Monday, November 12, 2007

We met, we paused, we moved on forever

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

During the course of our lives we meet and get to know many people. Some of these people are relatively inconsequential, being classmates, colleagues, store clerks, neighbors, and so forth. Others, however, strike a chord within us and enter the realm of the ‘consequential’.

These include ‘significant others’, certain cherished friends, mentors of worth, and ‘ships that pass’ but do not stay around for long. Just a wave and a blown-kiss, and then they are gone. They are gone except for the place they burn in the memory-bank – for whatever reason. As follows is one such tale.

This particular ‘ship’ was a colleague in my second year teaching. A fellow teacher for only a few brief months she was. She was an English girl, tall, blonde, exquisitely proportioned, with a wonderful ‘plummy’ accent, very intelligent, and with the bawdiest of senses of humor. She looked remarkably like the English actress Patricia Hodge (pictured), whom I can never see in something like Rumpole without immediately thinking of my special friend.

She was very flirtatious, and slightly exhibitionistic, and a toucher, and a hugger. What red-blooded lad in his mid-20s couldn’t have been smitten? I know I was. The fact that I was also married didn’t detract from my fantasies about this Miss from the English Channel Isle of Guernsey. I wasn’t alone in my carnal mental meanderings. After she had left, a friend said: “It was a good thing she moved away. I think there would have been broken marriages all over the place if she hadn’t.”

She too was married. She was married to a handsome, brilliant, highly-creative, and intensely moody Welshman. He was also intensely jealous of her – which seemed to fuel her shenanigans even more. I yes, quite a psychological profile happening there. Stuff of novels. Hey, I might even ‘use’ her in some future creative endeavor. Oh, and he was also a physical abuser, I was later to find.

I recall sitting next to her in a staff meeting on a hot June day. She was sucking on an orange Popsicle. I won’t describe what she was doing with her ‘lolly’, as she called it.
We were invited to dinner at her place one evening. After a fine meal and some good wine, we settled in to chat. She sat directly across from me. She was wearing a tiny mini dress (as she always did, and which showed off her very long legs to fine advantage). As she sat, she made herself ‘comfortable’. Comfortable meant hiking her skirt up well above her knickers, which were fully exposed. Her husband was not pleased with the show, and mentioned it to her.

“Oh, it’s only Ian,” she said. “He’s a friend. He doesn’t mind.”

Esthetically I didn’t mind at all. But, at a personal level, I rather did. My wife and I grew increasingly uncomfortable, and her husband grew increasingly broody. Eventually we made our excuses. We didn’t want to be a part of whatever game was going on.

Shortly thereafter they moved away. They moved to Vancouver. She passed her telephone number and address onto me a while later. The following summer I gave her a call. “Oh, you must come over and visit,” she said. “I’m moving back to Guernsey, and I’d love to see you before I go.”

We went to the address she gave. She answered the door. We were both shocked. She sported two black eyes. She’d left him and he’d punched her out. It wasn’t the first time, she told us, resignedly. That was why she was leaving.

That was the last time I ever saw her. But, as I said, I thought about her and wondered if I’d ever see her again. I wasn’t in love with her, but I confess I was fascinated at many levels, including a lustful one.

I did hear her voice one more time. When I was living in England in 1981 I phoned her on Guernsey, whence she’d remarried and as raising a family. She was thrilled to hear from me and insisted we had to come to visit. My wife was on a break so we set in motion plans to cross the Channel. The channel, as it turned out was hit by unspeakable storms in the time we had free. We couldn’t make it. I called to tell her. She sounded dreadfully disappointed.

I’ve never heard from her since, and she never responded to any letters I sent to her. Sad. Ships, as I said.

Do you have any ships that passed in your own night?

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16 Comments:

Blogger AlieMalie said...

that's touching, ian, in a sad sort of way.

as for ships, until very recently, i'd say i'd had one, unfortunately, i think that number has grown to two due to a sad series of events in the other party's life that prohibit pretty much anything in the near future.

anyhow, thanks for putting something into perspective for me that you had no idea you were affecting. :)

6:21 PM  
Blogger andrea said...

