It’s hard for me to accept that 35 years ago today I again met VST on a warm summer evening in the Central Valley of California. Not intentionally. Just a random dinner meet-up at our 14th and 15th High School Reunion. Two very wounded people who happened to be good friends in choir sat and sparred over dinner. Who could have predicted the love story that would follow?
I hadn’t wanted to attend the shindig. After all, at that time, I owned and operated a one person house keeping business. As a single mother of two very active and sweet little boys, my dance card was full with school assignments and clients. On the side, I cared for our own little hovel in the barrios of Fresno on a street where the police used my front yard to lob tear gas at the apartments across the street.
On the good side of town, VST had just finished building his own bachelor pad across the street from a school chum we had in common. Peter Ambrose. What a character he was! Smooth as aged cognac, and about the same color, Peter worked the ladies. He had a different date every night of the week, with a steady chain of women in his stable. Peter was never at a loss for companionship. He was a “wealthy cattle baron”, or so he pretended in his mind.
Fast cars and fast women. That was Porsche Peter.
Peter and his family didn’t own a herd of pedigree angus on a huge California ranch. They simply found cheap cattle and fed them out. Dairy calves or cast offs from other herds, the cattle down the street never came to the Ambrose farm in the best of health. To the family’s credit, they healed and fattened their cattle, later sending them to market. They did alright, that crew. Living in a simple farm house in the middle of 20 acres, everyone knew the Portuguese family.
On the evening of reunion, I sat in clothes only hours mine. Hitting Macy’s at 3:00 pm, I put together a cute look of a straight denim skirt, long-sleeved cream cotton blouse, and a red bandana scarf. On my feet, I wore my very first pair of bright red heels. Never had I worn red shoes, but I did that night. It symbolized the anger I felt towards myself for wrecklessly spending $25 hard earned dollars on a party I didn’t even want to attend. At that time, I would collect Coca Cola bottles for the $.05 refund, often being the grocery money I needed to feed my family.
VST, on the other hand, was seeing someone. She had begged and pleaded to be his date to the reunion. As VST would later tell the story, he had one thought in mind.
“Why take sand to the beach?”
VST was learning about the hardcore bachelor life of his bestie, Peter. Thank goodness the high school bass singer I liked so much in high school was still there. He would never get down the bachelor moves because he was stopped in his tracks. He proposed 11 days after the dance. Of course I said “Yes”, never looking back.
So many wonderful things came from that night under the stars. A night that seemed to have crashed and burned before it began. Two people, closed off and angry at the world found each other and a new life. Best friends bloomed into lovers. Two beautiful people found that love was possible again after the pain and sadness of divorce. We lived. We really lived.
$25.00.
A mountain of money to both of us on that night.
$25.00
The best money we ever spent.
On the first anniversary of VST’s death, I chose happiness on that entire day. Setting down the Kleenex box, I put on the very shirt he wore the night we met and danced around the house. I fixed a special chicken dinner, remembering our awkward and angry dinner conversation. Closing my eyes, I remembered his arms around me during our first very slow dance. Every possible memory came back to me that day bringing comfort through a few tears.
VST, I know you’re up there smiling. I hear your slow, deep southern drawl calling me “Darlin'”. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t mourn your absence deep in my heart. That night was one that plays like a current movie in my head whenever I need to remember. We were something together, Dr. H. A force to be reckoned with. Two team mates. Business partners. A married version of “Thelma and Louise”. A couple full of dreams. A connection so deep, even death hasn’t taken you away. It never could.
Life has slowed to rest a moment at the corner of Happy and Content. Each day, I choose happiness in honor of the life we shared. You showed me how to be a great “other half”. You were the “One In A Million Guy” that fell for the prettiest Skoegard girl with the bluest eyes.
Happy Anniversary, VST. As always, I send you my love. Everything is good here on the mortal side. I hope you dance today. Save the last dance for me when I get there. Mrs. H
More tomorrow.