Another note went in the box with Shane’s stuff. I got a little gushy in that one, telling him again how much I treasured the chance interlude, hoped we would stay in touch and maybe even get together again some day. I even put quotation marks around “get together,” drew two crude, semi-pornographic stick figures and signed it with a lipstick kiss.
I was going to address the packages in long hand, but Richie told me he would have the p.o. print mailing labels since my handwriting was so bad.
My flight arrived home ahead of the package, which came the next day. Imagine my surprise when I opened it to find a bunch of man’s clothes along with my note to Shane. Richie, or the base postal people who printed the addresses, must have confused the packages and mixed up the labels. I repackaged Shane’s stuff, updated the note with an apology for the confusion and the delay, and sent it off again.
Next afternoon another box came in the mail, containing my clothes. They had all been freshly laundered and packed neatly. There was a nice note from Shane stating he was a little befuddled upon opening the package, expecting his clothes, only to find a lot of woman’s underwear; until he saw my note to Mother and figured a mix-up had taken place.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he added in the note, “but I was a little turned on by your used panties because they carried your scent, and I even hated to wash them since it took that away. Let that German psycho-guy Freud read anything he wants into that, but I hope we continue to stay in touch and perhaps someday get together for a drink or something. I sure wouldn’t mind the ‘something.’ Oh, Brian said to include his regards for you and Michelle. Love, Shane.” He enclosed a picture of himself and Brian, both smiling with their thumbs up.
I wrote back, thanking him for returning my laundered undergarments and for his nice sentiments. I kept his note and still have it. We exchanged a few more letters over the years — Shane wrote when he put a down payment on a ranch and some time later enclosing a flier for his horse training business, and again when he found a new girlfriend. I wrote him when I got a job in journalism and reunited with Dan a few months after the road trip, once again after eloping with Dan a year later, and then again upon the birth of our daughter.
In his last letter, Shane announced he too was getting married, and apologized for not sending me an invitation, but it would make his bride uncomfortable. She had seen my letters, and he had informed her of the chance meeting a few years before. She was an old fashioned girl, and asked that he break off the correspondence, and upon reflection he figured that was probably better for both of us. It had tapered off anyway as the roads of our lives continued to diverge.
“But you will always hold a special place in my heart,” he wrote. “I owe you a debt I can never repay for having boosted my spirits and sense of self-worth at a low point, and I will always remember you fondly.” That was so sweet. I wrote back a brief note that I felt the same, wishing him and his bride all the best in coming years — the usual stuff.
Reflecting back, I realize that what I loved most about Shane was not his expertise as a lover. It was his firm but low-key sense of direction — a leadership style not relying on ego, smugness or sarcasm, but based on mutual respect and consideration for the other person’s feelings.
For years I kept his story to myself. I started this narrative because I was irritated by my husband Dan’s smug dismissal of my navigation abilities, and wanted to show him I have navigated fairly well in life, making the best of any wrong turns. By the time I finished writing, I had calmed down.
I still love Dan and do not intend this to upset him, just to deflate that superior driver’s seat ego a little. Since we were split up at the time of these events, this is not a story about an “indiscretion,” and he should be sophisticated enough to handle it. It may even turn him on a little. If he doesn’t stumble across it in the near future, I may present him with a printed copy.
Dan and I have been together several years now. The road I took during the time we were apart may have been a different one and a less direct one, but not necessarily the wrong one. It was just a nice detour, dirty laundry and all.