Forward - Journey Through the Past

Half way through life’s film, someone had hit rewind on the tape player. Stopping at a predestined point, the best and toughest parts of my past played back to me in awkward sequence. The initial trigger was when I got a notice to attend my thirtieth class reunion, which was only a few weeks away. My invitation had been delayed getting to me as it made its way across the country to all my prior addresses. Though I’m sure some people probably sit and wait for such an honor, I hadn’t even realized that so much time had passed. Heck, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go. There the invitation sat in a stack of papers ‘til I felt like dealing with the mess.

My wife at the time had gone to her parents’ for the weekend. We’d had a fight earlier in the week and with her not in the house, I couldn’t sleep. Isolated in my living room, I was speed flipping through the television channels and saw a familiar place flickering in the darkness. Immediately, I recognized the hills and cliffs to the south, the steep drop from the road, volleyball nets, little wooden lifeguard stations up and down its coast, and even the color and texture of its sand. It was a sight I had not seen in a few decades, but it looked as though nothing had changed. Until I checked the TV listing and saw it was the movie Lifeguard, all I knew was that my past was right there in front of me. Pulsating in the darkness was Torrance Beach, California.

Given why I was sitting in the living room so late at night, I was happily awed at the fantastic visual of such an epic landscape. Old, hidden memories came back to me as I struggled and tried to piece together a lot of lost information. I hadn’t consciously detailed these thoughts since I was last there. Once over the initial reflection of reminiscing, I submitted to the overwhelming urge to cry which was hitting me. Of the time I had been to Torrance, Hermosa, and Redondo Beach, I was always in-arm with the girl who changed my life forever. And as I recalled her smile and hair caught up in the Pacific wind, silhouetted by the setting auburn sun, I wept ‘til I fell asleep, dogged by dreams of a past I could no longer live.

When the movie replayed later that week, I made certain to see it from start to end. Coincidently, Sam Elliott’s character is going to his reunion, too. The TV listing’s description said it was made in 1976: the last year that my girl and I were together and when I said my goodbyes to California, leaving it all behind me. And though I tried to carry on my life without her, those scenes from that movie brought back what I wrongly struggled to recess for so long. I miss my sweet girl too much to forget about her or how our lives were changed forever so many years ago.

And on a whim of emotional discourse, I flew out to attend the reunion in what is still a small town. Ironically that as I tried to piece lost memories together, the reality of whom and what those students became melded into gruesome details. Like Al Bundy from Married with Children, most of the guys from my team were now fat, balding, and living in their past glories. They all had married, created heirs to a hopeless thrown, worked dead end jobs, and their quirky personalities had not changed much at all. The girls had grown into women, also gotten married, birthed future footballers and housewives, and hid the fear that their best years were behind them. Walking and talking in the company of all these nearly unrecognizable faces, I again tried to recall exactly what they once looked like and how their voices used to sound.

Odd that so many people wanted to talk to me. I certainly wasn’t voted Mr. Popular, Class of 1973. It seems chatty gossip of my life spread amongst them and over the course of our separation, their recollection had been exaggerated and fictionalized. One by one, aged acquaintances and friends and unknowns asked about my girl. I had not heard anyone speak her name in some time. Everyone, in over-anxious motions, wanted to know the details behind her life and our relationship. I got dizzy every time, watching their lips form her name: Jenny.

“Where is Jenny?” In peace.

“Weren’t you and Jenny living in California?” Twice.

“Didn’t you both come to the last reunion?” No, we skipped it like prom.

“Wasn’t Jenny in our math class?” I don’t even know who you are.

There was no need for me to openly criticize their appearance or lack of understanding. Time has partially weathered me as well. Regretfully, I was as confused as them and I became deeply ashamed of myself for almost forgetting what was destiny.

Our generation, for what it’s worth, over-dramatizes and prudishly indulges themselves in its image. Fewer people are left to recall the honesty of its soul (which was sold to corporate America). To come of age in the aftermath of the 60’s, it’s obvious that each passing decade creates a new face of culture. I once made a childish assumption and looking back from my age now, they’re full of promise and always end on a disappointing note. The cycle of change brings us repressively forward and each new generation repeats old mistakes. I never realized the failure of the past generations; though, in my youth, I never tried to actualize much at all. Then, but for any young person, it was easier to live life rather than analyze it. Was Leary really going to expand your mind? Not really. Was love really the answer? Only for some. Did we smile on our brother and everyone get together? For a glimmer of a moment.

My story is my memories, selfishly submitted with much despair and an outpouring of love. Perhaps I only really wrote it because I could relive a life that still includes her. An urge was always fiddling in my recesses begging for release. Saying that getting this off my chest is some sort of therapy is not only cliché, it’s also not true. Nothing will bring back what is lost nor ease the pain. Even when thinking of it, it brings a knot up into my throat.

The decades that formed my younger years are long gone, along with so much of its tasty meat and filling: the colors, sounds, smells, its essence, music, and vibe. Middle-aged, I’m apparently lost in my past and my marriage of seventeen years recently dissolved. Since that class reunion, my ex-wife trademarked that one of my major flaws was never looking forward and my vision always locked on the rearview. Maybe after freeing these feelings into this story, I can finally look ahead and on down the road. But this I certainly doubt.

Jenny, I wrote this for you.