***At 16 Or 68 It Never Ends- The Trials and Tribulations Of Sam Lowell 

 

 

From The Pen Of Frank Jackman

The last time Sam Lowell saw Melinda Loring he was looking back at the headlights of her automobile as dusk approached veering off to go north on Route 133 just south of Amesbury along the New Hampshire border in the early spring of 2014.  He did not know that that glimpse would be the last, the last physical time he saw her, although given the all-out fight they had had earlier that evening including an enraged outburst by him he suspected as much. But like many things in this wicked old world of romantic relationships that would not be the last of it, although that indeed was the last physical time he saw her. There was one final shot, one last metaphysical kiss-off before the real end. And so as Sam had muttered to himself at some point during the last not so metaphysical dust-up whether 16 or 68 years of age the romance game never gets easier. And so this story, or end of story.     

Let’s take a step back to figure out about the whys of that last headlight glance before we find out what happened after the subsequent fall and the last dust-up. Sam 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. 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. He told me, a number of times, that he had spent half a lifetime blaming that bad luck hometown affiliation on everything from acne to wormwood. 

 

Subsequently through some family-related deaths that took him back to the old town Sam 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 returning his message, 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 in the Boston area. 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 a professor at a state university in an adjacent state, at the University of 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 back as well. That got them started on what would be a blizzard of e-mails over the next several weeks.  

 

During the early stages of their correspondence Sam told Melinda that his previous knowledge of her had been perked a few years earlier when he had as part of his reconciliation with the old home 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’s house in Newton to look at his Manet and talk over old times.

 Sam, having had a few drinks that night and feeling expansive, related the following story to Brad and which he subsequently related in an e-mail to Melinda to her delight if disbelief. It seems that in his junior year at North Adamsville Sam had noticed Melinda around school (they later confirmed they had had no classes together, although having been in the same junior high and high 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 in their further exchanges 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 had been more than a little intrigued. And as it turned out Melinda had been as well. They discovered they both had much in common academically, professionally, politically and personally. I won’t go into the specifics of those “things in common” because in looking over my notes from Sam that would take more time than necessary to make the point.

A point necessary to make though since it contributed to the fall  was Sam’s “relationship” status which he introduced to Melinda after an initial blizzard of e-mails and phone calls:

 

“Hi Melinda –Well we have been on a roller-coaster so far and we have not even met in person yet. That is what is so surreal about this whole thing that had developed between us. That business from last night about me tracking your record down got me thinking though. Kind of has forced my hand about something that I had intended to bring up tomorrow as the first order of business to clear the air and give our friendship a proper footing. I was struck by the way you said you have been honest with me and that got me motivated to write this now instead of wait until tomorrow. I have, unlike you, not always been honest in the past. For example, not to brag or anything like that but to deal with the honesty question, a couple of times way back I have had five girlfriends at one time so there was no way I could be honest and juggle all that. So I was lying to beat the band. I have gotten better and tried to be honest with you and have been doing so. But sometimes you can be honest and still omit things and that is what this e-mail is about. I take it as something that we will work through as we go along and I hope you agree.

 

You know as well as I do that we both carry a lot of baggage, busted marriages, affairs, and so forth. On the other hand we are both old enough to have whatever level of friendship we want from just friends to an affair because with both as far as I know have no ties that would prohibit that. And even if we did in this day in age we could still have whatever relationship we wanted. As long as we both have our eyes open and know the score. That “know the score” part is what I want to talk about. It is nothing bad but it is a complication. And even if we decide to be just friends it is part of what is unfolding. I have decided to do the rest of this as a narrative so here goes.

