Today is Albert’s birthday. I’ve always remembered it since I learned what day it was, way back in 1969. Like many numbers, birthdays seem to get stuck in my memory. Many of them make no sense to me, as the people whose special days I remember are often those I haven’t seen since I was a child in elementary school. My memory remains a mysterious creature. Anyway…I actually haven’t laid eyes on Albert since 1974. I came dangerously close to seeing him in 1975 when I was on a trip in California, visiting my friend Fern. Seeing her was wonderful, but the subtext of this vacation was me deciding if Michael was really the right person for me to be with for the rest of my life. Al was my first big love, after some innocent high school crushes. Our three year on and off love story was twisty, painful, ecstatic, tempestuous and often brutal. Being with him almost broke me. I know that I was often exhausted, insecure and filled with self-loathing during that time. For years I thought if I could wait out his immaturity and reluctance to be in a committed relationship at too early an age, we’d wind up together. Letting go of that fantasy was a difficult process for me which eventually got easier when I made my cosmic friendship connection with Michael in 1971. After eight months of that soothing, burgeoning bond, I finally broke away from Al as I ultimately transitioned with Michael from best friends into life partners. But that wasn’t easy for me.
I have always made intense connections with people. Keeping them is a theme in my life. I am loyal while at the same time, quite cautious about who I’ll trust. For the most part, if I’ve felt emotionally betrayed, I’ll walk away and never look back. But walking away from my first true love was a big ask for me. I’d always felt like love wasn’t the problem between Al and me. We weren’t able to get past what felt, at least to me, was simply bad timing. The rule was, you weren’t supposed to have too-serious romantic relationships in college, at least that was the rule for him. There was a constant push-pull between us which was torturous for me. But I always loved him. My ultimate separation from him was both an intellectual and emotional decision. I knew I could never trust him after all the havoc he’d caused with my sense of security during our time together. And I’d found a healthier, more secure passion with Michael. Even with Michael, though, I took several years trying to be sure we could navigate our differences. During that California trip, Al, with whom I still communicated, finally felt ready to be with me, years after our breakup. He used all his sway to convince me to travel from San Francisco where I was with Fern, to Los Angeles where he was completing a PhD and preparing for law school. He wanted an opportunity to convince me that we should give ourselves one more chance to see if we could go forward together. Thankfully, I understood that seeing him again, no matter what the outcome, would be a crushing blow to Michael and me. Despite that first love mystique that still had some meaning for me, I had just enough good sense to say no to a visit. I wasn’t willing to risk what I’d found with Michael for a dramatic whim. I returned home having avoided my sentimental impulse. Michael and I were married the following year. I never regretted my decision.
Over the years, being well-loved by Michael went a long way in healing the scars on my psyche which had so changed me during that tumultuous time with Albert. I moved on with my life and was glad I’d been so lucky. I saw myself as a survivor of reckless, immature mental abuse. Being whole, despite that reality, was a win. I didn’t ever forget Al but I didn’t talk to him again for thirteen years. The next time I contacted him was when my beloved Fern died. Back in college, she’d been in love with Al’s college roommate for a few years and I wanted to find him, to let him know of her death. When I called Al, his wife answered the phone. I identified myself by name, adding that I was an old college friend. When Al came to the phone, he sounded excited. I heard him say, “yes, Leslie, it’s that Renee.” I was so stunned. In all the years since he’d been out of my life, I’d never once thought of him telling anyone, wife included, anything about our past history. Perspective is fascinating. I was wounded enough to believe that despite the power of our feelings, I was the only one who walked away from our relationship with real pain and damage. That phone call was a jolt. I could tell immediately that he was way too interested in prolonging our conversation, that his marriage was probably in trouble, and that as a feminist, I never wanted to undermine another woman who was in a bad spot. When we hung up the phone, I understood that I couldn’t be Al’s old friend. After 1988, I didn’t communicate with him for a few decades. Years later, a mutual acquaintance told me Al had since divorced and remarried. He also said that he was markedly changed and quite unlike the person we knew when he was young.
Then, sometime in the mid-2000’s, I opened Facebook and found myself staring at his still-recognizable face. The algorithms which suggest friends to you was possibly the reason for his sudden appearance in my feed, but after checking him out, I realized we had no friends in common. So I sent him a friendly, chatty note, saying I was surprised he’d reached out to look for me, along with some details about my current life. And just like that, he vanished as suddenly as he’d shown up. I could only assume he wasn’t savvy about how the platform worked and was embarrassed to be “discovered.” I never heard anything further from him and never found him again. My life was full and busy so on I went. Subsequently, my mom’s needs, my kids’ needs and ultimately, Michael’s cancer blotted thoughts of Al out of my mind. Still, every year, I always remembered his birthday.
In the spring of 2017, as Michael’s health steadily declined and he spent a great deal of time sleeping, I began sorting out papers and memorabilia from our past to prepare for what I’d decided would be more an exhibit of Michael’s interesting life iterations, rather than a traditional celebration. During the hours selecting what treasures I’d use for his event, I found a few pieces of writing from Al to me, written in the early ‘70’s. I decided to write him a note, explaining what was going on with Michael and to ask him if he was interested in seeing those interesting epistles he’d written so long ago. His response was polite; he wished me luck and said he wasn’t great at connecting with the past. The blur of Michael’s death and the next several months left little time to dwell on that. But near the end of the year, I sent Al a note explaining why I’d initiated contact with him years earlier and abruptly ended it. I thought that at this time in our lives, after decades apart, we might have at least some sort of connection. As people have disappeared from my life and knowing that the future holds more and more loss, I thought there was value in keeping in touch with those who’d once been so significant in my world. That met with a really negative response from him.
A while later, my old friend Brenda sent me the photo of me and Al on the front steps of the student union on campus, taken on the first day we’d gotten to know each other. In the spring of 2018, I sent him the photos and got a thank you email. I thought I’d ask if perhaps we might stay in touch after all but was rebuked by an abrupt response which made it clear that I should go back where I came from. I wrote him a response expressing my surprise that after over 50 years, even minimal contact was more than he could manage, but that I would honor his feelings. I thought for a long time about all the unknown but clearly negative emotions I seemed to elicit from him. For so long I thought I was the damaged party in our relationship but clearly, my view was too self-focused. His desire to leave everything back in that old time still seems weird to me and is really the only instance in which I’ve been unable to share a few memories with an important person from my past. I haven’t reached out to him since then. Sometimes I wonder if he’s still alive or if I’ll ever know if he’s dead. I find that idea that he could simply no longer exist without my knowing to be unnerving and creepy. For some reason, it just feels wrong. But oh well. I guess I’ll just continue to remember his birthday without ever acknowledging it until either my memory fades or I’m gone myself. In the end, I suppose our differences were always as serious from our very beginning as they proved to be late in our lives.
After resigning myself to this apparently forever loose end in my life, I’m somehow left with the lyrics of the Rolling Stones’ classic, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” tumbling through my mind. Indeed, I don’t get what I wanted in this instance. But I still can get what I need, at least some of the time. In this particular fall season of my life and on a distinctly more positive note, I’d had great concerns about whether this year’s dry, hot summer would devolve into a drab autumn. In early October, trees were either still green or just beginning to go brown, without the glorious colors which are so dazzling and a major highlight of the four-season area of this country. Thankfully, the past few weeks have brought a brilliant show to my designated tree city, one which is known for its wide variety of specimens. I’ll end with some of my favorite photos I’ve taken recently which always make the coming winter easier to bear.
Nature is a great balm for the life’s discomforts. I’m glad I get this beauty. Just what I need.