and their one child, a daughter, was now married and living in New York.  When I broke the news that I was still married, though unhappily, his reaction was subdued, more empathetic than I had expected.  He went on to express his conviction that marriage is an unnatural state, imposed by human society for religious and cultural reasons.  In his opinion, men and women are not designed to live together for extended periods of time.

   In the midst of that last comment, our food arrived and we both had time to digest the potential ramifications of what he had said.  In a way, I actually agreed with him but I’m sure neither of us wanted to start off with a guarantee of failure. 

   Seeming to sense my thoughts, he clarified his comment, proclaiming that long, loving relationships can work as long as couples are willing to compromise and give each other space.  His ex, he said, was incapable of doing either.  I had to admit to myself that Chuck is usually receptive to my ideas, unless they are outrageously expensive, and has no problem with my leaving for days or weeks at a time.

   Unfortunately, Frank decided to offer an example.  When at the farm, he said, he practices nudism, a choice not appreciated or condoned by his ex.  According to Frank, it was one of the major issues that led to their divorce.  I did my best to appear sympathetic while trying to suppress the image of us sitting on his couch in our birthday suits.  He, of course, would be wearing a cap.

   Our conversation fading, neither of us opted for dessert and Frank offered to pick up the tab.  Once outside, Frank kissed me on the cheek and said he would email that evening.  He also expressed hope that I might visit his farm. For my part, I hurried home to cancel my membership to Lovesick Companions.

Best Wishes

   Hank arrived early, as he did for almost every event, taking a seat along a side aisle of the chapel.  After perusing the church, with its natural wooden beams and stained glass windows, he turned his attention to the ragged sleeves of his aging sports coat.  A wildlife biologist, he had little need for formal clothing and this tweed jacket, wearable with jeans or Dockers, had become standard for weddings and funerals.  In Hank’s opinion, neither ceremony justified anything more elaborate.   

   Others drifted in over the next twenty minutes, escorted by grim-faced ushers in blue-gray tuxedos.  Nearing the start of the ceremony, close family members were seated, taking their place in the front pews.  Among this group was Phyllis Gage, Hank’s ex-wife, and her current boyfriend, Jack King.  At first glance, Phyllis seemed to have lost some weight but Hank soon concluded that her black, formal dress was responsible for the illusion.  Other family members included the groom’s sister and her husband, the groom’s mother, the groom’s father and his new, young wife, the bride’s grandparents and the bride’s mother, Debra, Phyllis’ sister.  As Hank now recalled, the bride’s father abandoned the family when she was still quite young.

   With everyone in place, the organist moved on to the processional hymn and the crowd stood to view the wedding party.  Bride’s maids, paired with nervous young men, were followed by the maid of honor, Julie’s best friend, Candice, and, finally, Julie herself, adorned in a lovely white gown.  Escorted by her Uncle John, the bride was radiant as she approached the minister, the wedding party and Josh Peters, her soon-to-be husband.  With everyone in place, Reverend Carson asked the congregation to be seated and initiated the ceremony.

    After two readings from Scripture, one by Phyllis and the other by Candice, Reverend Carson addressed the wedding party and those seated in the chapel.  He had a smooth delivery, easier to listen to than most, Henry thought.  Covering the sanctity of marriage, the power of love and the responsibilities of husband and wife, his words brought tears to some of the women in the congregation and sniffling soon echoed through the small church.  Brief but effective, the minister finished his sermon and moved on to more perfunctory duties, including the vows, ring exchange and, finally, the lighting of candles, a ritual planned by the bride and groom themselves.  A wedding kiss brought polite applause from the attendees and the newlywed couple, followed by their brightly dressed cohorts, strode down the aisle and entered their life together.

   The family followed the wedding party and the congregation filed behind them, emptying the pews from front to back.  Hank walked behind a young couple that was overly affectionate, a clear sign to Hank that they had not yet married.  By the time he reached Julie and Josh, they were beginning to show signs of greeting fatigue, he having loosened his tie and she having set her corsage on a nearby planter.

   “Hi, Uncle Hank,” she said before he could speak.  “So glad you could come.  Josh, this is Hank, he was my aunt’s husband.”

   “Glad to meet you, sir,” said Josh, extending his sweaty palm.

   Hank patted Josh on the shoulder and kissed Julie on the cheek.  “That was a beautiful ceremony,” he said, “my best wishes for both of you.”

   But, with their attention drawn to the next couple in line, they may not have heard him.  Pulling off his sports coat, Henry headed for his pickup.  He did not plan to attend the reception.

