Your Name Is Like a Poem

It would sound far more romantic if I said I remembered every curve of her face, each tinsel of hair she tossed behind an ear, the subtle scent of her shampoo with clarity, but I don't. Those details have eroded over time and what do those details matter anyhow? Frankly, I think it's better I don't recall the fine print of her. The more of her in shadows and fleeting memories the better.

And yet, here you are staring up at me, engulfing me in memories; teasing me with your mere presence and flooding my body with--what is it? Adrenaline or some brain chemical I’ve heard a doctor mention once? How am I to know what's causing this sensation that feels it's racing through my veins, buzzing through my body with energy and excitement I've not felt in years? My head feels suddenly brightened and acutely focused as I gently run my finger around your years-softened edges, rub my thumb oh-so-delicately across the blue ink across your surface. I feel dumbstruck. I'm blindsided and bewildered to see my name written in your confident, slanted, and sloppy handwriting.

I'd dreamt for a shameful number of years of receiving such a letter, of hearing anything from her. And for 46 years, I didn't. Over those years, I learned to smile outwardly while internally, I let my grief anguish in the cold. That was such a long time ago, you’d think I’d have moved on.

___________________________________

It was the end of summer in 1975, and we were all 18 and seniors. My friends told me to get over her and simply find another girl. They weren’t interested in true love; their eyes were lustful, and their interests vested in cars, disco, and "jive talkin'" the ladies. My mother was comforting in a coddling sort of way, but being in a loveless marriage herself, I look back now and realize she couldn't relate to the love lost I was describing. She'd never experienced it herself so how could she grasp the gravity of my heartache? My sister was the most concerned and the most helpful at first. As I talked, she would offer her condolences, even offering to take me to the movies or out for a slice of pizza to cheer me up. But I was a challenging therapy patient for my 15-year-old sister to try to take on. And so it was that I closed off from everyone; cold and distant, frozen over like the Minnesota pond on my grandpa's farm, with my broken heart sealed in its icy depths.

Anna and I met the summer before when her family moved into town. We had a photography class at school our junior year. Mr. Hinkle paired us together for a project that included finding venues with different lighting and taking one another's portraits. It was meant to challenge us with adjusting for various light sources and hone our skills at working with human subjects. I had found her interesting when we first met because she was so authentically kind. It was almost disarming actually. Once when I was showing off at the mall as we took candid portraits of people, I groaned in mock horror at a group of freshmen from our school.

“Doofus patrol ahead,” I joked to her, eyeing her reaction in hopes for a laugh.

“Ellis, that’s not very nice,” she said with a soft tone before adding, “Don’t be such a square!” I felt guilty but unjudged. Her response projected compassion, a hint of playfulness, and the slightest note of gravity. Even in teaching me to be kind, she herself was gentle and sympathetic in her delivery of the message.

I learned a lot from Anna those first few weeks after we met in class. We hung out a lot with friends which relieved me of any pressure to talk much. It wasn’t that I didn’t have anything to say, but in hindsight, it was probably lack of self-confidence and trying to look cool. Instead I observed that part of what made Anna so kind was how open she was with everyone and didn’t judge others by their clothes or if they said something stupid. It was like she could intuit or read what people might be feeling or thinking and then would do or say something to encourage them or make them feel at ease. I never had her natural ability to do this, but I would try to emulate this all my life.

After our portrait photo assignment, I stood alone in the dark room watching my photos of Anna bloom on the paper. More of her depth appeared with each bath of chemicals as the photo process unfolded. With each detail I recognized more of her character than just the image of her person. Warmth spread from the red dark room lights to highlight the many facets of her: Anna’s sunniness, her knee-slap humor and wit, her thoughtful and kind nature, her beauty, and how she could make my stomach feel like it was caving in.

I was transfixed by the dimples formed by her smile. I stood mesmerized by the gaze of her expressive eyes. I heard her laugh in my ears as I stared at the picture of her crinkled face angled upward toward the sun, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide and white teeth exposed as she laughed at something I'd said. That was one of my prouder moments, seeing my ability to make her laugh like that captured forever in black and white.

