REO Speedwagon was hot in 1981. So were Laura and I. We were one of the It couples of the senior class. From the moment we met, we fell for each other and fell hard. I’d never told a girl that I loved her, but with Laura, it happened fast and it just came easy. I can still remember the first time I reached for her hand as we walked to Civics class. She took it and gave it a squeeze and my heart screamed.
I would pick her up every morning, bring her to school and walk her to her locker. She’d give me a quick peck on my cheek, usually to moans and catcalls from the guys nearby. I’d smile glibly, those guys were just jealous, wishing they had a girlfriend like her.
She was beautiful, smart and funny, the love of my young life. And she loved me too. I would stop by her house after football practice where we would sit on a swing on the front porch, going over homework, or just chatting. When the porch light came on, it was the signal from her mother that it was time for me to go.
Laura would throw her arms around my neck and say, “I love you, Matt Jensen,” and kiss me like I was leaving for the army or something.
Four years later, we graduated together once more. This time, she walked with a diamond ring on the third finger of her left hand, my big Christmas surprise. It was funny though, how REO Speedwagon had fallen off of the music map, replaced by hair bands and Madonna. We still had the t-shirts and the albums, but as time drew on, they spent more time on the shelf.
We got married in October. It was a beautiful wedding among brilliant fall foliage. As her father walked her up to me and I saw her face behind the blusher veil, I melted. Fucking melted. He took her hand and placed it in mine and my heart screamed again.
The REO Speedwagon song, “Keep on Lovin’ You” was the song they played for our spotlight dance. I giggled a bit at how dated it seemed as I swayed with her to it.
We both got great jobs after college, but it was hard on both of us. We put in long hours, nights and weekends as we established ourselves in our careers. I felt our love slip tangibly through my fingers. I reached for her hand as we walked across a parking lot to the car. She didn’t notice.
“What?” she asked me.
“Nothing.”
We’d set our love aside just like those REO Speedwagon shirts and albums, forgotten in some box on the back of a shelf. Increasingly, I felt like there was nothing I could do to change it.
We’d gone to a lodge in the woods on our honeymoon. We hiked along trails among the sycamores and oak, their leaves on fire with the colors of October. On a Friday lunch break, I called the lodge and scored a room for the weekend. I was determined to put things back to where they once were.
When I got home from work that night, I didn’t see her car in her spot in the parking lot of our building. I didn’t think anything of it. I just figured that she was working late again. We’d stopped calling to tell each other that stuff months ago.
When I keyed into the apartment, someone hit me with a baseball bat. Or so it felt. The apartment was empty, save for my recliner. The world spun. I fell back against the wall and slid down to the floor. I stared at the emptiness for long minutes. Or hours. I don’t know. It was dark when I finally got up and walked into the kitchen to see if she’d left me anything with which to make a stiff drink. There was a note on the counter.
My Dearest Matt,
I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t want to do this like this. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to work it out. But I just couldn’t see that happening. I couldn’t bear to see the look on your face when I told you I was leaving. I love you too much. Please don’t try to find me. Don’t come to my work. I’ve been in contact with a lawyer. You’ll be getting some papers soon. Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be. We both know it’s over and it’s time for me to fly.
Laura
The REO Speedwagon reference was not lost on me.
I didn’t try to find her. I didn’t go to her workplace. I saw her once more after that. In court. We didn’t speak to each other. She refused to even look at me.
After the dissolution — yeah, it wasn’t even a divorce, it was dissolution — I sat in my chair in my empty apartment and drank. Night after night, I’d drown my sorrows in Jack Daniels with beer chasers. I missed so much work I nearly got fired.
I had a friend at work who kept trying to introduce me to his wife’s sister. I refused at first, but he wore me down. After weeks of coaxing, I finally agreed to meet her. She was a wonderful woman who became the mother of my children and the new love of my life. I tried to forget about the past. It was a “starter marriage”. It was a high school romance that went too far, I told myself. Somehow, I wasn’t convinced.
When my second wife left me, she told me to go find Laura. She was tired of playing second fiddle to a memory.
I opened Facebook many times over the years and typed Laura’s name in the search box, but I never clicked the search icon. Who was I kidding? She was re-married. Had to be. Husband, house, kids, the whole nine yards. The last thing she needed was a heartsick high school boyfriend stalking her.
It was a chilly February night when I heard that she died. I got a Facebook PM from my old buddy Craig. We were Facebook friends but I hadn’t seen him or even spoken to him in decades when he told me the news. She’d been sick with cancer for a long time.
I asked if she had ever gotten remarried and he said yes, she had. She had a husband and three grown boys.
Ignoring two more PM’s asking how I’ve been, I sat in a stupor. A single tear ran down my cheek.
I opened my bedroom closet. There was a box on the shelf in the corner. I blew the dust off and opened it. There were two items inside, an REO Speedwagon t-shirt that she had bought for me and an LP version of the REO Speedwagon album, High Infidelity.
As I gazed on that yellowed, moth-eaten shirt and warped old album, I wondered why…why do we hold on to past glory? Even after it is so long gone that even the relics have faded and lost their luster?
I threw the box in the kitchen trash, gathered up the bag and took it out to the bin, then wheeled the bin down to the curb. On the way back up the driveway, I pulled out my phone, popped in my earbuds and cued up “Start Over” from Imagine Dragons.
