True_Love

True Love I was once told that crying cleanses the soul but if truth be told it never does. I’ve been weeping for going on a century and still have a soul with the resemblance of the undercarriage of a Jeep Wrangler. To have the world as I know change as fast the tires on a racecar during a routine pit stop is more than a few shed tears can cure. There are some wounds that never fully heal no matter how well treated medically. Losing my first love Josephine changed me mentally physically and emotionally, it would any man even the toughest. I first spotted her near the bread aisle of the neighborhood supermarket after she had managed to knock over the pyramid shaped display of canned soup. At first glance she seemed like nothing more than a gawky teenage girl unsure of her list of purchases. I contemplated on just pushing the red basket full of ingredients for my mom’s famous meatloaf right past her. “Let me get those for you,” I said as I shuffled over grabbing two cans in both hands. “Thanks, I’m Josie by the way,” she replied. I arose meeting her hazel colored eyes and was lost for what seemed like eternity. Taken by her beauty I dropped a can of soup on my right foot, bunny hopped and simultaneously dropped the rest. “Robert, it’s nice to meet you,” I said through clenched teeth struggling to gain my composure. This chick was tall fair skinned with Marilyn Monroe black curls, shaping her face in the most profound way, heightening each dimple and high cheek bone. The white poodle on her black free flowing skirt matched her ruffled shirt to perfection. Lastly the classic black chocker that draped her neck seemed to pair the brooch sitting right above her heart. We were inseparable from that moment on although we were raised at opposite sides of the earth pole ends. Josie, like every other family that fit the American status quo had parents who were very well endowed. An only child, her mother stayed home cooking, cleaning and maintaining the household leaving her with few chores and an early curfew. Her father work as a switchboard operator for Bell Telephone (now AT&T) and played his breadwinner role inexplicably. She was always provided an allowance to buy new Chuck Taylors and school lunches fit for a queen. Our friends joked that we could never guess Josie was born with a silver spoon in her mouth by the she way act, never letting her head swell over materialistic things. I, on the other hand looked after my younger sister Patricia, milked the cows, taking care of the land, and cleaning the house daily. My mom picked up a job as receptionist for a local radio station after my father began struggling to pay the mortgage. My older brother Joseph, who was a senior in high school, not only swept up at several car dealerships, but also took Polaroid’s for the local Negro paper to help manage the bills. It seemed no matter how hard any of them worked, we stayed living below our means. Saving money where we could and accepting any ole hand me downs from whomever were kind enough to offer. Josie and I spent every second of our days together planning our lives as a married couple. Our ceremony would include flying white doves and an entrance by a horse drawn carriage. The reception we would fill with our closest family and friends playing all the love songs of the 20th century enjoying every minute. We planned our living arrangements, the names of our three girls and every detail in between. I was convinced we would be together forever. In our teens, we were still considered too young to date and decided to hide in my father’s Cadillac Coupe de Ville and were caught doing the back seat bingo (kissing). Mrs. Jones, one of our many talkative neighbors, spotted us while walking up the driveway to the front door. At first, when she began flipping her lid I was unsure whether it was from being disgusted or happy to find the tea she would pour to everyone on the block. “What in the hell has possessed you two to act so unpleasantly,” she screamed opening the car door with Wonder Woman strength. “You don’t understand! We love each other.” I responded while we hurriedly got up and out the car. Mrs. Jones grabbed us both by our ears and began dragging us toward my front door. “Obviously neither of you truly love yourselves,” she hissed. “If you did you wouldn’t run around acting like hoodlums.” She reached the door and melodramatically blabbed the news to my mom, who shared it with my father, leaving him feeling compelled to discuss it with her dad, who broke the news to her mom. Almost a week had gone by and I hadn’t heard from Josie at all. My mom explained to me that our behavior was wrong and was not only unacceptable but had dire consequences. I tried on every occasion to explain to my mom that it was only a kiss, its not like we were goosing why was every one so upset over nothing. I hoped she would see the sincerity in my words and come to forgive my mistake, but I could tell by the disappointed look in her eyes, that she would never forget the shame I had caused her. It was the next day that I was told Josie had been sent to Texas and would be living with her aunt from now on. It turns out her father was very unpleased with finding out his precious angel was anything but. To hear that she had practically been disowned shattered what was left of my very fragile heart. It has been 75 years since I last seen the Jefferson’s and lost the one person who meant the absolute world to me. Since then I’ve come to finally understand the raw words that Mrs. Jones spat at us on that epic day. If we truly loved ourselves we could’ve foreseen the consequences of our carless actions and thought twice about trying to grow up too fast. There are certain things young children should stray away from especially if disapproved by grown ups. If not the consequences may be far too much to bear.