SEARCHING FOR LOVE

Every morning, just before work, I'd greet John in the company lunchroom with a kiss. We'd sit down and have a quick cup of coffee together. At break time he'd come by my desk to say hi, and at lunch we'd go off by ourselves. Our office romance seemed so convenient, so perfect.

   Except for one hitch. Mrs. Felton didn't approve of John. She didn't come right out and say so, but one day she told me in a rather motherly tone, "You really ought to date around more, Becky. You're young, and you don't want to get tied down to one person before you really know what you're looking for."

   If my own mother had said that, I'd have blown up and told her to mind her own business. But I didn't react that way to Mrs. Felton because I knew she really liked me and wanted what was best for me. Basically she didn't think John was good enough for me. So even though I didn't heed her advice, I did listen and thought about what she said.

   The trouble is, I thought, she doesn't really know John well enough to see all his good points. And she doesn't know me well enough to know I'm not as wonderful as she thinks.

   Yet I worked hard to try to live up to Mrs. Felton's expectations. Before long I not only mastered all the parts of my expanded job, I learned the routine for the used car desk, the new car desk, and even passed the required tests to become a Notary Public for the State of California.

   In the meantime, my romantic road turned rocky when the car business took a slump. The dealership let several employees go, and John was one of them. I halfway suspected Mrs. Felton had something to say about who got a pink slip, but that didn't make me any less determined to prove myself to her.

   Without the constant contact fueling our relationship, John and I began to have more conflicts. We no longer shared the biggest part of our lives, and I sensed us slowly drifting apart. When I accused John of not caring as much for me as he had before, we would get into a big fight. Sometimes we'd go a week or two before making up.

   The emotional roller coaster eventually ran its course. And when I heard John's high school girlfriend was back in the picture, I decided to give him an ultimatum; her or me.

   I was afraid I knew what his decision would be, so I made my own decision. I would break up with him before he had a chance to dump me. That way it would be my decision, not his.

   I decided to break the news to John at the party my roommate was planning to give at our apartment for my twenty-first birthday. What better time than the day I came of age to get a brand new start.

   We expected a good turnout — December is always a good month for parties. A lot of single people lived in our apartment complex, and Rose had invited a big group from the dealership. However, I'd never imagined the size of the crowd that showed up. And I know Rose was surprised, too. By nine o'clock in the evening more than fifty guests were crammed into our little apartment — drinking, dancing, talking — and drinking.

   John stood beside me, smiling and talking as I greeted my friends and accepted my gifts — most of which seemed to be bottles of wine, cartons of cigarettes, or fifths of hard liquor. I was after all, twenty-one, and of legal age now. After all those years of pretending, of forging IDs, I'd finally made it to twenty-one.

   I deserved to celebrate — and I did! It felt like New Year's Eve. More friends than I ever knew I had were there to celebrate with me.

   Some time into the evening, Pam, my wild friend from my old job, showed up. She'd invited four older guys who lived in the apartment next to hers. I'd met them once when I'd been over to her place. This night, though, as soon as they walked in I noticed how incredibly good-looking one of them was. Ironically, his name was also John. Tall, blond, and muscular, he was also tanned from working as a construction worker and being an avid outdoorsman. The minute he walked into my apartment I knew he was the best-looking guy I had ever seen, and he wasn't there five minutes before I asked him to dance.

   I never did tell the old John we were through. I didn't have to. He left the party early, and the new John stayed.

   What a party! What a day! What a night! I'd become an adult — and I'd fallen in love.

   This John was different from anyone I'd ever gone out with. He was strong — not just physically — but he was a strong person. He was fun-loving and handsome, but he was stable, too. He owned property and was responsible for a construction crew. He was four years older than I, but it wasn't just his age that made him seem so mature. The guys I had dated before were boys. John was a man.

   Always before I had held back with guys. I always tried not to care too much for fear of being hurt. This time it was different. Within a week, I knew John was the "forever" guy I had been waiting for. He was someone I could commit myself to, someone strong enough to trust with my weakness and my love. But that little tinge of fear was still there, the fear of rejection — the fear that he didn't care about me as much as I cared about him. So I didn't tell him I'd decided he was the one I was going to marry. However, I did decide to do whatever it took to make him feel the same way about me.

   A lot happened in the three weeks between my birthday party and Christmas. My mature, stable roommate decided to move out of town, and I arranged to move in with Pam. Once again I found myself with a wonderfully convenient romance — this time with my next-door neighbor. Except for my time at work, we were together almost constantly.

