Memories of Times Past

59cd1f962442c34f6e94fc32a2d5b38aAfter an earlier post about a month ago concerning my military days in an AF band — Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell — I really immersed myself in some delightful recollections. The person I mentioned in the post, David D******, and I had a relatively long term relationship for military guys. We normally had two-year assignments. As it so happens we were even planning on deserting, heading to Canada to earn and save money with the ultimate destination of Amsterdam. Don’t ask! For the life of me I can’t remember why that was our goal.

Regardless, my point being that this was a substantial affair. I’m glad we never followed through, though. Now I live off a military retirement check! Besides, how big a call is there for a bassoonist in Amsterdam? Organ, yeah, he could have gotten work. Hmmm, I could have become a housewife!

I did an internet search and actually came up with an e-mail address for him. God, you just gotta love the web. And Google.

My name is different. I didn’t know who might see his email. Who knows how his life could have changed since I knew him. So I e-mailed him and identified myself in the body of the mail by our past assignments, travel, certain incidents (non-sexual) that only he and I would know about. He knew who I was unless he had sustained a brain injury. I also said my name was different and I would explain if he contacted me back.

For several days I was on pins and needles. I can’t tell you how many times a day I check my yahoo mail. Nothing. I was bummed. I really would have liked to touch base, just catch up with him, see how his life was. Nothing more.

His title should have given me warning — he is now Rev. David D******, Minister of Music.

Too bad. I wasn’t expecting to pick up where we left off. I just wanted to say ‘hey’. I bet he hasn’t forgotten the handjob I gave him as he sat at the organ practicing Bach for a performance at that church that very night! I even carried his damn patent leather shoes in for him (organists wear special shoes for working the pedals). (By the way, I do remember that his playing was flawless, never missed a note, even while he squirted on the keyboard! I also remember the panic trying to clean it off!! Haha.)

The morale of this story: you just can’t go back. Especially after a change like I went through. You can only go forward. Still. I like looking back on occasion. After all, my past is what made me. My love for him helped solidify exactly who I am. Well, that and a few years on a shrink’s couch, but that’s another reflection for another day.

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