 

Up until a few weeks ago for the past ten years or so since the end of my last serious relationship I was just rolling along writing, doing legal work, doing politics, playing golf and all the rest. Doing all of that while living in the same house as the woman that was my last serious romantic relationship, Laura, who is still my closest woman friend. I have known her for over twenty- five years and about twenty years ago we bought this modest house in Walton. As time went on though we had, as couples will, our problems until about ten years ago we decided that it wasn’t working. But we both wanted to keep the house and be friends. I won’t go into all of that now but you can ask me about it. So that is what we did. And nothing wrong with that people make such arrangements all the time. And so time moved on. I did my thing-she did hers and we do things together. For example we still go out to Saratoga to Laura’s family for Thanksgiving and Christmas since I don’t have family that way. Stuff like that. At some level we have deep affection for each other but it is just easier and more comfortable to be friends.         

 

Then out of the blue you came along. You know how we “met” and all so I don’t need to go into that but what happened is that I was not sure where we were heading (at one point if anywhere) and so I made a point of keeping that information to myself. Remember I made a point about just concentrating on us and not on other baggage stuff. Part of it obviously is that if we were not going anywhere then such information didn’t matter and if we were then that would just be an awkward situation that we would deal with. That is what a lot of my concern about expectations, the way we have met and all of that has been about. I have told her about you in general terms (the only way to put it since we still have not met) and since this whole thing has been topsy-turvy that is where things stand right now.

 

If all of this seems like too much then so be it-but as for me I still say forward- if you don’t that is okay and we can work on some other way to be friends. I think we both strongly want to be friends and should be damn it if that is what we want. Later Sam”         

 

The tipping point for both of them, the piece of information exchanged that startled, hell, flabbergasted them both, made them think for a moment that destiny’s wings beckoned, made them think their flame thing might be written in the stars was an event that occurred when they were nine. Here is what I wrote at the time when Sam told me the story (after he told me that he was “smitten” with Melinda  and I begged him to be cool, be cool for Laura’s sake although I had always had an abiding interest in her, if she ever fell off of Sam’s wagon. Laura never did, damn, she never did.):

 

 

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 that possibility.) They both admitted to nervousness as they planned to meet in Portsmouth up in New Hampshire at a restaurant that she had selected (he was to be at a legal conference in Maine and that locale was the closest convenient city for both of them). Needless to say they hit it off remarkably well.

 

And Sam, with two divorces under his belt and that also untold number of liaisons, was also in his less lucid moments thinking along some just such lines as an affair with Melinda, maybe more. Except. Oh yeah, except here it got tricky Sam was, as he learned as they went along ah, “married,” had been “married” for many years to Laura, although for a number of years past they had been living as “roommates.” Roommate meaning separate beds, mostly separate lives, and most definitely no sex. That hard little fact, that “marriage” fact, a fact that I kept mentioning to him as he got deeper into the human sink of Melinda. Naturally he would not listen.  Although not because, and it can face the light of day now, I secretly, secretly then, wished that Sam would leave Laura, Laura who had disturbed my dreams for years. We later discussed this situation after Sam’s fever over Melinda had broken. Sam said he knew of my feelings for Laura, had known for years and acknowledged that if things had gone differently with Melinda he would have wished me well in my pursuit of Laura.

Naturally, or maybe not so naturally for the senior set, for  people in their sixties, and supposedly beyond sexual desire as they dote on grandchildren, gardening, golfing or whatever, the question of sleeping together, staying overnight together came up after several dates. Sam as part of his professional duties often went to Maine on legal business and so he suggested that they, he and Melinda, meet at a hotel a mutual distance between them and they did one Friday afternoon in frigid January. Melinda, assuming that the offer of meeting at a hotel meant that they would sleep together, had made provisions unbeknownst to Sam to stay that night with him. Sam, perhaps a little more backward in the dating game and its progressions expected them to just have a few drinks, go out for some dinner, come back and have a nightcap, let her go back on her way, and leave it at that. That afternoon Melinda came on strong, almost caught Sam flat-footed with her desire but he was not ready, had not been prepared for Melinda’s desire and so nothing happened that night except an unhappy Melinda who left unfulfilled around midnight.

