Dear Peter,
I never thanked you.
I wanted you to know that I remember. I remember slow dancing in the bowling
alley. I remember having lunch in the
college cafeteria. In retrospect, I
realize that perhaps you were encouraging me to be a better person, to fulfill
my potential. But, at that point, I was
so very young and afraid.
I also remember seeing “Funny Girl” with you and having dinner in a local restaurant. I remember that you brought me a bouquet of flowers (my first!) when I had my wisdom teeth extracted.
I also remember seeing “Funny Girl” with you and having dinner in a local restaurant. I remember that you brought me a bouquet of flowers (my first!) when I had my wisdom teeth extracted.
And, of course, I remember your other gift. My birthday gift. The one you sent by mail. Because, by that time, I was being courted by
another young man. And I fell for
him. He didn’t encourage me to go back
to college. He had a house and a sports
car. I was only seventeen…..and I wanted
so desperately to get out of my mother’s house. He offered me the quick and
easy solution.
But you were correct.
It was a huge mistake, the first of many that I would continue to make
for years to come. I wonder what I would
have done if you had tried harder?
I remember the brown paper package. Opening it to find a square box wrapped in
pink and red rose printed wrapping paper.
Very pretty. Rose is the flower
of June. How a propos. I remember opening it and finding the stuffed
toy animal – the donkey. The jackass, to
be more precise. I was horrified. You were such a nice, sweet young man. How could you do such a thing? I could feel my face burning.
You can see that you left a lasting impression. I never forgot it or you. As I said before, I wonder if you might have
swayed me if you had persisted just a bit more?
But it was so long ago……
I do thank you. I
knew, from your “comment,” that I was heading toward disaster, and yet I
continued forging ahead. Thank you for
telling me what you really thought, albeit symbolically. I wish some more people had said, one way or
another, “June, you’re being an ass.” No
one did.
Somehow, eventually, I managed to land on my feet.
So, thank you, Peter.
I hope all worked out well for you.
With (mostly) fond memories,
June