A Tale of Lost “Love”

I suddenly thought about K. last night while waiting to go to sleep. The memories—good and bad—entered my mind like those songs that just start playing in my head even though I haven’t heard them for awhile. I hadn’t thought about her in a long time, and then, suddenly, there she was.

I met her while working on A Man For All Seasons, the play about Sir Thomas More who refused to bow to Henry VIII when he wanted a divorce. I had been cast as the Spanish Ambassador, my first real role. She played More’s daughter. I first really talked to her at a cast party when, in my intoxication, I insulted her. I asked her why she talked funny. She always sounded like she had a British accent even though she was from Harrisburg, PA. I still recall the exact inflection she used when she said, “I don’t talk funny” and walked away from me.

But for some reason, when I asked her for a date, she agreed to go out with me. And there were quite a few dates the remainder of that semester. When I would bring her back to her dorm, we would kiss. And that’s when I learned how to French kiss—from K. Things never progressed farther than that, but I was content; I enjoyed it immensely.

I think her mother also strongly approved of me; just a peripheral thought…. But the following semester, K. was aloof. When I questioned her about it, she used the dreaded line, “We’ll be friends,” she said with that precise pronunciation of hers. And then she started seeing another of the theatre people, C.

I never really liked C, but now that I think of it, they were well-suited in one way: they both had an effected way of speaking. Suddenly the two of them were seen everywhere together. And he and I were very different, physically: while I was a skinny-ass kid with a receding hairline, he had a full mane of long hair and a lengthy beard, not to mention a distinctive paunch belly.

K. and I did act together again, in my first starring role as the title character in the Moliere play, Sganarelle. She played my shrewish wife with whom I didn’t get along, and Cathy, whom I had just started dating, played the maid I was chasing after. So some of my acting wasn’t really acting. (Years later, Cathy is a connection on LinkedIn, so we’ll see if she reads this blog post.)

In the spring I stage managed The Veldt by Ray Bradbury that C. directed, and K. was his assistant director. I clearly recall some moments backstage as a stage manager for that show; that’s a story for another time. But I clearly remember going to K. and C.’s house for the cast party. There were cheap houses for sale in York at the time—the city was trying to revitalize run-down neighborhoods—and as I stood in the kitchen and looked at the floor, I realized I could see a light on in the basement. (I assume his parents, both academics, may have purchased the house for them.)

I later heard they bought a school bus and moved to Texas. In the early days of the internet I tried doing a search for them, but to little avail, although I did read about their attendance at an Amiga computer users’ group. Googling did turn up a LinkedIn profile on him (Austin, TX), but nothing about K.

I remember K. as my first real love, and I was heartbroken over her. How silly. I didn’t know what love was. Maybe I still don’t (or just have my cynical doubts). But I still relish the memories of those moments in the front seat making out, lo, these many years later.