That event left Sam in a quandary. He knew, just like Melinda knew, that he desired her, wanted to have sex, make love to her. But he also knew that once that happened that a bridge would be crossed, or so that was his thinking at the time. Still Melinda was there, still he wanted her so the next Friday afternoon he called her up out of the blue and told her to meet him at that same hotel. Oh yes, and feed the cats and bring an overnight bag. She was thrilled and arrived a couple of hours later. And that was that. Well not exactly because that night they a great long sex bout like fifty years of unacknowledged, unknown, unknowable desire surfaced. And that was their high point, the acme of their thing. That was also the point where Sam, back-tracking, began to squirm a little both at what he had done, that bridge that he had crossed and that home he had left behind for a minute. The omens thereafter were not good, although he never spoke of those nights to me and I only knew about them from the notes he handed to me.     

 

Who knows how some relationships turn from spun gold to dross in a short time, 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 the turning point was Sam’s response to that second date, a December Friday a couple of weeks before Christmas date at a tapas restaurant in Portsmouth. Sam had never been to such a restaurant where they give you small portions of many good things to eat, well-prepared, served at intervals and a place which provided a relaxed atmosphere to while away the time in. They talked up another storm and could barely keep their hands off each other, gathered closer as the evening progressed. After the meal, the weather New England winter cold he escorted her to her car and before she left they exchanged several meaningful hugs (and he might have kissed her on the cheek). They left knowing they both definitely had a thing for each other.

 

But Melinda was a fretter and a planner, not necessarily in that order so at some point between that Friday and their resumption of e-mail traffic the next day Melinda possessed of some dream future with Sam tried to find out more about Laura, about that “roommate” arrangement and what was to become of her. See Melinda had certain rules as we all more or less do in that she took pride in her serial monogamous relationships. She was with a man, and a man was with her, or no dice. Once she finished with a man that was that. She told Sam that in an e-mail exchange set. He in a little panic over her position kept trying to calm her doubts, kept trying to pass over his longtime relationship as some platonic boy-scout trip, kept trying to keep his head above water with Melinda. That night, that restless Saturday night he tossed and turned trying to mull things over in his head and came up empty. Came up with the only conclusion that made sense-end the flirtation and walk away. He, and this is characteristic of Sam, “wrote” the thing out in his head first and then at the crack of dawn gathered himself from his bed and went to compose the following e-mail which he sent later that morning.

 

Sam never gave Melinda a chance to respond since a few hours later, maybe two, he called her up and begged her to forget what he had written and that they should keep on going as best they could but that he planned to do right by her. Of course he sent me this new information and I blew my top but since it cannot do anybody any harm, or minimal harm let me show you an e-mail he posted to Melinda after their “mini-break-up” episode:           

 

Maybe it was San Diego- Sometimes a guy can’t quite figure out what to do, can’t for the life of him, despite his age and the fact, the hard fact that he has been through many mills before what the right thing to do is, or maybe is too callous, too concerned with having his own way, having his kids’ stuff “two women” thing that he gets blindsided by the truth, by the equally hard fact that he cannot burn the candle at both ends. Melinda had screamed at him, raised bloody holy hell about the fact that he was taking Laura to San Diego with him, a few days in the sun he said to give her winter-weary body so Melinda would have to put up with the fact that he would be with “another woman” in the same room in the same hotel. That drove her to rages, to fits, to tantrums which made him cry bloody murder. He made sure that he called her every day but that every day was like a prison as she took aim at his situation. He made the supreme mistake though of one call making a comparison between the hotel room in San Diego and their love-nest in Portsmouth. That caused a burning flame for days after.          

 

Maybe it was after that Washington, D.C in February which was a trip that solidified, mainly, their desire for each other, but because she was taking a scheduled bus back to New Hampshire and he was grabbing his car from an off-site lot they had a rushed good-bye after furious movement at the airport where she had an odd exchange of luggage problem getting hers’ mixed up with another causing several headaches and problems for Sam at home when Laura received a telephone call from Jet Blue asking if that mislaid luggage was there.  The next day feeling some ill-wind had crossed their paths Sam had refused Melinda’s request of him to call her when she was confused by an e-mail that he sent because he had written it hastily as he had his hands full with Laura and her furor as fallout over the luggage problem.