Imagine if I could make her laugh like that again and again, I daydreamed. It was there in the dark room that I realized I'd fallen for her fully and completely. Fumbling, I haphazardly hung the photos up to dry and gathered my things. Suddenly I felt desperate to see her, talk to her. I threw open the door of the dark room, searching the halls of the school for her until I found her sitting with friends at lunch outside, sprawled on the ground sipping a Coke through a straw. She must have known by the look on my face. When she saw me approach, my intensity was undeniable. I was radiating with energy, with anxiety, with desire to tell her everything; in fact, I'm feeling now, as I hold this letter in hand, exactly as I did that day: terrified and full of hope.

I reached out my hand to her without a word and, somewhat to my surprise, she put her Coke bottle down and took it. I helped her stand and we walked quickly toward a quiet area behind the field house. I noticed she hadn’t let go of my hand as we walked and both our palms were sweating, or maybe it was just mine. I couldn’t even look at her, my stomach felt on fire. I hoped her heart was pounding like mine; that we both knew what the other felt and what was about to happen without saying a word. But I knew I had to get what I was thinking out of my head and into her heart to find out.

"I printed your pictures today, Anna. Actually, I just uh...I just finished. They're really something, you know. I think you're going to, um. Geez-us,” I stammered as I pressed my palms into my eyes and ran my hands through my hair.

"Okay, that's not what I'm really trying to tell you, Anna. So, um, yeah, what I'm trying to tell you is that..." I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and suddenly the words I'd been seeking came pouring out.

"Your name is like a poem. When I hear your name, I feel uplifted as if, I don't know, like I could fly or something. When I speak your name, I feel calmer and happier. And Anna, when I see your face looking at mine through the lens or like right now, I feel just...alive, you know what I mean?” A brief, sheepish smile crossed my lips and I dared cast a glance in her eyes which were fixed on mine.

“You're just so smart, and funny, and kind, and talented. I just want to be around you all the time. I've never felt like this and if you don't feel the same way, I'll understand. But on the chance that you do..." I'd lost my steam and was now beginning to feel the desperate panic over what I'd just unloaded on her.

Throughout the entirety of my heartfelt unleashing, she stared at me intently and now, a soft smile appeared.

She looked down and took both of my hands in hers before wrapping my arms around her waist, bringing our faces and bodies closer. I drew a short breath in anticipation.

"My name is like a poem," she repeated like she was trying out the feel of the words in her mouth.

"For all my life, I will remember those words, Ellis. I'm crying right now all thanks to you!" We both chuckled a moment. I was in complete stupor that she was in my arms like this.

"I do feel the same, Ellis. I've felt this way since that day I captured that photo of you finally exposing your silly side, the side of you I never knew existed. You know which one! You were bored of posing for me and I yelled 'well then do whatever you wanna do, you dork!' I thought you were kind of serious and cold, not much emotion beneath the surface. I was shocked when you clasped your hands together like our music teacher about to start the show, bowed with a flourish, and started dancing! Boogying to a beat only you could hear and not what I'd call rhythmic..." I nudged her with my hips in mock pain at her insult and I remember her nestling into my chest a bit closer and my stomach flipped.

"I snapped pic after pic, laughing as I fell for you right there, but I've put off developing those photos because I was afraid if I saw them, I'd be done for. And what if you didn't feel the same way? You're always so quiet, Ellis, hard to read sometimes. But you know what I think, Ellis? My name may be a poem, but your heart is a burning ember. It is soft and strong and it can grow into a blazing fire like we both feel this minute, or it can smolder quietly like it seems you've done all semester until today."

That was late September of '74 and for the next ten months, the love I'd felt for Anna that day grew exponentially. We explored one another's bodies and minds, sharing our views of our parents, opinions on everything from Watergate to our favorite Carol Burnett sketches. We played music for each other (she loved Bowie and Stevie Wonder while I preferred Harry Chapin and Billy Joel), and I took her to see The Way We Were. She cried and I reassured her that even though their story didn't work out, ours would.

