Time Travel, Guilt-Ridden Thursday

I'm happily married with two kids, and sometimes, like today, I fantasize about what my life would have been like if I had married some of the other people I dated. I'm a hopeless romantic, who hopes for romance no matter what. Whether it's "smart" or not. And what is "smart" when dealing with romance, anyway? I mean clearly, there should be no abuse and it would be nice if both people were working and contributing both to the relationship and to society. But after that, I don't know that it's really possible to be smart about someone whom you love.

I know now that my husband and I happen to be deeply in love. This doesn't mean that he never does anything to irritate me, nor that I never irritate him. We've nearly divorced three or four times now, during the rough times. But I've discovered that at the core of my existence, there is this deep, basic (as in basal) love for my husband. But still, I daydream about being married to guys I used to date (those I felt deeply for, anyway): Lester Ford, Tim Fults, Danny Doneese. Yes-I am making these names up, but they represent real people who I don't want to hurt--or horrify.

I know life would probably be much the same as it is now. We would probably both work, we'd probably have kids. If I'd married Tim, as was my dream my senior year of high school, I may well have been a mousy, quiet, submissive, good little wife. The girl he married (we're good friends) is quite the opposite and they've been happily married almost as long as my husband and I. Tim ended up joining the military, and really, I doubt I could have lived like that. Don't get me wrong--those people sacrifice so much for our freedoms, and I appreciate and honor every single one of them. I just worry too much, and that's not what those guys need,.

Lester Ford really, really liked me. And he was SUCH an incredibly nice, cute, sweet, thoughtful, attentive (even though we were in high school and lived 70 miles apart), adorable, funny guy. The night we met, I walked into the retreat late, having had to play in the band at halftime at our football game. But when I walked in to campfire (literally, all the kids and staff at the retreat sitting around a fire in the rec hall fireplace, singing campfire songs), Lester stood up and motioned me over to sit by him. He introduced himself, "Hi, I'm Lester Ford--like the car." He told me I looked like Deborah VanValkenburgh, who played in Too Close for Comfort. If I remember right, we went for a walk after campfire (it was a Senior High kids' retreat, curfew was late). I know we walked down to the lake, and he kissed me. He was a good kisser, too! I remember that I couldn't believe that someone his age (he was all of two years older than me) could be interested in me. He would write me letters (we met at a fall church group retreat) and draw these incredibly beautiful, colorful pictures on the envelopes. Long, business-type envelopes with gorgeous drawings done in marker. He played guitar, and was very kind.

The trouble was, he was this wonderful, really wonderful guy. And sadly, really, REALLY sadly, I just didn't feel a whole lot of "spark" for him. Near the end of that school year, I was talking to my mom, telling her that he was great, fabulous, wonderful, and deserved better than a girl who didn't fall head over heels in love with him. She told me that if I felt that way, I really needed to let him know. So I did. And it was heart-wrenching, because I'm not kidding--he was a really wonderful guy and even though I didn't fall head-over-heels, I didn't want to hurt him.

At work the other day, three friends and I were talking. One of the friends has just started a relationship with a guy who adores her, after being burned by a two-or-three-or-four timer. She's amazed that this guy is absolutely besotted with her. My other friend said, "haven't you ever gone out with a guy who has a crush on you? It's fabulous!" It is fabulous. You feel like a queen. But because I'm me, I felt guilty that I wasn't feeling as much as he was, and I let him go. Sometimes, I wonder what it would've been like. Of course, he joined the military too. Maybe I chased guys there??

Danny was this annoying kid I met in the 6th grade. He played clarinet, like me. I thought he was weird. The only good thing about him (I thought then) was that he let me borrow his clarinet case to rest my bass clarinet on when I played it. We had a running joke--he let me borrow his case, and I told him I'd pay him the 2nd Tuesday of the week. In 8th grade, on a day when I was wearing my red/white/blue zip front sweater and standing by the big, putty-colored transformer box outside the middle school, Danny asked me to "go with him," which then meant to go steady. Of course, we didn't "go" many places, being in the 8th grade. He and I had every class together that year. He was my first (through 978th) French Kiss. The first kiss wasn't like that, but it soon developed into that. His family was very Baptist and very concerned about our relationship. They let us do things together (roller skating, birthday parties, one of us spending the day at the other's house occasionally), but on the last day of band camp, before the first day of 9th grade and high school, he broke up with me, saying that he still wanted to be friends. I was too shocked and hurt to respond properly (it really came out of nowhere, and I was way, WAY too clingy back then), so our friendship (which had developed in the 7th grade) never really righted itself.

I saw him at our 20th class reunion, with his pretty, sweet wife. Had I married him, I probably would have been very happy. But I'm also very happily married now, and I didn't have to join the Baptist church. :)

I guess it's okay to think, to dream, to make up "what-ifs." It bothers me that I do this, yet I haven't been able to quit it, nor have I ever cheated on my husband. So maybe it's a wash. At any rate, it gets me through days like today!