A favorite James Taylor song reminds me of an old friend. If I count the years since we were students, the time spent with a whole country between us, the numbers surpass two decades. He’s a brilliant man, a good husband, devoted father, loyal friend; he’s handsome, intelligent, funny, the perfect combination of strong masculinity and appealing emotional sensitivity and awareness. We had the fervor of students and the energy of not-yet-launched professionals. We were simultaneously humbled by how much we didn’t know in our particular fields, and exhilarated by how amazing we thought it was to do the work. We shared articles, books, theories; we listened to each other intently in a way that seems to happen only when both people are in school.
We were opinionated and optimistic beginners, and we could adore each other in the way that only those who will never cross the romantic divide can adore one another. We came right up to the edge, one night even had a bit too much to drink and literally wrestled at the brink, tipping toes and fingers and one long kiss smack dab to the other side, then somehow pulling back, returning to our previous domains with equal parts relief and despair at not crossing over.
On our respective sides of the divide, we have maintained the lasting allure of being amazing people with an amazing connection. We never had mundane conversations about how to repay our student loans, or what to get one another’s parents for their anniversary, or who should take last night’s leftovers for lunch. No nagging, no slow fading of the glow as the real person beneath emerges. Which one of us would have become the one who misplaces important papers, has morning breath, loads the dishwasher incorrectly, spends too much money on frivolous things, gets lost for hours on internet porn, doesn’t shave daily, repeats stories and hauls out memories time after time after time? Which one of us would have been the first to be bored under the sheets, put on a few unnecessary pounds, slide the other’s needs to the very bottom of the priority list, betray our child in moments of poor parenting?
The beauty of this unrequited love/enduring friendship is that we have never failed each other in these ways. We can hold the romantic ideal that if only we’d met at another time, in another place, we might have forged ahead and built a life parallel to the ones we cherish, but better somehow. He was, and is, and will always be committed to his marriage and the struggles it takes to be a loving husband over time. He was, and is, and will always be committed to his child in a way that reaffirms that some members of the next generation really do have a chance at making the world a better place. And I have remained the perfect romantic counterpoint: balanced, witty, loving, sensual, alluring, never-tired, never-cranky, magnetically powerful.
At least this is the fantasy that comes when I hear the song. In the 20-plus years that have passed, perhaps he’s become a lousy husband, a less-than-stellar father. Maybe his weaknesses have overtaken him, and he is on the midlife back-slide from the peak. I wear the 20+ years fairly well, but it’s more the day-to-day ordinariness that might come through. If we met for lunch now, would there be enough connection left to fuel our former flirtation? I have even less reason or desire now to upend my darned-good real life than I had back in the day when I could have upended a decent real life for him. I do, however, love the place that the unrequited “us” remains in my mind. As I get older, memories of love – in all its forms – become more precious. My hair is greyer, my sense of personal maturity is deeper, and the distance I have to travel in my mind gets longer and longer. But when I arrive, it’s a hazy and stirring locale, a time and connection that made us each invincible, a friendship that elevated us far above the everyday people we of course were. The memories have become just like a friend of mine, they hit me from behind, and I’m gone to Carolina in my mind.
There are parts of your last paragraph that read like a poem. Lovely.