What an idiot, I thought, after Clark shouted me again to throw faster on the sailboat lines to maintain the rhythm of wind changes while we headed to open waters from Marina del Rey. “I will never go again with this guy!”
But what do I know about navigation? Although I grew up in the big lakes, I had never sailed before and I didn't realize that there were no passengers on a sailboat, only crew. I had just moved to Los Angeles since Detroit after leaving a first -job season in Switzerland. Both places were too cold for me, so it is not surprising that it was irresistible. Each January, the Rose TV parade nationwide showed that even winters would be reliably 72 degrees and sunny.
The was the place where this Motown girl believed that her dreams of new beginnings with happy endings could come true. I met Clark in Venice Beach. And, no, he was not a weightlifter, an chainsaw juggling or a magician like the other family accessories on the Venice Paseo. When he left the surf ocean with his boogie table under his arm and pointed his smile of 1000 watts to me looking at him from my towel in the sand, I reflected: “Oh, yes, these boys from the west coast are fine.”
Our first appointment after that meeting was an afternoon of navigating next week. Before the appointment with Clark in the Boat House, I had treated me with a manicure. Great mistake! I soon learned that it is impossible to pull the “ropes” of the candles with only the tips of my fingers to treat in vain to protect my fresh man. Clark didn't appreciate the nails; He shouted maneuver commands that clearly transmitted their priorities were only pragmatic. After the debacle of our initial excursion, Clark reactivated his charm, so I gave him another opportunity, and we left again and again. A picnic and concert under the stars of Hollywood Bowl. The Pantages Theater for a Broadway show. Lobster dinner in Puerto Nuevo: a long trip to Mexico, but it is worth it.
Clark continued to captivate with his ironic observations about the world, his inclination to be a joker and even the silly gifts destined to demonstrate that he was a romantic heart. I am sorry to say that the Valentine's Gift of Six Motor Oil Packages for my VW of Hemorrhage did not make the cut. However, the roses on my birthday, coinciding with the anniversary of our infamous navigation date and our “I love you” exchanges, attracted it to me. Two years after our monogamous appointments, I wondered where we were going. I had never been in a stable relationship that lasted more than six months, so far.
He had been married before, for less than two years. And yet, I was afraid to mention the issue of marriage in the event that the answer precipitated one more victim in my failed romances portfolio.
Until a Sunday night.
After spending another consecutive weekend with Clark at his house, I feared my usual return home for the Pass Sepulveda and the Valley. Somehow, the burning need just knowing which could give me their intentions the courage to ask the question: “Do you think you will ever get married again?”
His answer crushed me. “You know that I married once, but that didn't work. It hurts to decouple our lives from our dreams.” He paused. “And now you are my special love. I could not be happier with our relationship, and everything is wonderful as it is. But … no, I don't want to get married again.”
I felt dizzy by the visceral blush in my ears, since everything I heard again and again was “no.” I don't remember exactly what any of us said after that, but I was clear about what I wanted: I wanted to marry him, my best friend. Not now, but one day I wanted to present it as more than the man with whom I left. I could not separate my dreams from the daily connections that we had already built. And if it would never be his wife, then it was not enough.
It ended for me.
I drove without thinking home. I replied the break again and again when West Los Angeles retired more and more. Somehow, I did it safely to the little bungalow that I shared with Heather, my rescue cat. I hugged her near, thinking that now I would see myself more on weekends because Clark had been too allergic to cats to stay in my house. Reality, difficult: it would no longer be part of my life.
Determined to leave behind the weekend, the next morning, I prepared for another Monday busy seeing patients. I entered the office vigorously, but the cheerful dentist for whom I worked looked at my face with swollen eyes to cry and asked: “What happened to you?”
Sniffing, I shared how and why I had broken with Clark. My boss shrugged and cited an old saying: “It is not necessary to buy the cow when the milk is free.” God, thank you for that.
When I was going to lunch at home, Dr. Happy Sayings ran out of his office and shouted: “You can't go! Clark comes.”
Before I could react, Clark was there, calling me outside. While taking me in his arms, my tears began again. He begged me to stop crying and explained that I had never thought about getting married again until I surprised him asking if he would ever do it.
Clark admitted that if being married was what would be needed to spend the rest of his life with me, then one day, yes, we would get married. That promise was enough for me, since another year passed without a wedding. When I was accepted at the Postgraduate School in UCLA, I retired as a dental hygienist and moved with Clark. Heather moved with English without allergies in San Pedro, where he lived happily forever. My happy forever began soon.
My first year as a MBA student was a golden gold mine while giving Clark with stories of the connections between classmates. Later I joked that I could not slide a engagement ring on my finger fast enough. I also gave him that I had waited until I was sure that I got a good job after graduation before establishing the wedding date. We decided to renounce traditional nuptials in favor of a civil ceremony, wasting in its place on an extensive celebration trip in Europe.
That summer, my memories of icy winter when I worked in Switzerland vanished with Clark by my side. Everywhere they felt warm with Bonhomie when the locals wished us a Hochzeitsreise by Ausgezeichnete, or an excellent honeymoon.
From an outdoor terrace in an alpine town next to the lake, we saw the catamaranes and the windsurfers rely on the wind and fly through the water underneath. Clark kept me close and asked if I would like to go navigate. I just smiled and replied: “No, I don't think so … … everything is wonderful, as it is.”
The author, who lives in Culver City, is still married to the old sailor, but now sculpts in the acute center of UCLA. He returned to his Alma Mater as executive coach for MBA students at UCLA Anderson School of Management. She writes a weekly column for them about racing and leadership ups and downs. You can find it on LinkedIn in LinkedIn.com/in/pamschulz.
Los Angeles Affairs Chronices The search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the Los Angeles area, and we want to listen to their real history. We pay $ 400 for a published essay. Email [email protected]. You can find presentation guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
