A Change of Heart

A customer demanded exclusive attention, yet I knew he was there. My fingers trembled, breathing became impossible. His presence was almost tangible. I wanted to see him, if that could be arranged without his seeing me. I wasn’t young anymore; I no longer had the Twiggy-like figure he would have remembered. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my hair was in dire need of a trim, and the lipstick I applied after lunch had faded. It was too late to worry about my appearance now, so I raised my eyes to meet his.

In front of me stood a mature man in place of the younger one I had envisioned each time I heard Summer in the City playing on the oldies station. He once told me he would hear the car honking in the song, and look out the window to see if my VW was driving by. Now here he was, more handsome than ever, a mere five feet away.

I wanted to give him a hug, but unsure of the proper etiquette for greeting a married first love, I didn’t move. Instead, I waited for his sister to prompt him into recognizing my now older and fuller face.

He looked confused, and then must have remembered he was here to see an old girlfriend, so he guessed correctly, “Mort? Mort? Is that you?” No one calls me by my nickname anymore, but I didn’t correct him.

He shook my hand and asked a few polite questions, before asking if I was still married to Jerry. Tongue-tied, I wasn’t able to utter my usual flip response, “No, I traded him in for a dog years ago.” My wit was misplaced somewhere in the midst of my nervousness. Instead, I muttered something about ending it after twelve years. Gray hair was mentioned and I rambled on about something of no interest to anyone. Our meeting ended with the usual, “It was good to see you”, and then he was gone, at least physically.

Seeing Jason brought back a variety of memories. There were memories that made me laugh and memories that made me cry, like the note he gave me that morning before class. Forty years later, that note could still bring tears to my eyes. Jason wasn’t only my first love; he gave me that first bitter taste of heartbreak.

A few weeks after we broke up, a friend said Jason was in town and wanted to talk to me. By that time, my hurt had advanced to anger. Maybe I should have gone to meet him. What if he had changed his mind? Had I defied fate by refusing to talk to him? I never allowed myself to wonder, until now, and now was too late for a change of heart.

Story ID:	4184
Written by:	Betty (BJ) Roan (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Toledo Illinois
Year:	2005