Heck Of A Guy

So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
Hold me like you’ll never let me go
Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane
Don’t know when I’ll be back again
Oh babe, I hate to go
~Refrain from Leaving On A Jet Plane by John Denver

Bedazzled, bedraggled, and befuddled, I left Julie¹ and Wichita Falls to travel to my parents’ home where I had arranged to visit and spend the night before returning to Chicago. The trip from Julie’s apartment to the airport had been anxiety provoking because Julie, who had driven that route many times without a problem, had made a wrong turn that had taken us several miles out of our way. The trip had also been tearful, both of us plainly heartbroken about separating after the astonishing experience of being together the preceding 60 hours, and neither of us certain about the future. It didn’t help that when we were within ten minutes of the airport the car radio began playing the sweetly sappy Peter, Paul, and Mary version of Leaving On A Jet Plane.

By the time I reached my hometown, I was still disappointed over the prospect that my romance with Julie might not extend beyond our one weekend together and still unsure about what would happen next but had reached two conclusions. I had decided that, regardless of what happened between Julie and me, I would not continue to be part of an unhappy marriage and began making concrete plans for a divorce. I had also resolved that, while I was uncertain about the specific course to follow, I would do whatever possible to persuade Julie to live with me – that the risk lay in doing too little rather than too much.

And no, I don’t know why, after eight years of being smitten with Julie, after six years of being miserable when I was geographically and emotionally separated from her, and after just spending the happiest sixty hours of my life with her, that it took another eight hours for me to realize the obvious – that I was wildly, irredeemably, utterly in love with Julie and wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

At my parents’ home, I was immediately set upon by family and friends and had no chance to take any action or do any further planning on my campaign to win Julie over until that evening when my visitors left.

Carpe The Damned Diem Already

I had promised to call Julie to let her know I arrived safely. In keeping with my newly crystallized convictions, I was determined to use this opportunity to at least make my position clear and, toward this end, mentally rehearsed an impassioned declaration of my feelings and intent, leavened with a soupçon of wit and supplemented with suitable lines from Andrew Marvell’s To His Coy Mistress:²

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day;
…
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.
…
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

OK – What?

I borrowed a car from my father and drove to the town’s single telephone booth.

I dialed, the phone rang, and Julie answered. I began my soliloquy and got to “Hi, it’s …,” at which point Julie finessed a subtle script change by interrupting me to say, “OK.”

In a display of my astute perspicacity, skilled articulation, and profound sense of drama, I responded, “OK – what?”

It turns out that the what she had in mind was, “OK, I’ll come to Chicago to live with you.”

And that is exactly what she did.

In the words of Hannibal (no, not that Hannibal – the George Peppard character on “The A Team” Hannibal),

I love it when a plan comes together.

In my own defense, I will point out that I was able to gather my wits sufficiently to unambivalently and, indeed, enthusiastically join in this commitment.

And, yes, I made her listen to my poetry recitation anyway.

I should also note that this story hasn’t yet arrived at Happily Ever After. The next several months were, as you’ll discover, a particularly challenging, painful, and difficult period for Julie and me as we broke away from our old lives to begin making our way in the world together. It was also a time filled with some of the most intense joyfulness and excitement I’ve ever known.

But all that will have wait for the next installment; for now, I’m ending this post with Julie’s “OK” because I need to linger with that memory for awhile.

Julie’s Story

Next Installment: The First Of A Million Kisses
Previous Installment: Willie, Waylon, Jerry Lewis, Julie, And Me
First Installment Of Julie’s Story: This Is How A Love Story Began

To download a PDF version of all the posts comprising Julie’s Story, right-click on the next link, and choose “Save Target/Link As …”
Download: Julie’s Story

1. Julie Showalter was the fiercely intelligent, sexy, and loving woman and prize-winning author, with whom I had a outrageously wonderful 20 year marriage that ended with her death in late 1999 from cancer diagnosed the week of our wedding nearly 20 years earlier. Many posts on this blog are about her, our unlikely romance, and our life together, and still others consist of her writings. Information can be found at Julie Showalter FAQ.↩
2. Give me a break. We were English majors. I had these lines memorized and there was a surprising paucity of appropriate poetry in my mother’s library of Reader’s Digest Condensed Books. And sometimes, albeit rarely, Willie & Waylon lyrics are not a perfect fit to the occasion.↩