It makes me a little uncomfortable just reading about her, but often our ships are no kings/queens of virtue. My most significant ship was almost a colleague (he worked in the pub across from the photo lab where I worked) and also, like yours, "...an English lad, tall, blonde, exquisitely proportioned, with a wonderful ‘plummy’ accent, very intelligent, and with the bawdiest of senses of humor." It was 1983 in London and we clicked like crazy but he was a very deceitful s-o-b. Didn't matter. We became almost-lovers and then firm friends.

From the TMI departemnt.

7:13 PM  
Blogger kimber said...

My "ship passing in the night" was a beautiful English professor at Oxford who asked me to come, visit, and stay forever.

*sigh*

Sometimes, things aren't meant to be, but that resignation doesn't make it any easier to ponder and wonder what might have been.

9:40 PM  
Blogger Tai said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

9:43 PM  
Blogger Tai said...

Yeah. And it's always that feeling of sad, but glad.
But sad. Sometimes so sad.

I'd tell you about them, but...I could never do it justice.

9:43 PM  
Blogger jmb said...

Many but I'd have to think about it a bit to do them justice.
What made you think of this sad story I wonder, for it's a long time ago. I guess sometimes memories just float to the top and stay awhile.

10:39 PM  
Blogger geewits said...

I think the one person I think about the most was a friend of my father. His name was Henrik Ravn and he was from Denmark. My Dad was having to spend long periods in the Dominican Republic. We were simple rural folk in a small town in North Carilina. Dad's company flew the whole family to the Dominican Republic to visit with Dad for a week in April 1973. I was 12. Dad's friend seemed like James Bond to me. He spoke 5 or 6 languages and a whole slew of African dialects. He danced the meringue with me after lunch one day. A few years ago I was asking my Mom about him and said, "How did you not fall in love with that man?" and she said, "Oh, I did." I have a painting that he did of my Dad. He was a true renaissance man and I would love to speak to him again. I thought he was fantastic. Thanks for making me think of him again!

11:49 PM  
Blogger Casdok said...

Yes a very touching post, i hope she is now happy.
And for me yes there has been a few ships!

2:04 AM  
Blogger laughingwolf said...

good tale ian... i've had a few of those myself, which ended as sadly as your own

4:38 AM  
Blogger laughingwolf said...

hope most of the wet weather/high winds spared you and yours...

i hear some 150,000 folks are still w/o power in bc.... :(

4:39 AM  
Blogger Jazz said...

"Ship" stories always tend to end sadly don't they?

5:20 AM  
Blogger meggie said...

I knew someone exactly like that!
She seemed to taunt her husband deliberately.
I am often inspired to want to post about similar things to you, when I read your posts!

1:00 PM  
Blogger Tanya Brown said...

She sounds like a fascinating person, albeit one with some issues. I hope her life is running more smoothly now.

4:05 PM  
Blogger Janice Thomson said...

About 10 years ago a handsome man stopped me on the street offering to take my groceries. I refused but he offered again... and again I refused but something seemed alright with this and I eventually allowed him to help carry the groceries up to my apartment. He stayed a while; we chatted over coffee and he came by every day for a month and then mentioned he was leaving for a retreat in Seoul for a year. I remember we became dangerously close to becoming lovers and yet something held me back. He sent a card and a letter from Seoul to which I replied but I never heard from him again - well actually I moved. But I often wonder how different life might have been if after that wonderfully sensuous kiss...
Thanks for that forgotten memory Ian! Thank heavens sometimes it seems something, or someone, is watching out for us...

8:55 AM  
Blogger Angela said...

Such a story. I can think of two of my own off the top of my head -- both teachers, as well.

They're always better in my fantasy, though -- instead of home cranking about their dinner. Ships can definitely look better in the distance, you know?

4:14 PM  
Blogger Eastcoastdweller said...

Oh, you know about mine, the long-lost Darlene -- so sweet and smoky and welcoming whilst I was young and ignorant and confused ...

8:26 PM  

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