A true story of impassioned soulmates, omissions, true-love, a marriage, and the thunderstorm of my life.
The Reunion
"Dear Richard: Greetings, and hello's,"
� Becky's letter read.
It was like electric charges jumping off the page and speeding up my heart as I read it. � Becky had married in March of 1987, and it had been a little over two years since I had heard any word from her. �����How much I had wanted to be Becky's knight-in-armor, dashing to her rescue, and when the question was asked if anyone had any objections to Becky marrying a guy named Chris Risk - it would have been my voice that rang out: "I do!" - But I didn't, because I didn't know. � Becky was in the Air Force in South Carolina - and I was stuck in Tucson, saddled down by my responsibilities and trapped by my mistakes. �She married Chris Risk, and then they had moved to Bangor, Maine.
����� "This may or may not come as a shock to you,"
Becky's letter continued, "but (brace yourself), I am in Tucson, at this very minute, as we speak. My brother's leave conicided with my ten-year class reunion - So I couldn't pass it up. I also couldn't pass up writing to you."
����� The electric charges became hot August thunderstorms. And my heart had found a new home ponding somewere between my chest and into my neck, as I started thinking that, somehow, this is just not real - just another one of my many dreams about Becky, from which I'd wake-up elated, only to have it dissolve into painful despair by the reality of her absence, just like a shadow dissolves with the light. ����� And that empty pain of despair is something that's always with me; sometimes it fades into the background, but it's always there - never so far away that it can't be felt. � And never is there a day that I don't think about Becky. �Becky's the only woman who makes me nervous, and makes me feel the extremes of my emotions. �I loved her, and I missed her. ����� And that's what life's about: To feel - To love - To stand out in the thunderstorms of emotions, getting soaked in the feelings, and in the emotions, and the passion that is life.�� And occasionally, if you're lucky, you'll get struck by lightning bolts of emotions - love. � And I was in love with Becky. �����I walked outside and sat on a shaded aluminum-parkbench in La Placita and there - with the scent of wet-cut grass, bird songs drifting in the air and a warm morning breeze blending everything together into the summer August sky - I continued to read Becky's letter.
����� "I know the last time we spoke I had to make it plain that we couldn't correspond any longer. I was rather blunt and it seemed (on my part) crule and unfeeling. I hope that you don't hate me forever for that. Having to do that was painful, quite so actually, but I had to do it. Chris is not an unfeeling ogre, as a husband tho, I can understand and respect his feeling and wishes.
����� "So why am I writing? I just wanted to tell you that the scars have healed and I have fond memories of you! I had to tell you that. I don't know what good that may do - unless it can gulf this rift between us. hopefully, your scars have healed also and your memories are fond also.
Maybe we can get together for a soda while I'm here, and talk, and maybe laugh a little. I'd like that. I'm staying at my mom's, so for obvious reasons I can't give you her number or address �������������� "But!!! "I'd like to introduce you to Buttercup-2: It's the pay phone by the pool. I'm here between 8:45 + 9:30 am every morning, taking my morning plunge. 748-9646 That's the one. ����� "Anyway... It's getting incredibly hot out here, so I've got to dip. ����� "Hope to hear from you! � Interestingly enough, ��������������� ��������������- Bex"