And I believed it would. Our love was deep and mutual. It was fun and caring. We trusted each other. I admired her so deeply and I know she did me, too. In a short time, we'd grown with one another, broadening our worlds and developing dreams and inspiring me to think beyond my small world.

___________________________________

One night in June, Anna and I went for a drive in my dad’s blue 1969 Chevy Nova I’d borrowed. We grabbed burgers and fries, listening to the local radio station down the streets of town. We stopped to eat and she turned the music down and I observed she seemed uncharacteristically quiet.

"What's up, you cool?" I asked, turning toward her.

"I have to go on a long vacation with my parents to see family at the end of July," she replied.

"Oh yeah? That’s cool. How long? Where you going?" I asked as a took a bite of burger, my attention still on her.

She distractedly picked at the napkin in her lap as she said "oh, just some small suburb town kind of near Boston, I think. I don't really know for sure."

"Sounds like a lame vacation,” I snorted. “A small town with just family? That’s a bummer. Vacations are supposed to be like the beach or skiing or something historical like museums and stuff! Hey, you know, we should plan our own vacation, show your family how it's really done!" I laughed at this idea and nudged her arm with mine in an attempt to draw her focus. Happily, it seemed to work.

"Ha! I can dig that," she said shaking her shoulders and sitting up taller in the seat. She still wasn't looking at me, but she was smiling.

"Where should we go?" she asked. "We have the whole world to choose from. Maybe some big, far out city!"

That happy summer flew by and then Anna and her parents left for her family vacation in mid-July, just like she'd said. When I asked for her phone number and address at her relatives' house, she said she'd call me when she got there. After a day or two, no call came. I still didn't think much of it, not then. Maybe their drive took longer, or they were busy with family. By the third or fourth day, however, I went by her house to see if maybe a neighbor might have any information.

I drew up to her house and my breath halted. The icy burning sensation began in my gut and spread fast and steady through my body: For Sale. Her house was up for sale. I walked to the front porch, peering in the windows to see an empty home, void of her parents' green couch and the portraits of her grandparents hanging on the dining room walls.

Her best friends Sheila and Marcy were the unfortunate souls who had to break the news to me.

"She's gone, Ellis. Her parents moved up northeast somewhere. I'm so sorry," Sheila said on the phone that afternoon.

Marcy sensed my desperation and despair better than Sheila did.

"Ellis, man, this sucks. Her dad got a job and she didn't have a choice. She asked if she could stay here to graduate, but they said 'no way' to that real quick. Ellis, I'm sorry. She just didn't know how to tell you and thought this would be easier. I don't know why she did it this way, but she made me and Sheila promise not to tell you before she left. You gonna be okay?"

Your heart is like a burning ember, Ellis.

At first I was in disbelief. She couldn't have done this to me, she wouldn't. Her parents would bring her back to enjoy her senior year with me and her friends like a normal kid should get to do. Then my disbelief turned to anger at how she'd treated me. Leaving me without explanation or goodbyes or promises to meet somewhere else. I'd have followed her anywhere given the chance. I raged for what felt like eternity, going for long drives with the music blaring and then eventually that turned into me sitting in silence at places we used to go. The cold of autumn set in as did the chill I felt in my heart. So much for my heart being a source of eternal heat. With the inevitability of time and unwillingness to heal, my grief became my companion for life. That fire was out, frozen over and impenetrable.