   John went away on a previously planned trip with friends at Christmas, and Pam left to spend the holidays with family. And so I found myself alone on Christmas Eve, and on Christmas morning I awakened in utter solitude to an empty apartment.

   An hour or so after I woke up, I wandered out to the living room and sat by myself on the couch to open the Christmas package my parents had sent me — another robe.

   I held the robe on my lap and thought back to my first California Christmas with Tina. I wondered what kind of holiday she was having in Alaska, if she was still there. Maybe she was back in Illinois now. The thought made me feel lonelier and farther from Illinois than I'd ever felt before.

   I ate Christmas dinner with Aunt Martha and Uncle Tim, but their hospitality did little to counter the emptiness. Afterwards I tried to fill the aching hole by visiting some of the people I worked with to deliver the wooden, decoupaged Christmas cards I'd made for them.

   At each stop I was welcomed like a lost relative and served wine or champagne. So by the time I stopped for my last delivery at Mrs. Felton's house, I'd lost count of the stops — and the drinks I'd downed.

   Mrs. Felton greeted me warmly and invited me in to meet her family. When I presented her with the card I had made for her, she seemed genuinely touched. I could tell, though, from the concerned look on her face as she listened to me talk that she knew I was drunk; I must have been slurring my words.

   She asked me to stay, but I insisted that I had to be going. "But how will you get home?" she wanted to know, obviously concerned about my driving.

   "I'll be okay," I said. It wasn't until an hour later, as I finally got away from her house, that I realized she'd been deliberately stalling me. And that she hadn't offered me anything to drink.

   The worst of the loneliness left when Pam and John got back, but the intense dissatisfaction I'd experienced over Christmas forced me to face the fact that something was still missing in my life. Maybe that's why I decided to stop again one day at that church. Not that I really expected that minister to help me. But then he had helped me before, and I'd never properly thanked him for his encouragement.

   I wondered if he'd even remember me, but he did. He acted genuinely pleased to learn I'd stayed in the area and taken the job at the dealership. I filled him in on my new job and Tina's trip to Alaska. I didn't feel comfortable talking about my loneliness or my relationship with John, so I quickly ran out of things to say. As a passing thought, as much to fill the increasing gaps in the conversation as anything else, I asked if the church ever needed help with its youth group.

   To my surprise and sudden uneasiness, the pastor replied, "As a matter of fact, we could use some help. If you're interested, you could meet the man who teaches our high school Sunday school class right now. Ralph doubles as the church janitor. I think you'll like him."

   Wishing I could graciously leave, I instead followed the pastor out of his office. We found Ralph in the church basement. He was dressed in a red flannel shirt, blue jeans, and work boots; his reddish-blond fair and beard made him look older than his thirty years.

   He wasn't at all what I'd expected, but when he grinned and greeted me, I felt like I'd known him for a long time. As we talked the only thing that made me uncomfortable was the way Ralph talked about God — using the name "Jesus" as if he was some everyday friend. Ralph even recited a couple of verses from the Bible, right in the middle of our conversation.

   "Be glad for you to join us this Sunday if you can make it," he said as I said good-bye. I promised to be there.

   For some reason, I kept my promise — partly because I knew something was missing in my life, and partly because I knew I needed to made a fresh start. So I went to church the next Sunday believing, or at least hoping, it could make a difference.

   But the doubts descended on me the moment I walked in Ralph's Sunday school classroom and heard him exclaim, "Welcome, Sister!"

   Whoa! This is weird, I thought. And that opinion seemed confirmed during Sunday school when he wandered off on a tangent and began warning the kids in the class about the dangers of Ouija boards. Everyone I knew had played with Ouija boards at one time or another. They seemed pretty harmless to me, hardly deserving of the kind of dire warning about satanic power Ralph delivered.

   Yet I realized that first Sunday in his class that Ralph knew a lot more about God and the Bible than anyone else I knew. And although I went a second Sunday, I quickly discarded any thought of trying to help Ralph out with his class.

   I also realized I wasn't living up to the standards of conduct Ralph talked about in his lessons. So, telling myself I didn't want to be a hypocrite, but mostly because I felt uneasy around Ralph, I decided to forget church altogether.

   It seemed just as well. My relationship with John, which grew more serious by the week, proved an effective antidote to the loneliness I'd felt at Christmas.

