***Those Pale Blue Eyes -For Sweet Melinda

 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

Sometimes a story cannot be told except that some technological advancing event occurred to drive the action. For example in a number of Dorothy Parker’s short stories where some bereft female is waiting by the telephone for some ill-disposed or vagrant lover to call you need that gadget or that whole scene does not make sense. That is true for the story below-the beauties of the Internet, e-mail and cell-phones made it possible and would otherwise have been impossible without those communication advances.

Sam Lowell had been thinking about his 50^th class reunion at North Adamsville High School since he had received an invitation to go to his 40^th reunion back in 2004. Although he had not been, as he perhaps had been at previous times, exactly “hiding” still he wondered how the class reunion committee had gotten his Wayland address. (He later found out that it was easy as pie either through his membership in a state-wide professional organization or a zip through the “white pages” where he was publicly listed both via the Internet and Google searches). 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.

Subsequently through some family-related deaths that took him back to the old town he 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 50^th 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, 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. 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 professor at a state university in an adjacent state, New Hampshire, and had been for the previous twenty-five years. She also mentioned that, having access to her Manet , 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, who throws that unanticipated, unsolicited comment a man’s way especially since she sent her class photo as well. That got them started on what would be a blizzard of e-mails over the next several weeks but just then got them together via Facebook as he “friended” her and she accepted. They quickly decided, both agreeing that given her profession (and those ever nosy students who live and die to troll that social networking site) that e-mail was the proper vehicle for their correspondence.   

During the early stages of their correspondence Sam told Melinda that his vicarious knowledge of her had been perked up a few years earlier when he had as part of his reconciliation with the old 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’ house to look at his Manet and talk over old times. As part of that “look see” Brad had some material about the 25^th class reunion when Sam noticed Melinda’s name (and profession). That got both of them commenting on what a “fox” she was in high school, although Brad did not know her personally either.

 Sam, having had a few drinks and feeling expansive, related the following story to Brad and which he subsequently related to Melinda to her delight if disbelief. It seems in his junior year at high school Sam had noticed Melinda around school (they later confirmed they had had no classes together, although having been in the same schools for five years or so 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 related lots of information to Sam about what she was really going through back with an extraordinary tough family life, lots of low self-esteem, and other problems too intimate to detail in an e-mail. 

Frankly, after the first few exchanges Sam was more than a little intrigued. And as it turned out Melinda was as well. They discovered they both had much in common academically, professionally, politically and personally (you will have to ask either one of them for the specifics of those “things in common” because in looking over my notes that would take more time than necessary to make the point).

Oh alright I will give one such e-mail message from him since he wanted to show me how at ease he was in writing to her sight unseen:

 

“Sweet Melinda-easy for you to say sweet dreams when a certain foxy lady (I am thinking of that FB photo of you at the train station) is disturbing my sleep. Has me thinking about her a lot. Thinking good things. But maybe you are “bad” for me while being good. We’ll figure that out. Needless to say I am looking forward to Friday.

Last night I looked up on the NA FB site when you first sent a message and it was on November 21^st. Can you believe we have known each other less than a month and are already, well, holding hands. Doesn’t it seem much longer and deeper.               

 I will let you off the hook today on phoning since I have a lot to do including taking my poor brother to lunch (and Kohl’s) as a Christmas thing. I tell you Christmas was not good around our house, no way- Christmas kind of missed us. I was telling him last night about my being on the reunion committee (remember he would have graduated with us if he had not dropped out in 10^th grade) and he started telling me lots of things he remembered. I forgot that his and my relationship over the past several years since his has been out of jail has basically stopped around 1963. That what we talk about. We are going to go to the library after lunch and I will get him going by showing him the on-line “Manet” (the real one I am sharing with you although I “confess” that was only a ruse to meet you since I had already seen the thing several years ago with Bill. I hope you are not mad)

I want to go many places with you (Big Sur number one), good and not so good (NA) and hold your hand. I keep having this overwhelming desire to just do that. And for you to hold mine too. I think we are on to something- Forget about what I said about you being “bad” for me now that I think about it.  Later Al     

The key point in any case was they were kind of Internet-enforced “smitten” after a time and both agreed that the “so much in common” required more than a blizzard of e-mail traffic. So they exchanged cell-phone numbers. One cold December night Sam, from his car sitting in an isolated parking lot, called Melinda and they talked for a couple of hours. Laughing, giggling and being somewhat shy while they were doing so.

