-The greatest thing you'll ever learn is to love and be loved
in return
From the song Nature Boy recorded by Nat
King Cole 1948
The mid 1980s were like the calm before the technology storm. We had telephone answering machines if we were up on the latest technology. But these were the days before cell phones and personal computers. We did not text or send emails. We listened to the beep and the voices who left messages for us. That was it. I saw that she took some sort of a mid-day break between 1 and 4 pm. Usually accompanied by a co-worker or two, but sometimes alone. They wore scrubs. In the waning days of summer vacation, I found myself packing a book or two and going for a second cup of coffee by 1:00. After the school year started, I'd get there by 4:00 and grade papers for a couple of hours so I could have some sort of evening on week days. I was careful not to stare, but was definitely aware when she was there somewhere.
After a month of this routine, I gave her a name. She was now Gina, and I was going to write her into my life. I chose Gina because she had dark brown hair, green eyes, and an olive complexion. Gina seemed earthy, if not Italian. Years later I figured out the name came from a woman I once saw on an album cover. She was a model, sultry, with deep beauty.
She had a quiet poise, smiled freely, and laughed equally at ease. The sharp contrast between the eyes and hair, the high cheek bones, the semi- voluptuous figure... I was smitten.
So it was that my plan evolved. I'd write a short story, with Gina as a main character. Then, when completed, I'd ask her name? An original, if not ridiculous approach. One afternoon, when she sat alone, I took the table next to hers and began a conversation. Fully expecting her to be married or in a committed relationship, I soon learned she lived alone. But it was not that simple. We talked for an hour or more and though she was no longer Gina, a new friend named Dina entered my life.
II
For the next few weeks, we'd see one another at the coffee shop, talk for a few minutes, then she'd go back to work, and I'd go back home. Turns out that Dina worked as an emergency room nurse at a nearby hospital, hence the scrubs. Her hours were irregular and she was saving money for a move back to her home in Oregon. We exchanged phone numbers. Our conversation topics expanded. Now, aside from work related topics we talked about our musical interests. Dina loved popular music and often sang at small clubs and pubs in her native Oregon. She was from a small town called Sunday Creek about equidistant between Grant's Pass and Roseburg, Oregon.
Once, when it turned out that we both didn't have to work on a holiday, I called her and asked if she wanted to meet at another place, in another part of town. She did. I was overjoyed and decided to use that meeting to find out about her current relationship status. I changed the message on my answering machine after that. I had a side gig writing for a Thoroughbred horse magazine based in Lexington, Kentucky. They'd call when they wanted me to cover a race or do a personality profile. I depended on that answering machine. So, my new message said, "If you are from California, please leave a message after the beep. If you are from Kentucky, yes, I'm available this weekend, please tell me what you would like covered and the word count and deadline. But if you are from Oregon, I'll be home every evening this week, please call back." Seems rather stupid now, but I was so proud of it back then.
Despite my outgoing personality and apparent ease talking in front of groups of people, I tend to be more introverted when it comes to meeting people and relationships. Probably fear of rejection. Planning to hear that Dina had a boyfriend, probably back in her home town, I had no expectations. I already knew she wanted to move back to Oregon so I really had nothing to lose. What I wasn't prepared for was that her boyfriend was going with her, and that he was here in the Bay Area working as an EMT. Some of the mystery was revealing itself, bit by bit. Dina and her boyfriend were working toward the same goal but because of their odd hours and quirky work schedules, spent much time away from each other. Gary, the boyfriend, had 3-day live in shifts, much like a firefighter.
Our coffeeshop conversations conntinued and one day after talking about jazz singers, I mentioned that I'd recently bought an Abbey Lincoln album. Dina was quick to respond saying that Abbey Lincoln was a favorite singer of hers. When I mentioned that Ms. Lincoln did a version of "Nature Boy," the Nat Cole hit, she nodded knowingly. I almost told her about the blind date I had one time where that song was used on the sound track of a movie My date and I attended. When the first few lines were sung, I leaned over to my date and asked her, "You know who's voice that is, right? Nope. Didn't recognize King Cole. Deal breaker for me.