I feel like I’m 18 again, haunted by the slant of her handwriting on the envelope. The letter is clearly aged and it's my parents' old address on the front. Where the return address should be, is only her initials, A.R.B., nothing more. It arrived in a larger envelope sent via USPS Priority Mail with a return address and name I don't recognize. A handwritten note accompanies the letter and other contents of the package:

Dear Mr. Ellis Landry,

My name is Jennifer Calloway. My husband, Craig, and I came across the enclosed photos and letter from his mother, Mrs. Anna Regina Calloway, though you'd have known her by her maiden name, Anna Benson. I'm sorry to tell you this, but Anna passed away a few months ago to breast cancer. We're all struggling with this loss, but I felt very lucky to have her as a mother-in-law, she was always so nice to me. Craig is especially hard hit as they were very close after they lost his dad in a car accident many years ago.

I'm sorry I opened the letter, but I wasn't sure exactly who you were and if we should toss it out. I was the most curious when I saw your name on the envelope, and I confess I read it. I shouldn’t have, but after I did I realized it must've been you she told me about once after a few too many glasses of wine. We were visiting for the holidays and Craig was catching up with some old buddies from school, so Anna and I had some wine by the fire. All she told me was that there was a man she'd been deeply in love with when she was younger, before Craig's dad, and she'd never forgotten him. That's when she told me the most interesting part: she said she'd named Craig after this man without telling her husband. She named her son Craig Ellis Calloway. When I saw your name on the letter, I put two and two together. This will have to be our secret; Craig doesn't know about this. Anna thought it might upset him after losing his dad at such a young age.

Maybe this won’t mean much to you since it’s been so long. But if it does, I hope it at least brings some closure. I don't know all the details and it's none of my business anyway. But I know Anna was kind and always intentional in her actions and reasoning. So if you felt the way she did about you back then, I hope it helps you understand and find peace.

Sincerely,

Jennifer Calloway

I read the last several lines a few times. Craig Ellis Calloway. Ellis. She'd named her son after me. Why would she do such a thing? I hope this letter helps you understand. She wrote to me. Anna had written me after she left to explain all of this, but never sent it. And now, this stranger has presented me with the one thing I’d been desperately wanting for so long—Anna! Or at least a part of her. My hands tremble. I can’t quite wrap my head around it. Here was this stranger sending me long lost memories and, could it really be true, some possible understanding of what happened all those years ago?

I lifted the larger envelope by a corner and gently shook it until the other pieces slid out and fluttered across my worn dining table. I took in a sharp breath, just like that first time I took her in my arms. I was staring at 17-year-old me in sharp black and white. On the back of each, she'd written "Ellis, 1974." Photo after photo of me first pensive and brooding and then suddenly as if a new model had entered the viewfinder, me bowing "with a flourish" my mind softly said to me, dancing wildly, and laughing unabashedly. The photos she told me she'd never developed for fear it would make her fall utterly and completely for me were now on my table four and half decades later. When had she developed and printed them? Had she looked at them with sadness or love or regret or longing? I had so many questions!

That's when it suddenly hit me. I had questions but no answers. And none would come. She, my Anna, was gone. Never a goodbye given or received, a lifetime in between then and now that, for me, has been filled with some happy moments and successes alongside life’s typical setbacks and mistakes. I've not lived an unhappy life, but I can admit now that I wasted much of it feeling lonely, bitter, and in a state of endless longing. Anna is no longer here.

"Make the kind ones suffer a bit more, huh, God, is that it?" I raise my eyes slightly upward then pound the table once quick and hard. I remove my glasses and wipe my hands across my face a few times. I haven't seen her in so many years and I'd resolved myself years ago to knowing I never would again. Yet knowing she's dead has brought on a new wave of shock and grief. Perhaps I never realized I just liked knowing that she was out there in the world, my Anna. My poem.

I sat down without any effort at grace and pulled the letter toward me on the table. Sure enough, the flap was open on the back side and I slid out the thin slip of paper.

Ellis,

My ever so serious love, I know that you must be reading this and feeling angry and confused. You must really despise me right now and I can't blame you, but please hear me out. You know I love you, right, Ellis? My Dad made us move up northeast for a new job he got. It's a really good opportunity and he and Mom are so excited about it. Me, I'm happy for them, but I need you to know I didn't want to leave, Ellis. I begged them to let me live with Marcy so I could stay here and be with you! They said no every time I asked. I begged them all summer. Mom finally said she knew I wanted to stay because of you and that this was just a silly thing between us and we'd move on. I haven't moved on, Ellis, I swear.