A couple more cell-phone calls and another round of e-mails got this pair to the idea of meeting in person, a “date” like some hormonally-driven teen-agers (Sam could not remember who suggested the idea first but neither flinched at it). They both admitted to nervousness as they planned to meet in Portsmouth up in New Hampshire at a restaurant that she selected (he was to be at a conference in Maine and that locale was the closest convenient city), Needless to say they hit it off remarkably well. She even had thoughts that early on that finally, after two divorces and untold liaisons, she might have met her “forever” man 

And Sam, with two divorces under his belt and that also untold number of liaisons, was also in his less lucid moment thinking along some just such lines. Except. Oh yeah, except Sam was, ah, married, had been married for many years to Laura, although for a number of years past they had been living as “roommates.” He had told Melinda that and while she had some serious misgivings about that status being a serially monogamous woman from the start of her love life she went along with Sam’s characterization then. Yes, she was smitten. And he by his lights was too.

So they went along for a while, meeting occasionally at various restaurants along what they called their “Merrimack River romance trail.” That river holding towns large enough to do things in and also somewhat equidistant from their respective New Hampshire and Massachusetts homes. Naturally as things went along sex came into the picture (which in the end would complicate things unduly but what is one to do when boy meets girls and they are “smitten”). Naturally too future plans came into the picture, especially from Melinda’s end, Melinda of the ten thousand plans. Those included the possibility of trips together, maybe even living together. But always underneath a little edge, a little wariness on Melinda’s part, and a little stealth on Sam’s part. Not an unusual story, in high or low tech times but their infatuation carried them along so far.

 

Who knows how some relationships turn from spun gold to dreaded dross in a short time, a few months, in time for a “forever” man to turn into a “never” man (the first designation an inside joke as it turned out since she 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 it was that rushed good-bye and movement at the airport after returning from Washington D.C where she had an odd exchange of luggage problem. Seems that she took somebody else’s luggage which looked very much like hers. The airline in an attempt to solve the problem called his house (he had purchased the plane tickets) where Laura had answered the phone and was told about the confusion. That set off a firestorm between Sam and Laura around Laura’s demand that Sam not “bring his Protestant whore’s affairs into her house.” Maybe it was the next day when Sam refused Melinda’s request of him when she was confused by an e-mail that he sent earlier that day because he had his hands full with Laura and her furor as fallout to the luggage problem.

Probably though it started to crumble about a month before the end when Melinda took a big spill, a serious fall at a pool in Portsmouth where she swam to get exercise that broke her hip bone. Hospitalized as a result their budding romance came to a crashing halt as she convalesced and he 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 she spent her waking hours doing in order to have him come closer to her. And meanwhile he 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 for 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 he thought of it that was clearly the case 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. They had driven 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 with giving her care) Melinda had exploded that she wished he had never taken care of her during that month 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 and 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 just 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 Moxy’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 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.”

They had a short cell-phone exchange 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 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. 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 argument, that she had been hurt and that he was basically like every other guy she had known- 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 his point 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 down 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 Map ones were helter-skelter on this one) Sam had during dinner consented to have her follow him out of Amesbury on Route 27 which she did until they got to the U.S. 95 South entrance. She continued to follow him for a couple of exits until 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. 95 night after he saw her automobile veer off to the northern route home he breathed a sigh of relief and of sadness. And they never saw each other again.