still waiting

A LETTER TO DAVID
                                                        Sept.12, 2005
Dear David,

 

Do you remember me? Do you remember the first time you said, 'I love you, Babs? You don't? That is what I expected so don't feel guilty. It was a memorable time for me. While my recall slumbers in a spider webbed trap, now and then I can slay the spider and be young again.

 

It is spring, 1946. Tulips bloomed in front the Alberston house. Lilies, their yellow sword pistils aimed at the sky, filled the air with heavenly sweetness. WWII was over. The sun was setting as we held hands and took our usual walk around the block. You gently squeezed my right hand, turned me around to face you and kissed me softly, sweetly. I melted. My feet turned to sand. Although I believed I loved you too, the words did not leave my lips. Do you remember that moment? Were you disappointed?

 

I can swear, even to this very day, a tiny shiver went down my spine, a burst of electricity, like putting a fork in a wall socket must feel, flew between us. You jumped back and asked me, 'What happened? What was that?' We looked at each other but neither had an answer.

 

Every day you came to my house. We sat in the living room, danced to Sinatra, Tito Puente', Cugat. You and the music filled my heart. If my parents were at the movies or shopping, you and I 'made out.' 'Kissing, hugging was all that mattered, or so I thought. It was right for me but not for you. Something was happening to you that I didn't get.

 

It's been twenty five years since you put your hand up my dress, since I smacked you hard and told you to get out of my house and never come back... and you didn't. David, you have to remember that, just have to. Night after night I cried myself to sleep. My parents finally stopped asking me what happened to you, how come you just disappeared? It wasn't easy but I made up some stupid reason that they accepted, and was never asked again.

 

David, don't toss my letter yet. Somehow I blocked you from my mind once I met Karl. He was in his second year at Columbia, studying law. To my knowledge, no electric sparks flew. My feet stayed solidly on the ground. Karl had other ideas, taught me a lot so when he unbuttoned my blouse, unhooked my bra, I let him, and enjoyed myself.

 

Our marriage has been okay but not exceptional. We have two teen children who I believe know more about life at 12 and 14 than I do at 50. Karl and I have spines of rubber, haven't straightened them to call our marriage quits–yet. To imagine going thru with such a drastic measure would kill me----unless—

 

unless–I knew that your memory is still good and you would like to find me.

 

My address is:
Mrs. K. Azminoff
P.O.B. 2140
Rockford, Ill. 61101