Sharon and Shakespeare

We all grew up, and occasionally Mike would pursue Sharon. Before he left for the Navy, he drove to see her once or twice. I felt more than a little like Cyrano de Bergerac coaching him, from her sister’s names to her favorite color. No Romeo and Juliet, no Shakespeare here, let alone Edmond Rostand.. Yet I suppose that Mike paid the price—the dinner that her Mom fixed was a dish that he absolutely detested. Yet, to his credit, he ate it like a man.

A year or two later, I was taking the bus to visit my girlfriend—another girl that I had met when we were both counselors. Perhaps one day I’ll write about “Dana”. But I found that I had a long layover in the city near Sharon’s home. Just on an odd chance, since we were still writing, I called Sharon. I was pleased and a little surprised when she immediately told me that she would drive up to see me.

We ended up spending a couple of hours together, wandering downtown. I’ll always remember her face when she showed me the stuffed bear store just off the skywalk. It was a great day. Perhaps I even confessed, from the safety of another relationship, that I had liked her, all of those years ago.

Well, more time passed, and I finally transferred from junior college to the big university. I have to admit that of my three finalists, I selected this one simply because Sharon was there. And so this begins the final chapter of the saga of Sharon.

I arrived at the University for a visit before I enrolled, around my 22^nd birthday. It was late November, or early December, and I was staying with my cousin for the long weekend. After a day visiting with Professors and advisers, I called Sharon, hoping that she wasn’t out on a date. We hadn’t written in a bit, but my adviser at the junior college had attended Iowa State, and found her phone number and address with a phone call.

Sharon was pleased to hear from me, and invited me over. We ended up spending a couple of hours in the basement of her dorm as Sharon did laundry. She told me about her boyfriend (rats), and I told her about my plans. It was a really nice evening, there in that bare, bricked old laundry room.

I arrived for school in January, entirely unprepared for what I was getting into. Sharon was on the back of my mind, and eventually I called her. We sat in her cramped dorm and talked for a couple of hours. I was dismayed to find that she had broken up with her boyfriend of December, and was now seeing someone else. I had missed the opportunity of the interval!

Funny, she talked about how her then-boyfriend was a former wrestler, and very jealous. I wasn’t sure whether she was saying that as a good thing, or bad.

Not learning my lesson, weeks passed. Valentine’s Day approached, and I badly wanted to remember Sharon, once in my life. Yet I also remembered the "hulking and jealous wrestler”, and was apprehensive about doing so.

Finally, being the ninny that I am (or, was), I paid one of the guys on my dorm floor to go to a florist and send Sharon a rose anonymously. All right, so that was a bit…convoluted, even for me. I relaxed when he finally returned with the receipt.

A day or two later I got up my courage, and called Sharon. She invited me over when she was free, and as I walked into her room, I casually glanced at her dresser. Which held three single roses in vases. Huh.

With a bit more poise, I could have made a comment as to how popular she was. At the time, startled, I didn’t say anything—and as we talked Sharon didn’t mention any “secret admirer”. My, was I a gutless wonder.

But of course, the story hardly ends with Valentine's Day.