Do not think I meant to be deceitful and slip away. I never held the torches of a bridegroom, Never entered upon the part of marriage. If Fate permitted me to spend my days By my own lights, and make the best of things According to my wishes, first of all I should look after Troy and the loved relics Left me of my people . . . But now it is the rich Italian land Apollo tells me I must make for: ItalyVirgil
The Aeneid
Book IV
Maturity came late for me. I wouldn't believe anyone else who says they married the most beautiful woman they had ever known. It is true for me. But then it took me until I was almost 28 years of age to finally meet this someone. Until then the archetype of my childhood had been Margaret DeMent. A vision. A dark eyed, dark haired, olive complected icon. And I betrayed her.
I had an absolute crush on Margaret from when I first met her in second grade. At first I admired her from afar. She was the first girl I ever bought a gift for, although I didn't have the courage to give it to her until a long time later. It was a gold heart on a necklace. The heart opened up and was perfumed inside. I had sent a certain amount of money and certain number of Bazooka bubble gum wrappers away for it. I ordered something else as well so that when the package came in the mail mom and dad wouldn't know what I was up to. Theoretically boys and girls aren't interested in each other at that age. Theoretically.
Margaret became my most intimate friend, the first one I talked to about being seven years old and the purposefulness of still believing in Santa Claus for our parents' sake. The lovely Margaret. The only girl of my preadolescence that I ever put my arm around. Once.
I was true to her for what seemed years, even after we moved across town, up until the twins, the VanSandts, and sixth grade. More than I could possibly tell anyone, I missed her when we moved. Rarely if ever seeing her. Then I became quite sick with an illness that lasted long enough for my mother to become particularly worried. When it finally seemed that I might be well enough to have a friend over, perhaps even to go outside, my mother startled me by asking if there was any particular friend I would like to have over? My mind reeled. I had been fantasizing a visit from Margaret on what might be my death bed (although I didn't really think I was all that sick). I told my mother that I thought that having a friend over might be fun and after some hemming and hawing wondered what she thought about bringing Margaret over? I could scarcely believe it when she called Margaret's mom and made the arrangements. Two days later. I was both excited and nervous. This just wasn't something that happened to boys my age. And I hadn't even had to ask Margaret. She was just coming. It was arranged. I could scarcely maintain my veneer of cool.
She arrived. Perfect. And I couldn't handle it. I didn't know what to talk about, what to play, what to do. Whether it was good luck, bad luck, or both, Carl, who lived on a farm down the road, who rarely walked all the way down to our house, happened to show up, with Rob, whom I ordinarily wasn't allowed to play with (and as if to prove my mother's judgment was right, he was the boy who had introduced Carl and me to dirty jokes and the "F" word) and they both asked me if I wanted to go down to the creek and cherry orchard with them. And I went. Without Margaret. I just left Margaret there in the yard. And I didn't have any fun with Carl and Rob. I thought only of Margaret. And when I returned home she was gone. And my mother asked me why I had asked her to go to all the trouble of picking up Margaret only to abandon her like that (she probably didn't use the word "abandon" but that was the gist of the idea,) and I didn't have the foggiest idea why, unless it was because I still had Rome to build.