Memories of Young Love

1/31/06

The other day I woke up in a panic. I HAD to locate my ex-boyfriend. Now, this kind of morning ritual is not common for me nor is it probably a healthy activity for any happily married young woman. My husband and I have been married for 2 ½ years and I love him entirely. I am very happy in our marriage and can’t imagine a person better suited to deal with me. All is well in our house. But that morning I woke up from a very distinct dream of this old boyfriend and was simply overcome by my desire to know what had happened to him in the last ten years.

My husband is a very secure man, not prone to jealousy or suspicion. This quality has been very wonderful in our relationship, particularly considering the fact that, before we met, I was much more active in the dating realm than he was. At one point during our engagement I actually sat down and gave Matt the entire detailed history of my dating escapades. I realize such a practice would horrify many women (and men) and many couples would doubtless avoid such a conversation at all costs. I’m not exactly sure why Matt and I felt that conversation needed to happen for us but it ended up being a very intimate and spiritual conversation, a cleansing for me of things in my past I was ashamed of and an incredible way for Matt to show me his love through forgiveness and acceptance. Along this same vein, a few days before we got married I drug out all the old mementos, letters and notes from all my old boyfriends and threw them in the trash. Matt did not ask me to do this, and was a bit shocked when I told him I did. But I felt it needed to be done – to purge all those memories and ties in order to fully commit myself to my husband.

However, a few months after we were married I began to question my decision to trash all those memories, or at least all the memories connected with one specific boyfriend, Jeff. Jeff was a boyfriend like no other. He was a boy I met for the first time in 8th grade at summer camp. When I think back on my “romance” with him, my memories are soft and innocent, sweet and simple. I do not associate any of the guilt or shame or sadness that comes with so many ex-boyfriend memories: boys to whom I gave too much, cared for too little or used thoughtlessly. Jeff memories are completely different. Our time together lasted two weeks in August, then consisted of novel-length letters sent almost weekly (ah the romance of days before the internet) for a month or so. Then it faded until we met up again at camp the next summer. We met every morning at “our rock” to watch the sunrise, snuck out during campfire for my first kiss and sat together on the bus. His letters to me were full of life – filled with clip art and stickers. He would send entire pages with nothing but the words I LOVE YOU written over and over again. The relationship ended badly during our third year at camp but even with a jealous, angry, hateful end I only have good memories of Jeff.

So after the thrush of about to be married passed over me, I began to rethink my decision to scrap all my physical memories of Jeff. All his sweet and creative letters were long gone and I suddenly wasn’t sure I should have applied the same standard to him as I did to my other relationships. His letters were the kind I would want to someday show my own 15-year-old daughter, instructing her to look for this kind of boy. But it was too late to change my mind and, really, I had no business thinking so much about an old boyfriend, did I?

Another odd connection that existed between Jeff and I came on the first date I ever had with Matt. I was actually supposed to be on the date with his best friend, Levi, who was an avid soccer player in high school. We began to talk about soccer and the town Matt and his friend were from. It soon came out that Jeff and Levi had played on the same soccer team in high school! Though this knowledge stirred my heart a bit and brought up a million questions about Jeff’s life, I held back, knowing my attention was not supposed to be focused on Jeff.

But about 6 months after Matt and I were married Levi called our house with some news. Jeff’s college was playing our college in soccer that day and Levi was going to see the game. Did we want to come? We hemmed and hawed for a moment but my secure and confident husband gave his approval and I was dying to see how Jeff had “turned out”, since I hadn’t seen him since 10th grade!

It was quite easy to spot Jeff at the game. He looked exactly as I remembered him; a bit taller and a lot more facial hair but, basically, the same. After the game Levi wanted to hang around and say hi and, though it made me nervous, I did too. I really had no idea what to expect from Jeff. Though my memories of him were sweet and happy - the stuff good memoirs are made of - I had no idea if he had memories of me at all! Just because he was significant to me did not mean I meant so much to him. We dated almost ten years ago, and most people don’t dwell on 8th grade romances. Still, we waited on the sidelines as the team packed up and sidled toward Jeff as he headed for the bus.

When he got closer, we realized he had removed his sweaty soccer jersey and had neglected to don another shirt. This fact increased my nervousness exponentially, as Jeff had clearly become more muscular since the 8th grade. Another anxiety increase came from the realization that Jeff’s parents were with him. The awkward quotient was high but we’d already clearly set a path to intersect with him and there was no turning back now.

When the three of us faced the three of them, there was no recognition at first. Jeff noticed Levi first and said hi and then turned to me. I smiled in a nervous way and began to mutter, “uh, do you remember me?” But, before I could finish the sentence, Jeff hollered my name and flung his arms around me. As he hugged me, I could hear his mother in the background saying, “oh, my God – Marilee!” It was more than I had expected. Yes, the hug was awkward but the initial response to me was heartwarming and it was unbelievably comforting to know that I was not the only one with fond memories. We caught up for the two minutes it took Jeff to walk to the bus and then said goodbye without exchanging numbers or email or making any promise to see each other again. It was a good meeting and a fitting end.

But then, the other morning I woke up thinking about him. I began to wonder what he’d done since graduation and what he looked like and all kinds of questions I wasn’t sure I should be thinking. So I googled him. I told Matt what I was doing and he just smiled. It took a while to find the correct Jeff but soon I was sitting at our computer looking at the wistfully familiar face on his college’s soccer team website. I didn’t uncover any new information about him and I did not attempt to contact him. That really wasn’t what it was about. Somehow, it just felt good to see his face and be reminded.

I have basically let go of the guilty feelings about my ongoing interest in this ex-boyfriend. I have reconciled myself with it and come to terms with this oddity. While I know most adults don’t check up on their 8th grade sweetheart, there is something special about the way I remember Jeff that I don’t want to lose. He is the fairy tale that will never die. He was my real life prince charming in the sense that his memory can never be tarnished by morning breath or money arguments or dirty dishes. I love my husband and I could never dream of another human being I would rather go through life with. But that’s what’s so attractive about Jeff. I don’t have to go through life with him. I just get to go to the rock and watch the sunrise with him. I just get to receive love letters from him. I just get to imagine all the perfection without any of the reality. And I think that’s what draws me back to him from time to time. Not the reality of our 8th grade romance, which was really probably not that romantic – but the fantasy of how I remember it. The wonderful dream of what it is in my memory and, of course, the untarnishable image of Jeff – one that will never pay the bills or do the laundry but will always be the perfect memory of young love.