 

Probably though the end started to crumble the month before the end when a few days after coming back from that fateful Washington trip Melinda took a big spill, a serious fall at a pool in Portsmouth where she swam to get exercise, that broke her hip bone requiring surgery and their budding romance came to a crashing halt as she convalesced and Sam 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 Melinda spent her waking hours doing in order to have him come closer to her. And Sam 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 to allow 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 Sam thought about it he believed that was clearly the case, the place where all hell broke loose, 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.

 

Melinda, as an act of liberation from her confinement, had driven them 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 at her). Melinda had exploded and said that “she wished he had never taken care of her during that month she was laid up 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 in December when 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 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 Morry’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 now 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. Sam”

 

They had a short acrimonious cell-phone exchange after that e-mail 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 of their discussions 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, left Laura.

 

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 closing argument, that she had been hurt and that he was basically 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 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 maps were helter-skelter on this one) Sam had consented to have her follow him out of Amesbury on Route 27 which she did until they got to the U.S. 495 South entrance. A couple of exits up 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. 495 night after he saw her automobile veer off to the northern route home he breathed a sigh of relief, and of sadness. They never saw each other again.

That is prologue.

Sam was frankly, as he expressed to me on several occasions when we met over drinks later in Cambridge and Boston, heart-broken over the loss of Melinda, had had many sleepless nights and days of forlornness. Of course there were other feelings as well, feelings of rage after Sam had told Laura he was leaving her once Melinda forced the issue. All for naught. The telling Laura part had caused more anguish than he expected especially since he freely admitted to me that he had not managed that part well. And then the back-tracking to try to repair the Sam-Laura relationship. No things had not gone well, gone well at all.

Somehow something (something unknown and only half suspected by Sam) had snapped in Melinda about Sam’s commitment to Laura, about the enraged last meeting, about that fateful e-mail, that “closing argument” e-mail as Melinda had called it in an irate moment, that had expressed Sam’s apprehensions about their future. What happened upon later investigation by Sam, or what he thought had occurred was that while Sam was giving Laura notice of leaving Melinda had independently and unilaterally made her fateful decision. When Sam tried several time to call or e-mail Melinda during that next week in order that Laura could make plans to leave their household as she was anxious to do to get out of the maelstrom she stonewalled him finally telling him to wait two weeks for her reply.

That hard-bitten and anxious two weeks over and done Melinda definitely and unceremoniously gave Sam his walking papers. Of course faithful Laura locked into limbo during this period was frantic, was outraged (and rightly so Sam kind of half-heartedly acknowledged to me as I scoured at him when he mentioned the dirty way he had treated Laura) and had made arrangement to leave when Sam told her that he wished to stay with her, for her to stay. At that level I had some sympathy for Sam and his loss of two women. Somehow though, damn, Laura did stay with Sam but since this is about Sam and Melinda I will let it go.        

A couple of weeks after the Melinda break-up decision Sam sent her an e-mail keeping open the old possibility of being friends. He did not expect and did not receive any answer the way he posed the question in the e-mail since he assumed that Melinda was still in furious mode and so left the that possibility for some vague future. Then he made another fatal mistake. Not as devastating as the previous ones since they had done their damage and were done with but for the events that would follow. He assumed the no answer was really that Melinda was thinking things over about a friendship. Fool’s paradise and prima facie evidence that even a smart guy like Sam can act as silly as a 16 year old. He went along with that idea in the back of his mind leaving Melinda plenty of room to decide. Eventually after several weeks as her birthday approached he sent another short e-mail with birthday greeting. Still no reply (none was expected, he said, as he presented the thing to me as strictly a greeting like a birthday card, oh, alright an e-card). Then all hell broke loose.         

