April 30, 2008

• Second Love

  Here I will relate in a nutshell (and through the lens of hindsight and maturity) the story of Maggie. If you want the raw, unfiltered, immature and dramatic account, start reading my entries from February 17th, 2003. Remember that Xanga is funny (though I love Xanga!), so when you read the entry on the other side of the given link, you must go all the way to the bottom of the page, click “Previous 5,” and then start reading from the bottom of the page and up. Rinse, repeat. Also, please be merciful, for these entries were written when I was a college freshman, had not yet had a girlfriend, and was still somewhat upset about the events I blogged about. I was immature and inexperienced, and though I meant no offense to the true Maggie at the time (I was merely relating a tale and venting some), the rawness of the telling upset her fianceé enough to not allow me to attend their wedding, even though by the time of this event Maggie and I were on good and friendly terms. But you might find them interesting.

  Enough procrastinating! Though, true procrastinators never get enough.

  I first got to know Maggie as a junior in high school, as we were in the same small class. She was tall with long hair and always wore full length skirts. She was smart, kind, sweet and just the kind of girl a young, hopeless romantic knight like myself would fall head-over-heels for. So that’s what I did. As the school year went on, we became closer and closer friends and I carefully allowed my heart to swell in love for her. But I dared not tell her; I was so afraid of a repeat (refer back to my last entry when I told Josephine that I loved her) that I was hoping she would say something about her feelings for me, first.

  Eventually prom time came around, and I was not planning on going. I claimed at the time it was because I didn’t like such things and had no interest in it. Truly, though, I was terrified of having to ask someone, in particular the particular someone that I had particular feelings about. However there was a day, at the time a very glorious and wonderful day, when the sky opened and angels sang, and Maggie met me outside the library and asked if I was going to prom. I said no, and she said something along the lines of, “Oh, that’s too bad; I was hoping you’d go with me.”

  Well of COURSE I said yes. That was the “something” I was waiting for! Surely this meant she felt the same about me if she wanted me to be at her side during prom!

  So I ordered a pinstriped zoot suit to match her lovely cherry-red dress and black shawl. I even cleaned up my mom’s car–a nice red convertible–so pick her up in. No one in Tipton had a classier prom than my Maggie.

  After prom was over and done with, we went back to my house where I surprised her with a small picnic of strawberries, sparkling grape juice, and other bits. Mother Nature surprised us with rain, so we nibbled on the fingerfood in the garage and watched “The Patriot” because it was on hand. It took the entire length of the movie for me to finally admit to her my feelings for her, and she was silent.

  Being young, male, and romantic, it meant more to me that she didn’t say anything remotely resembling a “no.” So when the morning revealed a gray and rainy 7am or so, I took her home and returned to my bed to sleep until almost dinner time. Though I slept like the conquered slain, I was most certainly, in my mind, a victor!

  A week passed.

  It was a strange week at that. I remember how distant she seemed during that week when it seemed that we should be closer. By the middle of the week we realized that we needed to talk, so we set a time and place for the following Saturday (for the full and dramatic details of that day, refer to my past blogs mentioned above. Again, be merciful and remember I was a high schooler!).

  We talked mainly by saying nothing, and she eventually gave me a note. For many months after, when I was wallowing in a self-imposed pit of despair, I always saw giving that note as an act of cowardice. I have since come to realize and admire the sheer courage it must have taken her, someone with such a gentle heart, to write her heart out as best she could and then hand it to someone who would likely be shattered by the contents. I know now that she had never intended to hurt me, though I was bitter about it for a long while.

  The note, more or less, related that we could not be together as I desired, and that she did not possess the same feelings for me as I had for her. After I read the note she related reasons as to why not (again detailed in past entries) and I accepted them and was fine with them. I was grateful for her honesty, and I don’t think the reality had quite set in. We resolved to be friends (because it always works…) and I took her home.

  The next couple of weeks were very hard; I could not hear her name or see her face without wishing for a quick death. But I eventually got over it, and things seemed to be OK between us.

  She graduated about a month later, and then the summer began. I would call or write once every so often, but none of my letters or phone calls were ever returned. As this stretched on, it began to distress me more and more until I thought I was going mad. Then in mid-August I found out from a mutual friend of ours that she would be leaving for college the very next day, and I tried all day to call her, just to say goodbye. She never returned any call. I was fairly devastated, but took it in stride. The true sadness wouldn’t set in for a few more days.

  By this time, Josephine and I were good friends again and though there was still a small flame burning in my heart for her, it was not enough to interfere with a good friendship. Josephine came by the day after Maggie had left for school, and we went out for a ride during the night. She asked me why I wasn’t at Maggie’s going away party the night before; Josephine thought it strange that I was not there, since I am one of Maggie’s close friends. I was pretty surprised and answered, “I didn’t know about any party…” Josephine was even more surprised than I and asked if I knew she was dating her former boyfriend. I had no idea.

  You see, one of the reasons she did not feel we could be together is because of the way her relationship with this man ended. It turns out that the Silent Summer was an effort on Maggie’s part to keep this a secret, because she knew that it would hurt me if I found out. Again, being young and immature I saw this as a deep betrayal and I was absolutely crushed. I languished over her for several months, thinking myself cursed to be spurned so “callously” two times in a row. I felt doomed to wander the earth alone forever, that I was unworthy of love.

  This mindset slowly began to change when I became acquainted with the wonderful, charming and enigmatic Kelly.

  Now, what does this sad little ditty have to do with my vocation?

  Again, this was a time of great “heart-sculpting.” The events of this love radically altered the geography and geology of my heart forever. It was the deepest pain I had experienced in my life up to that point, it was my first perceived experience of deep betrayal, and it was the first time in my life that I truly fell into despair. Was God being cruel? I sure thought He was, but I was a very dramatic young person at the time. I see more clearly now that He was continuing what He started with Josephine, trying to temper my enormous capacity to love into something a little more realistic. Instead of seeing queens whenever I fell in love, God wanted me to see and love women for who and what they were instead of illuminating the text of their being with all sorts of hopes and romantic notions. He wanted to ground me in the earth of real loving and did so by knocking me flat on my back. Boy did I need it!

  Today Maggie is happily (I hope!) married to that same man she kept a secret from me. I last saw her about a year ago and she seems to be well, though I do not keep in touch with her. I forgave her (though really, I should have begged her forgiveness!) the following year after she graduated high school, when I happened upon her at a mutual friend’s graduation reception. This was, truly, the first time I had ever forgiven someone, and understood at least a little bit the importance of such an act. I felt so light and free after ridding my heart of such a heavy burden of resentment and mourning, especially after having forced my poor self to carry it for close to a full year. This, I think, was yet another grace of the whole experience, for how could I possibly begin venturing into the religious life if I had no idea what it meant to forgive and be forgiven?

  • 12:15 am
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