The Anniversary

     “Hard to believe it’s been forty years,” she said, smiling over her Chardonnay.

     “And you haven’t changed a bit,” I said.  She just laughed and asked if my contacts were in.  I was kidding of course but she was still a beautiful woman.  A few lines here and there, a little slackness in the jawline and a bit of color to hide the gray but that twenty-year-old is still easy to find.

     We had come to one of our old haunts overlooking the city.  Its name had changed and the surroundings were entirely different but the open deck, with its view of the river, had drawn us back.

     “You remember where we first met?” she asked, picking at her salad.

     “It was at Ted’s, wasn’t it?”  I clearly recalled meeting her at an outdoor cookout during my third year in college.

     “Yes, it was,” she said.  “You guys spent all afternoon drinking beer and playing whiffle ball.”

     “And you gals sipped punch in the shade, I presume.”

     “No, we just drank the beer and watched you guys make fools of yourselves.”

     Our college flashback was interrupted by a waiter who brought the entrees. 

     “Your lasagna, madam, and your grilled salmon.  Can I get anything else at this point?”

     “I’ll have another Corona,” I said.  “Jess, you want another glass of wine?”

     “Why not,” she said, launching into her meal.

     Early enough to avoid the prime time crowd, we ate silently for a while and enjoyed the cool afternoon breeze.

     “Those were the days, alright,” I said, referring to our previous discussion.

     “College was a fun time,” she agreed.  “But it wasn’t as great as we sometimes think it was.”

     “That’s true,” I said, recalling the exams, the heartaches and the ever-present threat of Vietnam.  “But we had more energy back then.”

     “That was before kids, Jack.  Kids are great but they drain life of its spontaneity.”

     “Right, again,” I said, sipping my beer and thinking of David out in Seattle, with kids of his own, and Rachel up at NYU.  “But change is the spice of life, Jess, remember?”

     She shrugged and reached for the bread, slathering on more butter than I had consumed in the past month.  Another couple was seated two tables away and the impeccably dressed husband was conducting business on his cell phone.  His wife looked bored and glanced over with an apologetic expression on her face.

     “So how are things at the office,” Jessica asked, brushing a strand of blond hair from her forehead.

     “Fine.  Dull.  The usual.”

     “Sounds like fun,” she said.  “Still sorry you changed companies?”

     “Not really.  Insurance is insurance.  What can I say?  If only I had your talent, we could have worked together in a rustic studio, back in the hill country.”

     “And miss this great city life?” she said.  “The gallery parties and fund raisers?  Not a chance.”  A sardonic smile crossed her face.

      The waiter returned to collect our plates and brought a palate of fake desserts for our inspection, describing each in excessive detail.

     “Did you save room for dessert?” he asked.

     “No thanks,” I said, patting my middle age paunch.

     “I’ll try the double-fudge brownie,” she said.  “Does that come with a scoop of ice cream?”

     “Vanilla or chocolate chip?” he asked.

     “Vanilla.”

     “Whip cream and a cherry on top?”

     “Why not,” she said, pushing her empty wine glass toward the waiter.

     When he left I rolled my eyes and smiled.

     “What?” she said.  “You’re the one with the cholesterol problem, not me.”

     “If I knew you ran it off every day I wouldn’t feel so bad,” I said.

     “Don’t need to,” she said.  “Good genes.”

     For someone who packs away the food and limits her exercise to long hours of painting, she had somehow managed to keep her college figure.

     “Speaking of families,” I said, “Do you remember meeting my folks at Carson’s wedding?”

     “How could I forget?” she said.  “In their mind, ours would be the next wedding on their social calendar.”

     “They did like you,” I said, draining my second Corona.

     “As I recall, Fred wasn’t terribly thrilled with my career choice.”

     “Perhaps.  They were fairly simple people, not much interested in the art world.”

     “Or films, or plays or novels.”  Jessica smiled and checked her I-phone.”

     “An important email?” I asked.

     “Just the gallery, reminding me of our summer gala next Friday.”

     Jessica’s desert arrived and I accepted the check, sending it off with my credit card as she devoured the sweet mound of calories.  When we left the deck, the sun was just dipping behind the city skyline.

     “Want to take a short walk through the park,” I asked, hoping to extend our evening in town.  “It is our anniversary, after all.”

     “I’d love to but I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”  She gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek.

     “Til next time, then.”  A wave a sadness almost brought tears to my eyes.

     “You bet,” she said.  “Better get home to your wife.”