   Yet I couldn't seem to get away from this Ralph. I occasionally saw him around town, and he would wave and hurry over to talk — usually about God. "Have you been reading your Bible, Becky?" he always wanted to know.

   I would mumble some excuse and he would say, "You really need to be reading the Word. Start in the New Testament. Read the book of John. You'll find a lot of help for . . ."

   About that time I'd apologize and make up some reason why I had to be going and hurry away as fast as I could. A couple of times, after encounters with Ralph, I pulled out the old Bible I'd gotten during my confirmation classes and tried to read a little. But it didn't seem very relevant to me. For Ralph maybe. I decided if Ralph expected me to get anything out of the Bible, he was expecting too much.

   Some days I thought Mrs. Felton also expected too much from me. But it never seemed to bother me coming from her. Like the time she walked into the break room as I stubbed out a cigarette. "You really ought to quit smoking, Becky," she said. "You'd be a lot healthier."

   "I know," I admitted. "I've been thinking about quitting."

   "Why don't you then? Maybe I can make it worth your while. What would it take to motivate you? What could I give you as a reward?"

   What started as a casual conversation quickly turned serious as I realized she really did want to do something to help. I tried to tell her she didn't need to do anything for me, but she wasn't about to back off. We finally agreed on an incentive. She owned a gorgeous red convertible she seldom took out of her garage. She knew I had admired the car on several occasions, so she made me an offer. A month after I gave up smoking completely, she would let me have the keys to the convertible for two weeks.

   Thirty days after our conversation, she lived up to her promise — and I had kicked my nicotine habit.

   But my drinking was another story.

   For one reason, I was even more concerned about pleasing John than pleasing Mrs. Felton, and drinking was a big part of what we did together. We would meet for a few drinks after work. With dinner, we would have wine or beer. Sometimes there was an after-dinner drink. And most nights, before going to bed, we would snuggle into a big chair in front of his fireplace and sip Cold Duck as the crackling fire slowly changed to glowing embers. On weekends when we went hiking or canoeing or just lay on the beach, we always took a supply of beer.

   As the weeks rolled by, I felt more convinced than ever that John was my fairy-tale prince. In all my previous relationships, I'd been the spontaneous one, the instigator, the leader. I didn't have to do that with John. He took charge and I just enjoyed being swept along.

   I never knew what to expect. Any night after work he might be waiting for me with a picnic basket all packed. We would take a two-hour drive to Big Sur and eat a romantic supper seated on a blanket high on a bluff as we watched the sun set over the Pacific. Or he'd throw a couple of sleeping bags and a tent in the back of his pickup and announce, "We're going to sleep tonight under a redwood tree," and we'd be off for the weekends to the mountains.

   One night just about the time the sun began to set, we were walking out of Tia Maria's when John said, "It's such a nice night, I've got an idea." The next thing I knew he had borrowed a two-man raft from someone on the pier, and we were paddling out onto Monterey Bay. After we had gotten away from the shore, we stopped paddling and just sat there watching the sun set and listening to the gulls squawking overhead.

   Suddenly I heard a strange noise so close it made me start. Arghf! Arghf! I quickly looked over the edge of the raft to see a huge dark body swimming toward us. My heart did a flip flop as I heard an answering arghf coming toward us from the other side.

   "John!" I screamed. "What is it?"

   Seeing how frightened I was, John burst into laughter. "It's okay, Becky. They're not going to hurt us. They're just curious. See?"

   I looked where he was pointing to see, just a few feet from our raft, the silly mustached face of a huge walrus. I had to laugh. I suddenly was aware that I felt secure to be there with John. I'd never know anyone like him — and I never wanted anyone else.

   I thought he felt the same way about me. Until one spring morning when he announced he was going down to Los Angeles for the weekend to visit an old college girlfriend.

   "You're what?" I asked incredulously.

   "I haven't seen her in a long time," he said. "She invited me down, and I figured it'd be a good chance to get caught up, see some friends in L.A. ..."

   There was just one fact I wanted to know. "And where are you planning on staying while you're there?"

   "At her apartment, I guess," he replied.

   "Wonderful!" I said, my voice choked with emotion as I reeled from the blow of this revelation.

   "I'm taking my sleeping bag so I can sack out on her living room floor," John said. "I don't think I'll be sleeping with her, if that's what's bothering you."

