Just Like Yesterday

Just like Yesterday!

Has there ever been someone that you never got over? No matter how much time has separated you, the next time is like the first. He was my first love, my first real kiss, my first slow dance, my first everything. Someone, somewhere, once wrote in a book, “You will meet the love of your life at your worst, and they won’t notice anything but you.” That had to be true on that sweltering Thursday afternoon because not only was I exhausted from track practice, frustrated by Coach Lee for asking me to run the first leg of the 4x400 in the upcoming events at home, other away meets, state, and asked me to be the spokesman for the wins and the losses; when I had been the anchor for all three years he had been coaching our team; why now, the victory and losses rest on the anchor’s shoulders; (anyway, getting back on track; pardon the same pun.)

He was already seated in the rear of the school bus; it was 337, and he was as sharply dressed as a bank manager, every naturally curly Indian-looking lock in place. Back then, there was only one activity bus for Junior and High schools. Famished, perspiring, and still wearing my school-issued gym romper, you know that one-piece striped upper prison-looking light blue polyester zip-up the back get-up that hides or flatters nothing. Our eyes locked for several seconds until I reached an empty seat and collapsed into it. I sighed for many reasons: exhaustion, embarrassment, and love. I had just laid eyes on Mr. Right, not just Mr. Right now, but Mr. Forever!

I drifted off during the ride back to the loading area outside of the band building. The bus came to a screeching halt, I almost slid out of the seat, and I wasn’t ready to depart from the comfortable position I had carved against the warm window that seemed to be easing my woes away, or maybe I was waiting for an excuse to exit in front of him, still scooping my things and myself. He asked whether I was getting off the bus or if he needed to stay also. Just like a young schoolgirl, I giggled, smiled, stood up, and shoved my biology book into my backpack, while my mind tried to figure out a witty comeback. I was struggling to breathe and keep my composure, trying to believe he actually wanted to be seen with someone who was still not in high school.

As we walked the aisle toward the driver, Mrs. Brown, my mom’s best friend, looked at us in the mirror as I introduced myself and said, “You know you’ll have to come over to mom’s bus with me and say something, because she’ll know by the time we leave the elementary school in one hour and seven minutes.” He chuckled and said, “I already know who you are, and I had planned to.” As we continued to chat, weaving our way through the buses, I wondered how he knew so much about me.

When we arrived at bus 25, he said “hi, Mrs. Walker, and before he could utter another word, my mom was exiting the bus. My heart sank into my stomach, and my face went pale. I just knew she was going to cause a scene and ruin my dating life until I graduated and moved out of Emporia, Virginia, NO, is all I could think! Mister smooth, He had talked to my father, and Dad told Mom, “I met our son-in-law, so don’t blow up; invite him over for dinner Wednesday evening.”

Feeling confident, Willie asked if I could ride home with him and Betty, the matchmaker, his sister, and my best friend from school. And flashed that million-dollar smile. It was on and popping for the rest of my high school days at G.C.H.S.

Until “two plotting good-for-nothing so-called-friends” decided that they needed to oust me from his life. Between those two, his “green-eyed monster,” and my change of living situation three years later,

Some people are foolish enough to let childish decisions stand in adulthood just because they can’t let go of pride and say those three words, “I was wrong,” or the other phrase that would melt away all of the pain, “come back home, I love and miss you!” NO, men don’t know how to swallow their pride and apologize, or even pretend to be sorry for throwing away true love over listening to their hating friend, who doesn’t know how to treat a woman.

Twice, the opportunity had arisen. He almost left his ego at home. The first time was April, or maybe it was March 1984, I had been hospitalized for over a week, and he visited every evening after work. Smelling and looking good; always carrying a gift. The gift of food, flowers, and, once, a cute brown stuffed dog that looked like my German shepherd, Brownie. Staying until the staff would ask if he wanted a pillow and blanket for the night. The next time was a year later, when I came home because his sisters didn’t like the female he had been dating. We hung out the whole weekend and almost talked about real life, but he wanted to try to make it work with her because she was carrying his second child. Where was that man two years ago? Did he learn to treat me like a friend who would be there or to keep in the wind?

I didn’t like this new situation, but we were both in new relationships. Casual wasn’t comfortable for a while, but it got easier, sort of. Soon we could see each other, talk with smiles and hugs, and part without tears. It was hard to talk to his mother or his siblings because they felt a way about me, and I missed their warmth, and I wasn’t going to win the fight for togetherness living 200 miles away.

To this day, his mother tells everyone I’m her daughter-in-law, and I talk to two of his sisters almost daily.

Two decades and seven years ago was the first time I ever saw him shed a tear, and our son said that it was only the second time for him to witness; the other time was after his father passed. I didn’t get emotional after my car accident until I saw him that Thursday evening when they visited. He tried not to let me see him show any feelings, but I knew, when he left the room, what was going on, and a few tears rolled down my cheeks because I knew our time had changed. The thought of rekindling our relationship had just been doused like a campfire at the end of vacation.

Over the years, we have remained casual friends and have spoken about our sons, families, and health issues. Without that honest conversation about still being in love with each other, we silently exist until we hear something is going on with the other person. Then we talk to his mother, or I call every year on his birthday, and he has done the same more since 2016’s surgery and near-death experience, and a month-long coma.

See, he still cares, RIGHT!

Kimberly Walker