About a month or so ago, I had a dream I was sitting at a table for two on the veranda of a cafe. The table next to me was empty, but two tables over sat a person from my past. Then, that person vanished and another person from my past sat in that same chair. This kept going on. More and more people from my past sat in that chair. I began to wonder, am I dying? Is this how my life is going to flash before me - in a coffee house?
The dream stuck with me and I began thinking about the mother of my first love. She was the last person to sit in that chair. In the dream, I walked up to her and hugged her. Then, she handed me her toddler boy, Steve, who grew up right in my arms. Well, dreams are that way . . . strange.
Within a few days, guess what? Steve had looked me up and sent me an e-mail. Now, I almost fell over when I saw the e-mail, for I had not seen nor heard from him in twenty-five years. Even with the world getting smaller and smaller as global networking grows bigger, I never once ran into him. But, I often thought of him throughout my life.
Steve and I have a lot of history between us. We were basically inseparable for over three years while in our late teens and early twenties. Really, inseparable. I don't remember doing anything unless it was with Steve. And our entire world revolved around dancing (and eating his mom's homemade Italian food). The Disco era was in full groove and we were the King and the Queen. From dance contests and exhibitions to fashion shows to television and newspaper interviews, to The Auto Show, to Hollywood and Dance Fever . . . we did it all. We had it all. Or so it seemed to a couple of twenty-year-olds at the time.
Since that time, Steve and I have been catching up through a series of phone calls. It was weird how, until I heard his voice a few times and it became familiar to me again, I could not find it in my memory. I was trying to remember certain things about him, like his voice, his touch, his smell. But, after all of those years and so much happening in between, I mostly remembered the sparkle in his eyes, his genuine smile and his contagious laughter. I remembered his quirky ways and silly sense of humor, and how we both liked to have the best of everything. I remembered the good times.
This got me thinking about memories in general. Do we, can we really remember the details? Was I going to forget all those little everyday things about my mother too. And, were they important anyway? Maybe it is the way one feels when in the company of another . . . those feelings are the only memories one really needs.
Talking to Steve has been good medicine for my soul. He knew me when . . . He knew the girl before she became a women . . . like a parent knows things about his or her child. Those little remember whens. He connected me to my past in a healthy way and I am so grateful. I look forward to more catching up with him.
One of my favorite quotes comes from the Beatles and it sings true to my heart:
And in the end, the love you make is equal to the love you take.
PS Hi Speavy.