I offered to loan Dina the album so she could tape it. Tape cassettes were the best way to listen to music back then because you could play them in your car, and mix them adding what you liked and not include what you didn't care for. She agreed to stop by my place the next day to pick up the album. It was a Friday afternoon, and Dina was on her way to Oregon for the weekend. She had a few errands to run before hitting the Interstate and when I answered the door, she was quick to let me know she couldn't stay long. I got the album and handed it over to her. Before she turned to leave, I wished her a safe trip and a good weekend. We fell into a brief hug. That turned into another much longer hug and then an unexpected but passionate kiss.
"Have fun," I half heartedly said. "See you later," was the reply.
All that weekend I wondered what woud become of all this. I really didn't see any future here but decided to let this mystery unfold on its own. Wishful thinking?
Over the next six months we continued to see each other. Dina would call me because even though I had phone numbers for her, she was living with a family in a fairly affluent, suburban community. She rented a room and really had no home phone of her own. Calling her at work would connect me to the emergency room and the few times I did speak to her at work all featured busy background noises, clattering sounds, and sometimes sirens. Usually I'd get a message on my answering machine asking if I'd be home on a Friday or Saturday night.
It was clear that she was making room for time spent with me, but it was even clearer that there was still another man in her life. How did I feel about that? This was new territory for me and I tried not to think too much about it all and just enjoy the time we had together.
Much to my sirprise, our tie togther actually improved. While Dina never stayed the night, we did begin to do more things together. I took her to an event in San Francisco that I wasn't sure she'd enjoy. Writer Arthur Miller was in conversation with an interviewer at the Palace of Fine Arts. I had taught many of Miller's plays and stories and wanted very much to hear his thoughts on them as well as other current issues. This was new territory for Dina, something she might never have done before meeting me. Then she planned another San Francisco evening for us. We took a BART train from the East Bay into the city and then using taxis went out to dinner and then to a small jazz club to see a singer she admired. Sally Smith was paralyzed from the waist down and her husband, a piano player and arranger would carry her onstage almost like a ventriloquist. He'd seat her on the piano, her legs hanging down, folded, and sit at the bench and play the evening's selection. She had a perfect jazz voIce and the songs performed were a mix of standards and new material, all well done. In sharing our interests, Dina and I were forming even more of a bond. Our relationship was fast becoming more than just sexual. There were changes going on in my mind as well. I was entering that dangerous territory where I began to think that perhaps this could be more. That I could make a difference. Dina gave herself to me both emotionally and physically. Certainly she must not be willing to have it all end abruptly. There is a certain amount of denial that surfaces when you receive such complete love. While preparing for the reality that was scheduled to come, I began to believe that perhaps it would not come. How could it?
III
When we tell someone that we love them what are we really saying? I'm coming to believe that we are saying, "I love myself when I'm with you." Nothing wrong with that. It is perhaps far more accurate a statement. I hear people say to others, "I love you, but I'm not in love with you." What does that mean? I love things about you but I'm not ready to commit to a complete relationship? I refuse to get trapped into that rhetoric.
In brief, I think Dina loved herself a bit more when she spent time with me, time loving me.
On the last day we spent time together, Dina gave me a few things as parting presents. Was she thanking me for something? Probably. The gifts were two beautiful wine glasses, a very expensive bottle of wine, (Pinot Noir) and a chrystal rock. I made a tape for her with carefully selected music/songs. The kiss good-bye was like any other kiss good-bye we'd shared.
We shared one or two letters after that. Dina always told me that I should visit Oregon, that I'd love it there. I took that as an open invitation. Big mistake, for when a few years later, I planned to visit my sister in Seattle and go through Oregon I contacted Dina. She'd moved to Eugene, was working in a hospital there, and no longer with Gary. We met at her house in Eugene and from the moment I saw her, she seemed uncomfortable. I was hoping to spend a night with her as I had no hotel reservation. She said I could stay the night, but I later wished I'd declined. I spent an uncomfortable 12 hours in her company and couldn't wait to get on the road again the next morning. Not only can you not go home again you can stay too long at the fair. Cliches aside, I had learned some valuable lessons. Sometimes a hopeless romantic is simply just hopeless.
In the years that followed, I sold the wine gasses at a garage sale before I moved to Oregon. The wine became a metaphor for that brief affair. By the time I opened that bottle, it was too far gone. All this makes me smile now. My denial was well intended, but in the end very real. But I have the memory. In a way, that's all we ever have-memory.
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