The
boy I once wanted so desperately to marry has just celebrated his
46th wedding anniversary and I can't help but smile.
I
can barely remember how young and foolish and innocent we were then. It would never have lasted, of course, but at the time I was so
blinded by possibility that I couldn't see how it could ever have
gone wrong. I imagined a cottage on the edge of the sea, with a
fireplace for the winter and a vegetable garden for summer. I'd
learn to make bread and fish chowder, we'd drink honeysuckle tea year
'round and raise dairy cows or maybe rabbits. There'd be a cat for
every window sill and a whole pack of dogs to keep us company when we
were snowed in on the long winter nights. Come spring, we'd invite
family and friends in and make our own music on the veranda until it
was summer again and then we'd go berry picking or fishing in the
cove or shell collecting along the shore. Youth knows no limits and
young love no shackles. Seasons, however, come and go and come again
as new. Landscapes change and rarely go back to what they were.
It's easy to get lost in the world you leave behind, to mourn for it
and remember it better than it really was but reality is a obstinate,
determined sort of creature and will have its way. Put 1500 miles
and an ocean between lovers and they will move on.
That
was the last summer I was to spend on my beloved island. I was
seventeen, he was twenty and although we kept in touch for a time, it
was mostly superficial. Like it or not, both our lives were already
neatly laid out and the summer - while a blissful and precious time –
had been only temporary. He packed his old Chevy with his books and
his grade twelve diploma and got a job with the mainland newspaper and
a one room apartment that overlooked the water. Not long after, he
met his wife. I dutifully went to college and stalled for time and
it was some sixteen years before I saw him again and then only for a
moment. I remember feeling warmed by the fact that he was as good
looking as he'd ever been, that his smile hadn't changed the least
little bit and that he was so clearly well and happy. Marriage,
children and island life agreed with him.
“Wish
you had time to meet my wife,” he told me.
“Me
too,” I said and to my surprise, realized it was true.
That
was over 30 years ago and now he's a grandfather, happily retired,
growing roses in a cottage with an ocean view and celebrating his 46th anniversary with a
lady I never got to meet but suspect I would like. Probably a
lot.
Well
played, old friend.
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