The Good Old Days

People often take pride and find joy basking in the light of self-disclosure. For some though, that is not the case, as in the life of Brett, a retired senior, who preferred to live his life in the shade of anonymity.

"I did fall in love a few times," he confided in me one day, when I asked him casually if he had ever gotten married. "I remember being in love with Millie, who had long, curly auburn hair. She was a beautiful, young woman who loved to dance, but she was far too wild for me. We had some good times together, but she ran away with an orchestra leader who serenaded her with his cello."

The tears welled up in his eyes. I turned my head, so as not to embarrass him. He stayed silent for a long time, obviously deep in thought. Finally, he pulled out his handkerchief, blew his nose and smiled at me. I could see the twinkle return to his eyes.

"Ah, those were the good old days," he continued. "I don't usually talk a lot about my lady friends of the past, as sometimes people try to read too much into it."

"You don't have to tell me anything," I said to him, quietly. "You can tell me if you want to though, and I will listen."

"I have never really been a recluse at heart, just lived like one, most of the time. There was a gorgeous, blonde, young filly named Bernadette, who I simply adored. She was everything that a man could have possibly wanted in a wife, but she was already married, unhappily at that. We used to sit in the cafe for hours talking about everything under the sun, our lives, all of our hopes and dreams too, but at the end of her shift, she always had to go home to Herman."

"There were a lot of other, single girls in the town," I commented, cautiously.

"Yes, but It was always easier to talk to someone who was safely married," Brett confided in me, quietly. "Anyhow, I preferred staying in the shade to becoming the object of town gossip. That happened all of the time, and the boys involved always had the devil to pay for their antics, when they became public knowledge."

"I understand that, too," I suggested. I could see he was ready to tell me more, but was hemming and hawing, so I simply waited.

"The love of my life was actually Caroline, a young school teacher, who I first met in southern Alabama. She was fun to be with, and had more, little children around her than anyone else in the whole town. She loved them with a passion and they loved her. It was always difficult to get anywhere close to Caroline though, but I did succeed a few times. She would blush and turn as red as a beet, when she thought I was trying to court her in front of the children. They loved it and teased us something fierce."

"So what ever happened to her?" I asked, becoming more and more curious, as he spoke. "You said she was the love of your life."

"Well, I went to the corner store one day and bought her a valentine, red roses and chocolates, but I was far too shy to do anything except place them on her desk, before she came to school on Valentine's Day. She was so delighted, but I do not think she ever found out who they were from, and I was not about to tell her. Even the children did not know that they were from me, although they suspected that I was the guilty party."

"So nothing came from that Valentine's Day romance either?"

"When I think about it now, I was only fourteen years old then, and she must have been at least eighteen. I imagined her as becoming the mother of the children that I never had.  She taught for only a year at our one room school, and then accepted a position at a girl's school, somewhere in the north. Maybe I scared her away, as I never did hear anything from her, but I remember those good old days so vividly."

"It sounds like good memories too."

"Yes, they were. Say, it is getting hot in here. Maybe we should go outside and sit in the shade."