A Banner Day for Writing...reconnecting with my soul mate...

A Banner Day for Writing…reconnecting to my soul mate after 36 years

The Dating Game..the writing game

   June 2004: Searching Google, I came across an article about the American election  between George Bush and John Kerry and, because from a very early age I'd had the desire to learn more about the United States of America I read on and entered a four lines of my own views as an interested bystander from across the water. Four lines that changed my life.

In 1964 we'd been asked to choose a country for pen friends. Most of my class mates chose Europe. For me, even then, there was only the thought of being in America. Of being American. I wrote an introduction which, if I remember rightly wouldn't even be classed as a decent bio nowadays, but waited in anticipation for a connection from the States. You know that it could have been from anywhere within those enormous boundaries, but fortunately for me it came from the great state of Minnesota.

1968 and the cruel visit.

   I'd visited Minnesota for the first time in 1968  to stay with you and fallen in love. In fact the visit just confirmed what I'd known since our first letter to each other We'd been writing for three years and they carried a deep love and respect for each other over thousands of miles. Now, finally we were meeting face to face. But it wasn't just the lady I fell in love with, it was St Paul/Minneapolis. We were two people, in the Twin Cities, joined by writing, people who knew little about each other's background or each other's mindset. But people who had no idea where this first visit would lead. On the first evening, as we sat on the playground roundabout I kissed you and the unknown traumas of your childhood came back to haunt our relationship. From that moment on our lives changed.

   The remaining three weeks became simply a visit between two strangers, except one of the strangers was falling deeply in love with the other. I remember the detached visits we made. The swim in the lake under the stars, though your cousin was there. The school dance where we left separately and your cousin was there. The day I dived into the St Croix River. But your cousin was there.

   On the last night together I knew I had to face you and make my love known. I stood outside your bedroom going over the next few steps in my mind, asking some higher guide for advice. Was I praying? If you'd asked me then I would have said Yes! Now No. I was simply stealing myself to go through the next few moments. I took those steps and walked over the threshold between us.

“I love you.” I said, with my eyes closed.

“I know.” You replied, almost coldly.

It must have been a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. I walked out of the room, up the stairs to bed and the next day said goodbye to the girl I'd loved.

The Gipsy Teller...

    Back in England I decided to visit Stratford On Avon for a fair which closed the streets to traffic. I'd sent one more letter to you but not bothered again. The love had “died” and I had the rest of my life to mess up. I missed Minnesota but not the girl I'd treasured for so many years, or so I thought.

“Tell Your Fortune” read the banner outside a gipsy caravan. You know, I'm not sure even now what made me go up the steps and enter the dark inner confines of her home. But as I sat down I was in her world.

“Cross my palm” she told me. It was an order more than a request.“Make a wish”

I closed my eyes and to myself asked for “one more chance to see Linda” and opened my eyes.

“You thought of someone many miles away. Across water. Your wish will come true.”

I can't remember my reaction in the caravan. I just stood and walked back into the light and noise of a street party running on a major scale.

“What rubbish” I concluded and ordered the first of a few pints of beer that day. The incident disappeared into a haze and was forgotten.

   Over the years I'd thought about you on a few occasions. But there was no way of finding out  your whereabouts. I'd written to your address, Blair Avenue, St Paul, but received nothing in return. The love must have been there I suppose, but with no internet at the time you slipped in and out of consciousness, as one relationship passed into another and we both got older.

2004 and the beginning..

   In 2004 I was on Google as an article appeared on the American election and I gave four lines of my own particular beliefs. Four lines that were written and then forgotten. I wrote about John Kerry's defence of “climate change,” Not Earth shattering but I wrote it and signed off, a few lines drifting off in cyberspace. That's how it remained until I clicked onto Google again searching for an old website of mine that had disappeared from the business world. I saw the old four lines reappear again as my last entry to the site. I read them and smiled at the idea that anyone was even mildly interested in my thoughts. For some reason, my eyes went to the next box, to this day I can't explain why.

“This is not a political message. Are you Ernie Boxall from Attleborough, Nuneaton. I was your pen friend 36 years ago.” Just over twenty words that were to change my life.

   Those words excited me and frustrated me because there was no way of getting back to you, no way of reconnecting. Someone suggested contacting Google direct, which I did, and spent the week on my E mails waiting to see if I'd been successful. Day after day I watched and waited with all the memories of the time we'd spent together flooding back, and positive that because you'd written those words you must have put my name into your computer. I must have been on your mind.

“Ernie, this is a BANNER DAY.” The headline screamed at me and my heart leapt at the words. I had found my love again after thirty six years. I'd rarely felt so elated or so overwhelmed. 

Do you remember my phone call? A male voice answered and my heart sank. Should I ask for you or hang up? What would your husband think?

“Is Linda home?”

“Maam. It's for you.”

   Hope sprang again. It was you son. I think you may have asked him, who it was. I can't remember though. Your voice came over the wire and it was the happiest of sounds. My heart thumped.

We talked for a while and I joked that I was afraid I'd spoken to your husband, hoping I guess that you'd say “No, I'm not married.” But, you were! You are!

   No matter, we talked and the years rolled away, the words flowed unbroken. A few days. A few weeks. A few years. We talked. The days slipped by and thanks to the wonders of the internet it didn't take a week for us to connect any more. Your first E mail arrived and showed that while much of what had gone before had, for a number of reasons slipped from your memory, my love for you had not.

   Amongst your first words were an apology for the way you had treated me, words which were not necessary. You had nothing to apologise for. I wrote and told you about my trip to the gypsy and my wish, a wish which I now knew could be made good. I thought of that Gipsy and wished I could have returned to thank her.

2007 and a new beginning...

   In that first visit , you had looked like an angel, just over five feet tall, your face shaped angularly with chiselled cheekbones and a slender nose, Your lips were full and red, your  eyes were  at once dark and brooding and then alive. They carried the smile from your full mouth across a face framed by long dark hair. You were slender. In a beautiful way, not forced by fashion or diet, with naturally shapely legs and hips which showed off perfect breasts. You were eighteen going on twenty eight with top honours and a singing voice to melt the hearts of the hardest of men.

   Now, in that same airport thirty six years later I set eyes on you again and my heart swelled. I think you recognised me first. You appeared from the side of a man, I was to meet soon as your husband.  But I only had eyes for you and the desire to hug you for the whole of the three weeks was so powerful. It ended too quickly as you pulled away and introduced me to Dan. It was Deja vu all over again as he took the place of your parents. I mumbled my thanks for the hospitality I was about to receive, but all the time my thoughts were on the lady between us. Less shy now, we talked pretty much all the way back along one of the huge highways.

   You'd moved from a small avenue house next to a corner bar into a home as individual as you are. Do you remember? Perhaps not! That as we entered the drive and moved slowly towards the gate and the back of the house we passed the sacred tree, the Willow after whom you'd  taken my nickname.. The gate shut and once more after over thirty six years I walked into the house of the woman I loved.