LOVE LETTERS WRITTEN AND READ

Who saves love letters?

Better yet, who writes love letters?

I’ve done both, and if you’re older than thirteen, so have you.

So, where are they? Try and remember.

To a girl you first held hands with in school:

Dear Lucinda,

Lunch time has changed forever since we met.

It is the only time we spend together and it’s not enough.

Food is not important when I am with you.

But that sandwich your mom made was delicious.

It was so much better than school lunch.

I’m saving my lunch money so we can go to the movies.

It’s in a jar in my locker.

We should see West Side Story. I’ll be Tony and you’re Maria.

2

Two days later someone broke into my locker and stole my lunch money.

I couldn’t say anything since I wasn’t supposed to have any money unaccounted for by my mom and dad.

A day after the robbery Lucinda had a new boyfriend and they went to the movies together.

One of my friends stole my girlfriend and was probably the locker thief, too.

I was left to figure out what to do with the extra time at lunch hour.

It was the beginning of a recurring theme.

Mature Love . . . In High School

I wrote love letters but didn’t know how things really worked.

A kid in class liked telling me how much he admired my girlfriend.

So I bragged about her.

She was smart, sassy, and pretty.

Every day the kid got more excited, so I talked more about the best girl in town.

She had a fan, I had an audience. What could go wrong?

One weekend a fellow student fell ill and died over a weekend. It was a shocking dose of reality for 17 and 18 year olds.

She had been popular and lively and left her friends in tears.

In between classes and during lunch her friends cried and cried when they saw each other.

Some of the guys were helpful with their girlfriends. They consoled and comforted.

I stood back while the kid from class comforted and consoled my steady.

On Tuesday I told him to get lost; they told me to get lost.

I walked away thinking, ‘So this is how it’s going to be.’

College Love Letters Let It Be

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away

She didn’t sing the blues as much as make them.

Was I a part of unfinished business?

We met, went on a date where she priced out her vintage outfit, and I was hooked.

Then we broke up, got together, broke up again, before it got serious.

How serious? Not that serious.

It turned out we had different ideas on the future: She had ideas, I didn’t.

For me it was working through the learning curve that comes with young adulthood.

During a break up period she dated a new guy, some slick dude scooping up college girls after he dropped out, which isn’t a bad thing if you’re on the right side.

I wasn’t on the right side, I was on the outside of her apartment window working on an idea to get her back.

The living room went out, the bedroom light turned on. I needed that idea in a hurry.

My plan turned out to be buying a six pack of bottled beer, riding past her apartment in the back of a pickup truck and throw full bottles against the walls.

On the first pass two bottles exploded against the wall under the bedroom window, two landed in the yard.

Two more hit the walls on the second pass and it was over.

By then all the lights were on.

2

It was a doomed effort.

Somehow we got back together and got engaged with a wedding date the same day my parent’s divorce went final.

I should have seen the signs of things not working out after my other wayward women experiences?

Four months later we were unengaged and I planned on spending the rest of my life stuck in Brooklyn, New York.

Needless to say, my plans don’t always work out.

Oregon Love Letters

Most people find a once in a lifetime partner who decided to take a chance on them when they knew better.

I saw myself worthy of taking a chance on. Who doesn’t?

I’ve met a fair share of good women, driven women.

What I think I’ve attracted are hurt women still feeling loss from a past relationship.

From Young Adults Dating Strangers 101: Two people still feeling loss from past loves are a great match. You’ve got so much to talk about, or not talk about since it’s too painful.

Painful is key.

If you’re a guy without a past love to mourn, stick to not talking about your phantom ex-girlfriend because it’s too painful.

Update a past love that didn’t work out for the right tone.

If you’re a jerk it shouldn’t be too hard.

Freshman year of college I met a townie in history class.

One night we were at his parent’s house for dinner, the next night on a double date with my girl and her dorm friend. He drove.

He was a good guy until told his date the sad story of his parents’ death in a car crash on the same road they were on.

His date scooted to the middle of the seat and put her arm around his shoulders.

The next day I asked about his parent story.

“I ran out of things to say. We’re going out again tonight.”

The guy knew how to use his townie home court advantage.

Go ahead and draw the line at emotional manipulation to get laid.

The Last Love Letters

As a committed noncommittal in the late 70’s / early 80’s, it took my current dates about three months to snap out of their David Dementia.

More than once I’ve heard, “That’s what my ex used to say.” (Or do, or think.)

After that it’s easy to see yourself in a long line of losers, another ex slid off the board of life for saying, (or doing, or thinking,) the wrong thing to sharp, bright women who needed more.

Then I met a woman who didn’t need anything, least of all me.

The way she remembers our meeting was seeing some hunched over droop walking up the sidewalk.

I remember seeing her before meeting her.

A new guy had moved into the neighborhood. I stopped to say hello.

While I told him everything he needed to know, I spotted a woman in a corn blossom blue summer dress walking toward us.

I explained how important it was to pay attention on Portland streets because you never know when some Annie Hall / Jacqueline Bisset / Katharine Ross smoldering look-alike might be walking by.

I did the directional head jerk toward the woman in her country-girl dress, noticing a flower in her hair.

I smiled at her with a quick glance and nod as she walked past me . . . and kissed the new guy.

To make a long story short, she was nice. Over the next year we talked more than I thought normal.

2

No, I didn’t mention my parents fiery car crash.

After she slid her last ex off the board I started meeting her friends.

One of them, who knows about these things, said, “You know, David, the first rebound relationship never lasts. They never work out to more than a pause, a reprieve, a break.”

I nodded, but didn’t mention my three month fail rate. She probably had something similar and was checking me out for later?

Sure she was. Hey Joanie.

Going for my 37th Anniversary because of you.

Isn’t there someone you know who needs a love letter?

Send them this link.