More Memories of March
The first love letter I ever received was from a boy at my high school...
On March 11th, 1975(the date is burned into my memory-I can still see the date,written in lead pencil, on lined paper, in my mind's eye), I was sitting in the school library, pretending to study, while my eyes darted over to watch P. J. furiously scribbling in his notebook. I wondered whether he was working on a paper for the advanced science class he was enrolled in, or a political piece for the civics class we had together.It turned out to be a note to me, which began:
"Lisa, the words to follow have lived very long in my heart. They were born when first I saw you, and nurtured as I grew to know you. I love you..."
What he did not realize was that I had kept my extreme attraction to him a secret. He was, after all, dating my best friend. My lovely, kind best friend. What followed after I absorbed his words, were a few months of drama, and then, many, many years of deep and abiding love between he and I....
He was there for me, all through college. Drove me to and from(I had no car) my various jobs during my college years, too. And never complained. We even lived together for a short time(I opted out, claimed I wanted my "freedom").P.J. was one of the best people to ever happen to me. We were not a "perfect" couple. We were immature(especially me), and we were temperamental, and sometimes angry. But we were passionate, fiercely loyal to one another, and we stimulated each other intellectually, as well as in the ways that all teenagers, and twenty-somethings stimulate one another.
So, it's March 11th, and I find myself recalling the event that led to the most definitive relationship of my young adult life. And I am grateful.
For the kindness, the encouragement(in the love letter it said he had spoken to his mother and alluded to what he admired about me: "Boy can she write."He was referring to my class papers; I had no illusions of writing as a profession then). I am grateful for the arguments, the discussions over Fellini films, and Ingmar Bergman, and what's Woody Allen(in his early films) really trying to say?
He told me I was an actress, that I could be whatever I wanted.
He wanted marriage; I wanted to experiment. Flirt with life. Have adventures. I have had all that. And yet.
I think of his words, his blond hair, his strong arms, and I think how fortunate I was. And still am.Remembering.