Anniversaries mean many things to different people

Thirty-seven years ago I met the love of my life. I walked into a Sizzler Steak house on Tustin Avenue in a city in Orange County of the same name and approached the cashier with a sense of apprehension. It wasn’t because the young girl behind the cash register was strikingly attractive with only a Farrah Fawcett hairstyle and a v-neck honey-caramel butterfly blouse with little pastel flowers visible above the counter top, or the smile that took my breath away impeding my heart from beating for a very long personal moment. I was filled with anxiety because I was new in town, nearly penniless and desperately in need of work, any kind of work.

After she asked if she could help me and stared directly into my eyes, I knew straight away that this extraordinary person was and always would reamin special to me. I didn’t seem to know very much else at the time though, as I stuttered and mumbled my miserable request.

“May I have an application?” I managed to convey in an awkward technique typically engaged by mimes and interpretive dancers but in my application I merely appeared lame and Special Olympic bound, much to my magnificently sad credit.

“Sure thing, we happen to be in desperate need of a broiler cook right now, Grant’s son quit again. He’s the boss. Well Grant is, not his son. Greg, that's Grant's son. Same name as my older brother but you probably don't know any of them, do you? How soon can you start?”

“Uh, I was thinking of something like dishwasher or busboy. I don’t have a lot of experience on the grill.” I explained in a painfully embarrassed confession of my absolute lack of ability.

“Ever barbeque at home?” She asked.

“Well, sure, and I used to help Duke Sherod, the owner of the Trabuco Oaks Steak House on the grill when it got busy some nights. He was teaching me prep work and…”

“Sounds like your qualified to me. Here I’m going on break let me help you with the application. I know what Grant likes. Oh by the way my name is Janet, do you want a soda or something?”

It is oddly strange that I cannot remember my own phone number some days, but I can recall every detail of that meeting. The conversation that took place and even the clean but worn padded red vinyl booth we sat in to talk. I remember the washed out gilded frames around pastoral scenes of banal bovine bliss hanging on the wood paneled walls, and the bright sunlit parking lot coolly visible through the large tinted polarized plate glass windows surrounding the dining room. I can still see her sweet smile and large nutmeg brown eyes, and I can once again hear her infectious laugh and feel the self confidence that gave me the strength and belief in myself to follow her lead and pad my resume even as I write this.

From the very first day I met Janet I have measured all women to her caliber and found none that compare. We became fast friends and over several years we endured the rigors and challengs that comes with growth and responsibility. I protected her when she was vulnerable, and encouraged her when she was adventurous. It crushed me to learn upon my return from Viet Nam that Janet married my best friend, and hurt even more years later when they divorced. I never wished pain on either of them.

I lost track of Janet after she left my friend Michael with her two year old son Chad and did not see or hear from her for twenty years. Then one day I received an email from Chad. It seems he tracked down his Dad and then me through the Internet. After a few pleasant rounds of messages he asked if I remembered his Mom and said she spoke of me often and then said that she wanted to know if I would mind hearing from her. I was elated (understament). I could not believe after some correspondence that we lived so close to one another, since neither of us lived in Orange County any more. We shopped at the same grocery store, visited the same Walmart and Target stores. We went to the same soccer park, the same movie theatres and the lead singer (coincidentally named Randa Lee) of the Randa Lee Express band which I was playing in at the time had her hair done by Janet’s best friend from grammar school. We dined at the same restaurants and yet we never bumped into each other over the twenty years we co existed in each other’s backyard.

For me our reunion was magical, an answer to all my prayers. It was a second chance to do what I should have done twenty-five years earlier. I asked her to marry me, and Janet accepted. The wedding was beautiful as weddings go, full of hope and magic and promise of a perfect future. Unfortunately for me, Janet found our married life less than fulfilling. Romance and passion aside, once the novelty wore off I guess she found life with me competitive and tedious. She left me two years later (and by leaving I mean she tossed me out keeping all my stuff). To give her credit, she was the perfect housekeeper; she ultimately kicked me to the curb and kept the house, both of them. I would like to say that I have learned my lesson, but I am a fool of fools who still loves only one person. Some say I am broken but that I can be mended. But I know better. I am missing a part of my heart that cannot be repaired or replaced and must learn to live with my real enough handicap; the knowledge that I found true love and couldn’t hold on to it.