In another life

I saw Roy on Saturday, after 25 long years. I suppose you could say that Roy was my first real love: a gangly, Jamaican boy with a teasing shout of a laugh, warm black eyes, and an absorbing intensity when he was deep in thought. Roy was my friend and constant companion during the second year and a half of college. The White boys wrote me off when they saw us together, and the Black boys didn't know what to think of me.

Roy was the one who snuck into the girl's dorm while our friend Beverley, wearing only her underwear, was washing her hair in the janitor's sink in the hall. He raced in the back door, down the forbidden hall to her, blurted something into her hair and tore back outside onto the steps. There he doubled up with laughter as Beverley angrily rushed to her room, dignity askew.

Roy and I studied together as often as we could, however very little studying got done. We always found some sort of mischief to get into together. One night as I wrote a paper, we came to a disagreement about how to spell the word hence. He said it should be spelled hense. I was sure it should be hence. So sure in fact, that I vowed to run around the men's dorm naked if it was hense. Roy matched my vow with one of his own. As we sat looking at one another, taken aback with our rash statements, we suddenly had pangs of uncertainty. We loped across campus to the library where we found in the thick unabridged dictionary that we were both correct! Being Jamaican, he had learned the British spelling while I had learned the American spelling. Neither of us will admit to running around a dorm naked, even though one of us did do it naked under a trenchcoat!

Roy is a pianist without equal and I was fortunate to have him as my accompanist when I sang. We concertized in numerous New England churches. In fact, we could be called up out of the audience to sing and spontaneously could make flawless music together. The depth of the bond between us enabled us to blend together as only two well-matched musicians can.

Roy was like my warm, fun-loving brothers. I adored him. My family loved him. I would even go so far as to say that I loved him. But I was not in love with him and our friendship immediately ended when he realized that my playfulness was not marriage in the making. Being unsure of how to spare either of us the awkwardness of trying to negotiate a friendship in the face of his disappointment and my defensiveness, I played the race card. I told him that I just didn't think it was wise for us to have a mixed race relationship, even though I cared for him very deeply. He was terribly hurt and could not forgive me, reacting with hostility whenever I saw him over the next six months before I graduated. I have never forgiven myself for my unthinking, anxiety-driven blunder. I can still see the pained expression on his face.

And I never saw him again. Until Saturday.

I tuned in to a church service that was broadcast live on my computer. As the main speaker sat down, Roy stood up and sang a solo. He hasn't changed a bit except perhaps, his hair isn't as thick as it used to be. But I could see him, finally, after all these years. It filled my heart to hear him sing again, and later, play the piano. He was wonderful, playing with his whole soul, just as I remembered.

In another life, I wonder if I could have dated and married him. Watching him interact with an all-Black, inner city church group made me realize how his life has become different than mine and how I might feel welcomed or rejected in his group and he in mine. I watched him participate in the service, feeling admiration and nostalgia.

I talked with Sam about it later and he was interested and not defensive. After all, he noted, I live with him, not Roy. It was that straightforward as far as he was concerned.

I wonder what Roy would think if he realized that I'm now in a biracial marriage--Hispanic-White, not Black-White as he and I would have been. I wonder if he would have hurt less if he had known that I truly loved and adored him and was just lost for words. Perhaps we could still have been close friends for always. Sam would have enjoyed his friendship, I have no doubt.

A great deal happens when one is trying to grow up. Relationships and life choices can fill one's mind with unanswered questions for decades. Some stories can never be rewritten.
I love Sam with all my heart and cannot imagine being without him. And yet, an empty spot remains where Roy once was. I doubt I'll ever stop missing my beloved friend.