   "You 'don't think'?" Now I was mad. "You're leaving me here by myself while you go off to spend the weekend with an old girlfriend. And I'm supposed to feel okay about it because you're taking a sleeping bag and you don't think you'll sleep with her?

   "Don't I mean anything to you? Haven't these last few months meant anything to you? I love you!"

   Mrs. Felton listened and then gently said, "Maybe he's using you, Becky. Perhaps you'd be better off without him."

   "No!" I couldn't think of that. "I love him — and he loves me."

   "Has he asked you to marry him?"

   "No," I said, "but that's because he's just not ready to get married. He's not even sure he believes in marriage. But I know he loves me."

   "I do," he replied.

   "Then how can you think of spending the weekend with someone else? How can you even consider the remote possibility of sleeping with her?"

   "You're overreacting, Becky," he said. "It's just a chance to visit an old friend. It doesn't mean anything."

   "Well, it does to me," I said. "I love you. And because I love you I would never think of spending the weekend with someone else. I would never dream of being with anyone else, of sleeping with anyone else. And if you care anything at all about me, you won't go."

   "I do care," he insisted. But he went anyway.

   And while he was gone, I went to San Francisco to party for the weekend with friends. They had some cocaine, which I had never tried before. I figured, "What's there to lose?" and did my first coke. I was still so high the next morning that I went out by myself for a cup of coffee and couldn't find my way back to the apartment where we were staying. I got confused because everything seemed so vague that I made a wrong turn at one point only to find myself driving the wrong way down an interstate. After what seemed like hours driving up and down unfamiliar streets, my friends spotted me and ran out of the apartment to flag me down. We all laughed, but I decided then that cocaine wasn't for me. I'd never been that out of control with booze. Coke scared me.

   I didn't tell John about my weekend, and he didn't talk about his. I took him back, and our relationship went on much as it had before, except that I now felt more possessive than ever. When I wasn't with John, I wondered where he was and who he was with. I dieted to lose weight and make myself more attractive to him, and I jealously worried whenever I saw him looking in any other girl's direction. I constantly told him I loved him and asked him to share his feelings for me. But the words couldn't dispel my growing doubts and fears.

   When he broke the news that he planned to be gone to Canada for a two-month wilderness camping trip, I just knew I would lose him. He'd meet some other girl and that would be the end for us.

   John laughed when I confronted him with my fears. He told me he'd been going on these annual trips for years, and if past experience held true, he wouldn't even lay eyes on another girl the entire time he and his buddies were in the north woods. I remained unconvinced and began to live in dread of the July day he planned to leave.

   My only consolation came late that spring in the form of a letter postmarked, "Chicago, Illinois." I tore it open to find a letter from my old friend Penny, saying our high-school graduating class was planning our five-year reunion in July — a whole year early. It sounded crazy, but fun. And John was going to be gone anyway. So I checked with Mrs. Felton to make sure I could get a week off. Then I made my plane reservation for the same date John had set to leave for Canada and wrote to tell Penny and my parents I'd be coming home.

   After two years, I was finally going home with a feeling of pride. I could hardly wait. I had pictures of John I could show to impress my friends, and work was going great. My high school days had never seemed to gain me the important status symbols I had now.

    But while my professional life soared, my personal life dragged bottom. Weeks of jealousy and worry about John were taking their toll. Drinking seemed the only thing that eased my mind, so I drank more than ever. I would go to bed high every night and feel so low when I awakened that I would pop a hit or two of speed to get me going. I didn't feel very good depending so much on drugs, but the amphetamines worked so well I began taking them throughout the day. I discovered that six or eight hits a day gave me more than enough energy to do my job and do it well.

   Neither the drinking nor the drugs, though, could completely allay my fears of losing John, nor could they put off the day of our parting.

   John drove me to the airport in his pickup, which was already packed with his fishing gear and his other camping supplies. From the airport he was heading on to Canada.

   I cried at the gate, clinging to his arm and sobbing, "It's n-n-never going to be b-b-better than I am."

   "Come on," he said. "There's not going to be anyone else in Canada." But nothing he said would console me.

   "I love you," I sobbed. "And even if you're not ready to make a commitment, I am. I'm going to be faithful to you no matter what!"

   With that declaration of my loyalty, I kissed him good-bye. But as I walked up the jetway and onto my plane, I couldn't shake the feeling that when he came back from Canada our relationship would be forever changed.

   I was right about that. But I couldn't have been more wrong about the reason.

Table of Contents  ||  Chapter 11