Susiej

I could never marshal up the kind of affection for him that he felt for me. He was so head-over-heels for me that he felt it an honor just to be in the same room with me.

He was pleasant enough to talk to, very kind, and if you saw him in a crowd, you would say he was hot. He was the quiet type. Interesting though, that I did end up spending quite a bit of time with him. I think this was because he was so easy to talk to — and time would fly. He made me feel good about myself. Sometimes my heart would break inside for him because I couldn’t fall in love with him. The truth was, most of the time, not always, I would sense that when I was with him, I was missing something else.

He took me home once to meet his mother and older sisters. Of course, they pampered their baby brother, and treated me like a Princess. On this visit I first heard the talk – the whispers and the restrictions about his health. Something was wrong with his blood. They talked openly about it in front of me, yet were careful not to say exactly what it was that was wrong. This is what took his Father when he was in his 40s. The females were constantly telling him to rest, and take it easy. And, asking “have you taken your medicine?” He was forbidden to tell me; everyone refused to answer my questions. I found it surprising to see him so strong-willed against me on this one point – when he yielded so easily to me on everything else.

So maybe it was the mysterious illness that began to haunt me, believing that if I did fall for him, he’d die and leave me heartbroken. Or maybe I just accepted that fact that nothing would become of us. Now was definitely the time to move on. I finally cut it off. I said goodbye. As much as I hated to hurt him, this was surprisingly easy for me to do, and it brought much relief and freedom. I was saving myself, not him, and opening up some space in my life. Thankfully, he moved back home that quarter, and was nowhere to be seen on campus. Back then, cell phones didn’t pester us, and long distance was expensive, so I never heard from him.

About a year passed, and my roommates started leaving me messages that he had called, and would call back later. This went on for months. Finally, as numbers go, I was the one who answered when he called. I cringed at hearing his voice. I told him I was busy, I had to go, and I couldn’t talk. I was cold. He sounded a little urgent – as if maybe he had something important to tell me. But, if he did, he didn’t have the initiative required to speak up and say why it was, exactly, he was calling me. I remember now, that the one thing I did notice, but wouldn’t let myself acknowledge at the time, was how nice it was to hear someone say my name with so much joy.

I ran into his older sister a couple of years later where she worked as an accountant for Arthur Andersen. I was doing public relations for a client and I had a meeting there. Nothing was said about him, but we made small talk. I think that was the last time I thought about him – 14 years ago.

Until last night, when I was awake at 4 a.m., wrestling with deep dark thoughts that persisted to keep me awake. I finally made it back to a place of calm, and was drifting blissfully back to sleep. He showed up – very clearly – — he had found me on this blog, and just knew SusieJ had to be me. He was thrilled to find me again. This time, he was persistent in getting his point across. He looked me directly in the eye, and he said, “I just have one question for you: Are you happy?”

I stumbled over my answer. I remembered myself as the only way he knows me. Fourteen years younger, no children, no house, no husband. I flashed back through four pregnancies, an emergency c-section that almost cost my life, the angel who had a message for me, the places I’ve loved and visited, my marriage, careers, laughing, diapers, the problems I help my kids through that I take more seriously than my own, the great food I’ve had, and the agonizing grief I feel for my Mom. The contrast between the person I was then and today is now clearly apparent. Am I happy?

So I began to explain to him that there are different levels of happiness, and how now time is no longer a luxury I can squander, how much I have to plan ahead, and that my life is just so complicated, but I am so blessed. I have this wonderful relationship with five other wonderful men that have filled every spare inch of my life. So, yes, on some levels I am very happy, and some I’m not. Still, how refreshing it was to find someone so focused on me again.

I awoke with that feeling that it wasn’t just a dream – he was so real that it was like he was really there. I thought more all day about why I didn’t feel uncomfortable by his appearance, as I was when he called me the last time out of the blue. Why did I feel safe?

Later today, I remembered his mysterious illness. He must be dead. Why else would he be in my dreams, 14 years later, so real, and so nonthreatening?

I checked the on-line database of obituaries by his name and hometown. Nothing showed up. I re-typed it using only his last name – nothing. Then, I remembered how he talked about maybe moving to the mountains – so I did a nationwide obituary search. Nothing. Did he ever exist? I tried to find his phone number on a nationwide white pages search. Nothing.

Then, I realize that during this brief period he was in my life, that I had no close friends. He never met a soul in my own family, and there is not one picture of him. There is not one person I could call to find out what happened to him.

Back to his question. He awakened the energy of that carefree person I was 14 years ago. I can’t imagine, although I’d love to, having the kind of spare time we had back then. I wonder, if I could just have that luxury of spare time again, could I be carefree again? Yes, I think time is the key.

But, was I happy then? Was I ruled by a biological clock that was trying to get somewhere? The degree, the career, recognition, love and “tick-tock”, the children. Unaware that I had the most precious commodity of life itself — free time ?

Now that I have everything, I’m re-setting that clock. This time, I’m not setting the alarm.

Sunday Scribblings

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