But now I'm here and I've started school. I've made a few girlfriends already who have been showing me around town. You'd hate it here! Remember when we were dreaming about moving to a bigger city and being part of the "it scene" wherever we went? This place is not an "it scene" whatsoever. It's boring, though it is very pretty in the fall. The leaves are all turning bright reds and oranges right now. With some color film, you and I could really take some far out photos together with the trees as our backdrop.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was moving away and that we didn't really say goodbye. You thought it was farewell for a time while I knew it was forever. I guess that wasn't fair but I just didn't know how else to do it. I wouldn't have been able to enjoy the last six weeks we had together if I treated it like it was the end, could you have? I figured it would have been torture for us both. So I just never told you and I did my best to pretend I was just packing for a long vacation and I'd be back in your arms before school started. I was surprised at how easy it was to make believe. I even started to believe it myself. I did what I thought was best even though it must’ve hurt when you realized I wasn’t coming back. My heart is broken, too.

I don't know what will happen, Ellis, and maybe you'll never want to speak to me again after how I treated you this summer. Maybe this is good for us somehow, you know? Get this last year of school out of the way undistracted and then we can meet up again and pick up with our plans for our future. I'll write you after graduation and if you still love me the way you did, we'll be reunited and never be apart again.

The day you told me my name was a poem, you brought new life and perspective into my world, Ellis Landry. I don't want to let that go. I'm glad you're an ember because that means you're always there, always able to blaze or put off a quiet, gentle heat. Don't let your warmth go out, my love. Embers are more important than the flame. All it takes is an ember to smolder (and you smolder plenty! ha!) and catch and bring warmth, life, opportunity, and light. This is what you've done for me. You brought me light and life and love.

I hope you'll keep the ember burning for me, Ellis, and I'll keep writing our poem. I'll write you in the summer.

Yours always,

Anna

I never received a letter the following summer, just like I never received this letter until today. If only she'd sent this one. Why hadn't she? How different my life would have been if she only had. More questions I'm unable to ask her.

I had moved immediately after graduating and my parents took off to sunny Florida to retire. If she ever did send the second letter, I'd never have gotten it. But if she didn't send the first, who's to say she sent the second, or even wrote it. It hardly matters now, I guess. I spent my entire life wondering why with no chance of getting a response. Social media is something I've avoided entirely so there wasn't opportunity for us to connect there and I can't fathom a more awkward and absurd way to reconnect with a long-lost love. How trite that sounds, long lost love. How trivial and insignificant. What we had was significant. It was deep and profound. We changed each other for the better. I became a kinder and more patient man with others because of what Anna taught me, she brought me out of my moody, protective shell and I knew what it felt like to be free and vulnerable and happy.

Anna talked of my warmth so often. Frankly, I didn't know that part of me existed until her, but she spotted it beneath my guarded exterior and fed the flame with her affection and devotion.

I've wasted 45 years on being a good and kind man to everyone but myself. Internally, I'm the frozen pond on my grandpa's farm: cold and desolate. Anna wrote that she hoped I'd never lose the warmth of my ember, but when she disappeared, it left with her. And now at least some of the answers I'd wanted for so long are resting in her handwriting in my hands. She knew I'd be tortured by the knowledge of her leaving, so kept it to herself to keep our last few weeks together wholly ours, untainted by the anticipation of it all coming to a close. She did what she thought was best, acting with reason and compassion always, even if misguided.

Anna has no more life in her to give or enjoy, but I do. I can't go on living the way I have. I can heed her hope and advice and nourish the ember within my heart, buried beneath the frozen waters. It's going to be a long thaw, but at least I can start the healing I've evaded for so long. Anna always believed in us, in me. She loved me, she always loved me. That's enough of a spark to nurture the ember within.