I've heard it said many times, by many people, that one always remembers his or her first love. I can certainly vouch for that sentiment; I remember seeing her when I was about 14 years old. She was older - I would find out, much later, that she was 21 at that time.
Back then, before I was old enough to drive, My father and I used to do the weekly grocery shopping every Saturday morning. We had it down to a system, and we both enjoyed the task. We would divide the list and go our separate ways - it was fun, like a competition, trying to better last week’s time without forgetting anything.
One Saturday I noticed a very attractive young women who was working at one of the checkout registers, and, since hers was the shortest line, I gladly chose it. By the time she had finished checking and packing our groceries, I was smitten. From then on, I always looked for her when we did the weekly shopping. When she was there, I hurried to be sure that I was finished first so that I could get into her line. When she wasn't there, I was disappointed. After a couple of months, I noticed that she didn't seem to work there any longer, and I mentally kicked myself because I hadn't spoken to her in all that time - I didn't even know her name. At that age I just wasn't confident enough to approach an “older woman”. I would think of her, occasionally, but I didn't see her again for a long, long time.
Now, the story jumps ahead five years to the summer of 1955, when I was 19. I had just graduated from a junior college, and was working for a flight simulator manufacturer in the area. It was a good time in my life - I had a well paying job, had purchased my first car, and was finally living independently. The Korean War had ended a couple of years earlier, and the worry of being drafted into the service had evaporated. The future was promising and the summer was there to be enjoyed.
One warm evening, a friend and I were returning home from the next town when we saw two young women walking in the same direction, apparently having missed the last bus. One of the two was a former high school classmate, and I thought that I recognized the other, so, we decided to offer them a ride home. Our classmate, Sharon, remembered us from school and was glad to accept our offer to save them a five-mile walk. Once they got into the car, I was happy to learn that my suspicion was correct, the other young lady was the former super market checker to whom I had been so attracted five years earlier; what a stroke of good fortune. I wasn't so backward this time... her name was Joan.
We were all in a good mood during the ride home... laughing and joking while my buddy and I tried to convince the girls that it would be fun if we all went out together the following Saturday night. We finally won them over, or maybe they just gave up, but we made plans to meet on the weekend. After we had taken the women home, my friend and I talked about the upcoming date and tried to decide how we would pair up - we both wanted to be with Joan. Since neither of us would concede, we decided to let nature take its course - maybe the young ladies would indicate their preference on Saturday.
The weekend finally arrived and we decided to go to a miniature golf course. This would provide a little friendly competition and, also, a chance for the women to choose a partner. Imagine how pleased I was when Joan chose me to be her partner, I couldn't help but shoot a couple of smug looks at my disappointed friend. I don't remember much about the rest of the evening, except to say that I felt as if I was walking on air. To say that I was happy would be a definite understatement. Although I had never been a “ladies man” during my high school years, I had dated sporadically, but still felt a sort of awkwardness around women. All of that feeling seemed to disappear as the evening progressed, and I felt so at ease with Joan that I decided to ask her out again.
During the course of that first date, the four of us agreed to go swimming at a nearby lake the next day (or maybe the next week... I'm a little foggy here). It was during that afternoon swim that I came to realize that Joan was also attracted to me. We were standing quite close, in waist deep water, when she either stepped on something sharp, or something bit her - regardless, she wound up with her arms around me. I can remember it vividly, even now; the hot day, the cool water and this wonderfully warm woman in my arms. I wasn't eager to let her go, and she didn't seem to mind that I was holding her longer than necessary. It’s one memory that I will always cherish, one of many, but I'll keep the others to myself.
That was the beginning of a wonderful year together. We were very comfortable with each other, and grew more intimate as time progressed. I saw her as much as I could, I thought about her constantly, and I could smell her perfume or cologne (or thought that I could) even when she wasn't there. I had never been in a relationship like that before... I was in love! She was the first woman that I ever loved, and it was wonderful. I, however, was reluctant to tell her how much I did love her; I felt that that word shouldn't be used loosely - too many guys used that ploy just to get a woman into bed. So, like a fool, I held back. Our love for each other remained unspoken, for the most part, but I'm sure that she felt it as deeply as I did.
As that year was near an end, I began to experience mixed emotions. I felt, on one hand, that Joan was probably ready to settle down and marry, although she never said it outright. On the other hand, I felt that I was too young to make that commitment; to be truthful, I was afraid to make it. I finally decided that it would be better if we separated; I had convinced myself that I was being fair to her. I won't describe the night that we parted, except to say that it was my doing and it was very painful for both of us. I felt terrible when I realized how I had hurt her; this is the only painful memory I have of our time together. Afterward, I would occasionally seek her out, but soon realized that this was unfair to her, so I stopped. I eventually fell into a short-lived relationship with a young woman with whom I worked, and I didn't see Joan again.
Some time later, I met, and fell in love with Joyce, and we were married, a year later, on a bright Saturday morning in July of 1958 (that’s a whole other story). We had a wedding breakfast, immediately afterward, attended by family and a few close friends. Our small wedding group then attended two separate house parties that were held in our honor. On our way back from the second gathering, while we were stopped at a traffic light, I got the surprise of my life as a woman walked across the intersection, directly in front of our car; it was none other than Joan. Our eyes met and held for several seconds, and I saw that she turned to watch the car as we drove away (my new wife didn't notice). I didn't see her again until 35 years later, after my wife and I had separated.
I had been living alone for several months after the separation, and needed someone to do housecleaning for me. A longtime friend had her own cleaning business, and I decided to hire her on a weekly basis. Now it just so happened that this woman, Delores, and her late husband used to double date with Joan and me - way back then. The two women had remained friends over the years, and Delores told Joan about my situation.
One day, Delores called to ask if she could come out for a visit; I readily agreed. She arrived the next day together with Joan, completely surprising me. We spent a very pleasant couple of hours talking and reminiscing, and, to tell the truth, I don’t remember much of what Delores had to say - my focus was directed elsewhere. One of the first things that Joan asked me was if I remembered when and where we had last seen each other. Before she had completed the question, I answered... “On my wedding day, at the traffic light on Lincoln Ave. at Monroe St..” we both laughed at the quickness of my response. The time passed much too quickly to suit me, and before I knew it, they were leaving, but Joan promised to visit me again before too long.
After she and Delores had gone, I found myself full of emotions that I hadn’t experienced in a long time, so, I wrote a short letter which I planned to give to her the next time that she visited... if there was a next time. In it, I told her what she had meant to me, and I apologized for the way I had treated her when we broke up. I felt a sense of relief when the letter was finished; I had wanted to tell her those things for many years.
Joan did return for a second visit, and I gave her the letter as she was leaving; as far as I know she has kept it. I’m glad to say that the story doesn’t end here, because even though she is happily married with grown children and young grandchildren, she still keeps in touch with me. Our weekly talks are now centered on family and the more mundane topics of the day... just everyday conversation. We have seen each other several times, shared a brief hug, and continue to have a warm friendship that I truly value. If I was to write to her today, I suppose that I would sign the letter... With Love.
F. A. Zedik
November 07, 1996