We're busy clearing stuff out of the house, separating the complete junk out from the garage-saleables from what we'll need to move north. Steve was poring over old newspaper clippings in a stack and handed me a clipping to read. It actually took me a little while to figure out why. It's from The Hinckley News, though no title was attached to the small piece, where Steve wrote a weekly column back when he lived in the area. He'd already been getting paid to write movie reviews, positive or negative, about what was showing at the local theater, getting free access to see the movies as well. In addition, he also ran a nostalgic column about different parts of his life, such as one might find in his blog, or these days on Facebook. This one was called "Memories and More". That's not quite the title of this clipping, but you'll see why.
For: "Memories and More" Column
Steve recently showed me his file of column clippings, and admitted he'd been having what he called a "dry spell", not writing for a while. I asked him if I could write one for him, sharing with you some of his memories from a different perspective. If you are reading this, it means both he and his editor agreed. I hope you will soon hear from him again too. He's not nearly out of things to say.
I first met Steve about 19 years ago. It was in a church basement, waiting for the start of a meeting of singles and soon-to-be-singles dealing with divorce and separation issues. Steve walked in, came directly over to me, put his arms around me in dancing style, and started dancing me around the room. It was unforgettable.
We soon became friends, and have been best friends ever since. Some of the issues Steve was dealing with he's been courageous enough to share in his column. I brought my share of issues to the group too, and in many ways we healed and "grew up" together. That group was probably the single strongest positive in both our lives.
Later in the evenings the group would socialize together. Some of us needed to take baby steps in a safe environment to start forgiving and reconnecting with the opposite gender again. This would usually occur in a nearby bar with a band offering a mix of fast and slow dancing. It didn't matter if we were there solo or as part of a dating couple within the group, but whenever the band stopped playing, it was time for "our" dance." We two had the whole floor to ourselves, and used it, usually laughing and flirting outrageously, enjoying every minute with the clear understanding of where the boundaries of our friendship were. Our dates understood. Or else. Other relationships came and went, but we always knew we could call the other and share our happiness, our frustrations, and even our 3AM tears. When our kids got in trouble, or there was a health issue, or something on the job, the other would always listen. And understand.
A few years ago I planned a camping trip in the Rockies. My youngest son could spare the two weeks to come along. So could Steve. Having grown up there, he promised to show us some special places, like the Medicine Wheel and the Grays River in Wyoming.
Not long before this, he had sold me my first "real" camera, a Pentax K-1000. Even better, he took me out shooting until (technophobe that I am) I could use it with confidence. A new passion was born, and the trip was a great excuse to indulge in shutterbugging. I filled two albums from that trip.
In Montrose, Colorado, Steve had me drive around town until he could find a place to buy a single red rose, and then he had me drive to the cemetery so he could place it on his mother's grave. A few days later there was a stop in Denver. It turned out to be the last time Steve saw his father. Blessedly, his father's mind was coherent enough that afternoon for them both to enjoy the visit.
I moved away first, not really that far out of the metro, but just enough for a long distance call. Then Steve moved, and farther still. We might not talk to each other for months at a time.
The only time we saw each other the last couple years was for fishing. Steve clued me in where we could rent a large pontoon for some crappie fishing, and my whole family could join in. The pontoon part was important for two reasons. First, it gave my very active granddaughter a way not to have to try to sit still for a couple hours. Steve was the one who showed her how to catch the minnows in the bucket to bring to us to re-bait our hooks. Second, it made it possible for my handicapped father to get out on a lake for fishing a few more times. Until then, he had resigned himself to never being able to go fishing again. For a man who had once run a resort, that was a great loss.
A couple months ago, Steve reconnected again. We started having frequent conversations. Steve had an agenda. I recently informed him that I had no interest in being his "next love". However, I had every intention of becoming his last love.
I expect Steve and I will go on making memories. Some of them I'll even let him share here!
Heather
No comments:
Post a Comment