I’m not sure if we should blame Hollywood for our quest to reunite with long lost loves or if it has something to do with weeding out the stupid people via natural selection. Either way, I went for it.
His name was Devon, we met in high school and he had surfer hair. Obviously we were in love.
Unfortunately for Devon, I was too cool for school back then. After some very intense flirtation in creative writing class and a daily routine of having him walk me to my locker for two years, I blew him off by disappearing from the face of the planet– I withdrew from school, graduated through a local university, and was never heard from again by anyone.
The problem was, I never stopped thinking about Devon.
2 YEARS LATER…
I’m still carrying that crush well into my freshman year of college, when I run into him at a cafe:
I walk in the door– He looks up– we have a moment. It’s very “Pride and Prejudice” and full of silent tension.
He approaches, a look of wonder and disbelief upon his face.
“I heard you died. Someone said you were in a car accident on Westbrooke.”
Instead of asking why he didn’t bother coming to my funeral, like a normal person, I say nothing– turn on my heel– and bolt for the door.
ANOTHER 2 YEARS LATER…..
I sit smugly on the first day of my “Fall of The Roman Empire” class as we take turns listing our favorite movie as a “get to know you” exercise. I say “Royal Tenenbaums” and go back to drawing on my desk with a pencil. Then I hear a deep surfer-like voice behind me.
I swivel in my chair to meet this person with excellent cinematic tastes.
It’s Devon. He looks at me with a cold and vacant stare–I slowly swivel back to face the front–He drops the class and is not seen again.
ANOTHER 2 YEARS LATER, I KID YOU NOT………
I’m in the midst of a post-concussion phase of life where I’m toying with the thought of becoming an alcoholic instead of facing my issues. That’s when I have a brilliant idea:
“I SHOULD FIND DEVON AND APOLOGIZE TO HIM FOR HOW I’VE BEEN SUCH AN ASS!”
I send an e-mail– never get a reply–drink some wine and forget about it.
5 MONTHS LATER…………………………..
I’ve just booked a one-way flight to China and am preparing to vacate my life as I know it.
But then I got an e-mail– From Devon–“Want to grab a drink?”
We pick and time and place and then I do what any reasonable girl does when facing the prospect of reuniting with a long lost love:
I google him.
Shleisel and I try to find out everything we can. In his email he said he was finishing up his Master’s in History and planning to move to Portland. I was pretty sure that meant I would be moving to Portland, where we would have surfer-hair babies with a fondness for time gone past.
There was only one problem– I’m a master of the cyber stalk and everything I found in my diggings showed that he was still an undergrad in the midst of his sophomore year.
Regardless, it was going to be love.
We planned to meet at 2PM–I told Shleisel I’d be back by 4PM so we could go shopping. I’d already canceled my cell phone because of my impending departure so she was planning to meet me at her place. I figured 2 hours was enough time to make my peace and get some closure. Or fall in love, either way.
2PM: I arrive at the bar– we exchange an awkward hug. He has sheered his surfer mane and looks less like “Devon the Dreamboat” and more like Devon the Douchebag.” But I shake it off. Because Love is blind.
3PM: We’ve had a couple beers– Devon doesn’t ask about my upcoming trip to China but tells me that he’s also “really into traveling.” I ask him where he’s been and he says “Oh, you know, basically everywhere.” I press for more details and he mumbles something like “New Orleans last Spring.”
5PM: He tells me how he’s going to work for the government but can’t share details. I want to roll my eyes but I’ve had too much to drink and am afraid I might fall out of my chair.
6PM: I ask him why exactly the government is into hiring spies who have masters degrees in History.
9PM: I tell him I’m pretty sure he’s a liar because I looked him up and he’s not in grad school. I ask him a valid question: “WHY ARE ALL MEN SUCH LIARS?!”
10PM: We are still drunkenly debating his education:
Devon The Douche Bag: If you don’t believe me, I’ll take you to Harris Hall and show you my office!”
Drunk Aussa: “Lies!”
Devon The Douche Bag: “I’m very impressive blah blah blah.”
Drunk Aussa: “Lies!”
11PM: We get in his car, supposedly to go to his office, but end up at another bar a few streets over. At this point, I make another confession:
“My friend and I already went to Harris Hall– We looked up all the Graduate Students and their offices and YOU DON’T HAVE ONE.”
He stares at me in a way that says “I wish you had died in a car crash and you’re not cool enough to like Wes Anderson movies.”
10 Hours Later:
I wake up in a bed with blue plaid sheets. My head hurts. I sit up and there is a hand written note taped to a massive TV at the foot of the bed.
“You are at Devons house.
You are okay.
I am on the couch.
There is water by the bed.”
I stumble into the living room, where he’s watching The History Channel– go figure.
“We couldn’t find your friend’s house last night,” he explains.
“Sorry I called you a liar,” I whisper.
He drives to where my car is parked and stays silent as I gather my stuff and thank him for not leaving me passed out in a vacant lot. He mumbles something that is probably a variant of “die in a car crash” and then speeds away.
I guess that’s one way to get closure.
Have you ever attempted to reunite with a long lost love? Has a former Dreamboat ended up being a current Douchebag? And what’s the deal with closure–is it even worth pursuing?
Want to keep in touch? Drop your email below and I'll send you FULL POSTS anytime I write something new. Only want to know book news? Get on the list here.