She's Gone
Sometimes a sliver of fact slips through the bottom of fiction's door.
He had turned that supposed, life-changing 16-years-old three weeks earlier.
He had watched as his friends and used-to-be teammates ran up and down the field to the cheers of their parents, cheerleaders and fans of the team.
It was the opening game of the season- Friday night in small-town America. His school (it wasn't his team anymore) rolled to an easy victory as he supported himself on one leg. He stood beyond the back end zone line with his best friend.
The crutches under both arms allowed for little movement as they kept that pale of plaster of paris almost motionless as it covered his one leg from the base of his toes to the top of his thigh.
There was no outer pain in his body and the inner hurt had not begun yet. He was still receiving plenty of attention and the initial "woe is me" had worn off temporarily.
It was a timeout in his life, not a permanent loss of his skills and acclaim.
He didn't know why she was there. Her school was not a participant and it was a moderately long drive for she and her best friend. The girl's cousin was a well-known star for the boy's school, but he doubted she would travel that far to see him play.
Her cousin had never mentioned her in any conversation. The boy wondered why she was there, but little time was allowed for an answer.
Maybe it was simply pure luck and he stood in the only spot that allowed him to see her for the first time in his life. She apparently knew who he was. His picture had appeared in the local paper several times. He had gained some area recognition plus it was a community made up of small towns.
He can't recall any of the specific details of their conversation except that it lasted the length of the event. There was no awkwardness or anxiety. The verbal exchange rarely paused. An atmosphere of complete ease filled the evening.
The girl was very pretty with long, dark hair-common for the era. She wore a letterman's jacket and a pair of blue jeans. His face could not hide the continual look of happiness during the three hours of the football game that was now just background noise.
There was an occasional giggle with her friend, but her voice was naturally soothing. She was personable and spirited without being loud or overbearing.
The boy had never had a real, legitimate girlfriend, but if he ever did she would have to be the one and he had known her for four quarters of a football game.
He was unable to drive an automobile because of his injury so her cousin drove them to a Saturday afternoon game the very next day. They stayed a trio for a long time, but he did spend some time with her alone (and 500 football fans).
He was proud. He had an ego, but controlled it reasonably well. The boy was observed because of his physical condition, but also because of the young girl who was accompanying him,
A half of a century has now passed. He wonders if he lived in the age of the internet, cell phones, texts, emails and the current technology if the results would have been altered. His long term guilt admits the loss was his fault, not the times.
Somehow, there were couples who managed. Later, he discovered that some stayed together a lifetime.
She wrote some lovely letters to the boy. The correspondence demonstrated undoubtedly that she cared about him.
She borrowed a few verses of a Beatles' song that described their relationship perfectly. She also asked him to trust her, to have faith and confidence in her judgement. Despite any perceived obstacles they could overcome them. "Don't worry," she said with conviction.
He worried no longer, but not because of her strength. He didn't feel anything except the self pity that filled his soul. The adulation and attention he one received from his friends and classmates was now becoming "What have you done for me lately?"
The boy was a nobody for the first time in his life, but maybe that was better than a used-to-be.
Somehow, she kept trying, but he was too near-sighted to recognize her attempts. Weeks would pass and then he would reappear briefly to exhibit some faux interest.
He liked her. He really liked her, but he hated himself more.
They went to his school dance together. She was a girl from a different school, but he wanted the attention cast toward him. Finally.
She was so pretty. She wore a short, maroon dress. Her beautiful features were augmented by her smile that was always present despite the fact that her guy had been non-existent so often.
They danced once to John Lennon's "Imagine."
He thinks he introduced her to some friends, but he doesn't really recall.
He does remember the speeding ticket he acquired three minutes after they left the school grounds.
The boy entered his final year of high school and went through the motions with no goals or aspirations. Did he ever spend a moment thinking about her? He doesn't ever recall having any thoughts of substance or meaning.
He was a member of the basketball team, but others had pushed him from the court and farther down the bench. He was now "average." The boy meekly accepted this role.
His team played a game at her school. As was the custom then, the home team's booster club provided the visiting team with snacks and drinks after the game.
The boy was eating at a table by himself when she appeared directly in front of him. He had played adequately, but that was forgotten as he sat semi-stunned that she approached him.
"You looked good, no limp or anything," she smiled.
He thought, 'Of course there was no limp. I can hardly move anymore.'
She spoke with the softness, tenderness, kindness and sincere interest she had always shown. He promised he would call her the following day. They would make plans for dinner, a movie or maybe just a drive. Something/Anything.
He never called.
He now imagines her probably waiting for him, but his call never came then. Or ever.
A year passed. He was attending a college. The boy could hardly be called a student. The girl was now a senior in high school and the homecoming queen.
He wrote an unprompted letter. It wasn't an apology or an attempt at reconciliation. Now he thinks it was most likely just a temporary bout of loneliness.
He received a reply a few days later.
The attempts to understand him, the years of patience and hopes of a young girl were gone. She was finished and the selfish attitude he had exhibited for years had finally eroded even her caring qualities.
In fact, she was outwardly critical of him for the first time. She had been worn down.
The boy was sad for about an hour. Then he just went back to his world of self. He saw her a couple of times in the next year, but they never spoke, never acknowledged each other.
She was always with another boy. He didn't want to see that, but it was not a shock. Who wouldn't want to be with her?
His life drifted. College was completed somehow and he began a job. He was no longer a boy, but he was not a man.
The girl, well, he had no idea where she went, what path she had chosen or her status with another. He rarely thought about her.
Six years after their initial meeting and he remained empty. Any former dreams had vanished, hidden from even his imagination.
Two years later, he walked in to an empty office, awaiting another day of routine, going nowhere activities.
He glanced at the morning paper and read the headline that reported she had been killed the night before in a shocking accident.
He was nearly devoid of thoughts. He ached. He had no direction to turn. Her final minutes continue to haunt him- the fear and pain she faced as her life was stolen.
He did not attend any services, make any phone calls, or send any condolences.
No one would even know him and he was almost certain she would have had someone very special in her life. Once again, he thought of himself first.
Many years later, he was having dinner at a restaurant near her hometown. He clearly heard her name mentioned and he quickly moved away from the voice.
Ten years ago he sent a memorial-type item to her old high school. No one there would know him and probably most, if not all of her teachers would no longer be working.
He inscribed it, not in romantic terms, only mentioning her spirit, compassion and love of life.
He now understands his true feelings for her. Teenage years or not, he did love her and wishes their youthful relationship could have traveled farther.
He moves through the final years of his life wishing he had been a better person then, if only to say, "thank you for caring about me."
"You came to me with love and kindness. But all my life I've been a prisoner of my own blindness. I met you with indifference and I don't know why." (BFJS)