As detailed previously Sam and Melinda were old high school classmates and as related there as well they had met up through a fortuitous searching for reunion information. That class’s reunion committee, which included Sam in a secondary role, had set up a website to help organize the reunion events. For a period in the bloom of their affair they had collaborated on messages to the class, memory stuff like lots of such sites. That website gave all who joined their own profile pages to do with as they liked (within reason and with some regard for taste and such). The site had the now standard ways to tell each members’ story though words, photos, and videos and ways, publicly and privately, to communicate with others on the site ( to the exclusion of the rest of the universe since it was a closed site).

One day a couple of months after the break-up Sam noticed that Melinda had updated her profile. When he clicked on her page he saw a photo (actually two) of her and her high school friend, Donna, at Donna’s place in California. Melinda had gone out there to celebrate her own 68^th birthday. Under normal circumstances no big deal- a couple of good-looking older women in a photo (good-looking to older guys okay maybe not to hungry younger guys). What made the photo a problem for Sam, had him seeing red, was that he was originally supposed to have been on that California trip to see Donna. Seeing the photo, and seeing something that was not there (he thought that Melinda had placed the photos there to stir him up or something, a fatal mistake) he sent Melinda a private e-mail that was a service as part of her profile page.

Mainly the message once again sent best wishes for her birthday, congratulating Melinda on her trip, telling her that he had been in California earlier that month and that he still believed that their thing had been written in the wind. No respond. A few days later he placed a public message on her profile page stating basically the same information. No response. The next day he noticed that his comment had been deleted by her (which he or she could do the way the site was set up). A couple of days before this Sam had also placed a rather long remembrance of childhood July 4^th celebrations on the Memories section of the class website. A couple of days later Melinda posted an old photo of her and other North Adamsville classmates on a July 4^th float from long ago.

The posting of that ancient photo led Sam to write a public response to Melinda, a kind of coded love letter (based on another mistake that he assumed she had placed the photo in response to his post, Jesus, didn’t he see this coming). That elicited no response as well. Then Sam got the bright idea to make a “cute” comment about how sexy the two women looked in that earlier posted photo by Melinda. That brought down the “cops.” It seems (although Sam is still not sure of the exact story since Melinda has never spoken or written to him since she dumped him) that she took umbrage at Sam’s remarks and got in touch with the webmaster, Delores, who read Sam the riot act about appropriate behavior on the site threatening bloody murder if he did not stop bothering Melinda.

That “snitch” (and here I agree with his classification of the deed being an old-time corner boy) to the “cops” was the end for Sam. A boyhood corner boy like me, a working-class corner boy who had followed a certain code established seemingly from time immemorial did not countenance squealing, not for this silly stuff. To anybody but certainly not to authorities of whatever degree. He wrote one last personal e-mail to her commercial e-mail address (he had been warned not to use the class site to contact her by the “cops”) with a very cutting e-mail (I am being polite here I turned red when I read his draft although there was nothing obscene in the thing) finally giving up the ghost of that relationship.

Moreover, since in the communications between him and Delores (Melinda used Delores as an intermediary and did not communicate with him directly also not good form from an old corner boy perspective) seemed to him to have cast him as some kind of lonely-heart “cyberspace” stalker of an older woman, he set Delores straight about what had been what was going on between Melinda and him since it was apparent that she was taking Melinda’s side or assuming Melinda’s case was clear-cut. Delores had threatened to kick him off the site and made other remarks that indicated to him that she was not getting the whole story so he felt he had to lay his cards out on the table. Delores, a good woman and wonderful webmaster, now caught in the middle of something she did not want to be caught in the middle of, e-mailed him back and said “let’s drop the thing.” He agreed and agreed to not contact Melinda on site.  And that is the end of the story, finally. But at 68 Sam still has that heartbroken feeling of a schoolboy of 16.  Join the club, brother, join the club.