I go back...

I'm sure you've heard the Kenny Chesney song that shares the title of this post. I imagine a lot of people are like that...a song, a smell, something jogs your memory and suddenly, there you are, 5, 10, or 15 years in the past, reliving the memory like it was yesterday.

It happens to me all the time. Events in my life are inextricably tied to music. I'll hear a song, and suddenly I'm back in high school, or sitting in my bedroom in elementary school, or thrown into my dorm room in college.

I was sitting at my desk the other day, listening to iTunes as I was doing some work, and this Enya song came on. All of a sudden, I was remembering an intimate encounter I had in Kansas City some 18 years ago with a girl that I had fallen madly in love with while working at a summer camp.

She was the first girl to shatter my heart.

After my first (disastrous)year of college, in which I earned a 1.5 GPA, I decided I needed to get the hell out of dodge, and found several ads in the campus newspaper advertising summer camp jobs in Minnesota.

I got a job as a lifeguard at one up in the northern part of the state, and 2 weeks before I left to head up there, found out that I was going to be the Waterfront Director since the person they'd hired had decided not to come, and because I had WSI certification. None of that is really important, though, other than the fact that I had to go a week earlier than planned.

And that's when I met her.

When I first showed up, there were only six other people there, the other area directors, and the camp directors. The camp director's brother and niece were there too, and I found out that the niece would be a counselor at the camp for the summer.

At first, I was a little put off by her. She was quiet, and shy, and I was this raucous almost-20-year-old who was spending his first summer away from home. I hit it off right away with the other folks who were there, and I didn't really pay much attention to this shy, artsy girl from Iowa.

It wasn't until late in the first week, after we'd all be hanging around and getting to know each other, that I started to see things about her that I really liked.

At the time, I also had a sort-of girlfriend back home who was still in high school. I say sort of because we'd spent my entire senior year of high school dating, then were off and on during my first year of college, but we continued to have sex on a regular basis. When I'd left for Minnesota, I told her in no uncertain terms that I wasn't planning on being exclusive during the summer. But she loved me, and sent me care packages at camp every week (consisting of cookies and cigarettes).

So I started lightly flirting with the Artsy girl, and she flirted back. We started spending more time together, and it must've been the first or second weekend that we were up there, and we went on a hike one evening with a bunch of other people, up to the "art dome." By the time we got out to it, the sky had turned black, and the wind had kicked up.

We took cover in the art done with the other people we'd been hiking with, and the power went off. While we were sitting there, wet and cold, I felt someone wrap their arms around me from the back and start kissing my neck.

It was on. We melted into each others arms, and made out like...well, like horny teenagers. After the rain subsided, we went back to my cabin and spent the first of many nights together.

She was in art school, and was an outstanding artist. I fell madly in love with her, and she introduced me to a lot of cool things, and got me thinking about going to art school myself to pursue my love of photography. We spent the entire summer with each other, and when it was time to go back to reality, I longed for her every day. We spoke on the phone often, and I flew out to Kansas City (where she went to school) to see her. Then one day, a letter came in the mail. She was torn, she said. She had been hanging out with her old boyfriend at school, and she thought they were good together.

The day I got that letter, I was supposed to work at a new job I had started just a couple of weeks prior, delivering pizzas. I called in sick, hopped in my Chevette and took off for Kansas City. I was love struck, and determined to save our relationship with a Lloyd Dobler-esque show of love.

When I got to KC, she had figured out I was coming, and had left me a bunch of things on her porch (it was 4 or 5 AM). The first was a blank journal book, like the one that she wrote in. There was also some photo paper and some other things which obviously weren't as important to me in the grand scheme of things. But that journal. For the next 5 or 6 years, that journal would be my place to vent, my place to think, my place to sort out all of the things I was feeling. If blogs had been invented back in the early 90's I wouldn't have needed it, but I did. I used it up.

We spent that fall weekend together, and it was like one last glorious hurrah of our summer, and then it was over. I made plans to come back a few weeks later for a portfolio day, to have my portfolio reviewed in preparation for me to go to art school, but by then, things had fallen apart.

I actually did make the trip back, despite it being over. I didn't want to accept it, and I thought I could make her see the light. It wasn't to be. I was an intruder in her house, and on top of it all, I got sick, bronchitis, and she didn't even bother to help me get to the hospital. It felt, the whole weekend, like someone was standing on my chest, and she didn't care. She simply gave me directions and told me to drive myself. That's when I knew. That's when my heart truly broke.

And I'll be honest with you. It's never been the same. Sure, I had other girlfriends that I was romantic with, that I did special things for, but something inside of me changed. I stopped being such a sappy romantic. I protected myself, my heart, from being broken. I became more skeptical, more cynical. I stopped dreaming about art school, and started thinking about the harsh reality that was facing me.

I was 20. I had dropped out of college. I was working 3 jobs and barely making enough to get by. I had to get my shit together.

So I did. Eventually, I let myself open up enough to get my heart broken again, but nothing is ever as bad as the first time. You think, when you're young and dumb, that it's going to last forever. That love will overcome. That you're invincible. That it can be like it is in the movies.

But it isn't. You have to face reality.

So I told you all of that to tell you this: I've honestly never gotten over her. There's this song by Christine Lavin called "The kind of love you never recover from" and that's kind of how I feel. I've googled her off and on throughout the years, never really finding anything substantial, and probably being better off for it.

So I was taken aback when I heard that Enya song, and I decided to visit google again. Then, suddenly, there she was. On Facebook (because, really, who isn't today?). I could tell it was her in the picture, even though the picture wasn't great.

My hands were shaking. What should I do? Friend her? Ignore it? Write to her? I decided on the latter. Just a short note, I thought. Not too much detail. She's married now, as I could tell from the name. Let her know that I was married, that I have kids, that I'm still doing photography. Ask her who she's kept in touch with from camp. That was it. Click send.

That was almost two weeks ago.

I don't know what I really expected. We didn't leave on the best of terms, but I thought I might at least get a note back from her. Maybe she doesn't get on Facebook that often. Maybe she just doesn't want to have anything to do with me.

And really? Why should I care so much about it? And yet, I do.