Montezuma Pass

Jeff and I had chatted online for a long time, over a year, maybe two. At the time we were both involved with someone else, so it remained just chat, though the chat always made me laugh. He told me the dirtiest, most disgusting joke I have ever heard. There was a strong mind behind all the banter. And we seemed to be compatible in the bedroom.

It came to pass that we were both available. Jeff was a decorated veteran of the second Iraq war, was leaving the military in a couple months, had some free time, and asked if he could fly to Seattle in mid-May for the weekend to get some time in a civilized part of the US.

When he landed that Friday night, the connection was instantaneous. If this were a movie, at this point a montage with sappy music would show us holding hands doing goofy things seeing the sights of Seattle (even though some homophobic homeless person yelled at us). Jeff was especially amazed by the statue of Lenin that sits in the Seattle neighborhood known as the people's republic of Fremont.




The weekend was so magical, that when he left, I knew I had to see him again, and soon. So I arranged to fly two weeks later to southeastern Arizona where he was stationed, Fort Huachuca in the town of Sierra Vista.

When I landed in Tucson, he met me at the airport in his full battle dress uniform. I could barely walk he was so damned handsome. The magic from the first weekend continued that weekend. He took me to Bisby, AZ, an old mining town now gentrified into a tourist destination. We hopped into a Mexican border town for a couple of hours, and then headed back to Sierra Vista.

Jeff fed me at this steak house in the middle of nowhere, or it seemed like it to me. Apparently it had been owned by a gay couple, one of whom was a drag queen, but it had been recently sold to new, more traditional owners.

After a great dinner, it was starting to get dark, but Jeff said, "I have one more place to take you." We started driving south, almost back to the border, it seemed. The road got rougher and rougher, finally turning to a dirt road that climbed and climbed, taking several switchbacks finally arriving at Montezuma pass national monument, at over 6500 ft.

The sun was a blazing ball of fire, and a desolate desert valley opened to the west, burning red from the sun. Jeff took me in his arms, and said, "I know it's way early, but I'm falling in love with you."

A tear came to my eyes, and I replied "I'm falling for you too."

If this was a movie, the helicopter filming the shot would take off and swoop around the pass as we embraced, the sun setting in the distance, the camera flaring as it pointed directly into the sun.



It was the most romantic moment of my life, shot in glorious Technicolor.

This was not a movie, however. It ended a couple months later. I still don't fully know why, but I have some pretty good ideas. Jeff was in transition, leaving the army, going back to school in the midwest. There was an age difference, and we were facing a long-distance relationship. Mostly, I'm sure he saw aspects of my personality or some bad habits that simply turned him off (email me for the list, as it's too long even for a blog).

A month after my trip to Arizona he flew to Seattle for the 4th of July weekend. As soon as I met him at the airport, it was clear he had grown distant. Something had happened, but I didn't know exactly what. I tried to create as magical a time as we had in Arizona. A friend of mine owned a multi-million dollar home on a lake at Whistler. The house was empty and amazing. We mountain biked on the trails, canoed on the lake, ate too much, fooled around in the bedroom, but it was not the same.

By the end of the weekend, I'll never forget, I finally said, "Jeff, you're about to engage in an amazing new chapter of your life. Whatever happens, I wish you all the best."

The wave of relief that flowed over his face was palpable. It was so sad for me, but I was happy to show him my love the best way I could, by letting him go.

We continued to talk on the phone regularly, but by September, when he was in college, he stopped calling as frequently. After I hadn't heard from him in several days, I called him, pissed off, and confronted him. Mistake. That's the last I ever heard from him. I emailed him a couple of times and tried to chat with him when I saw him online, but all I got was silence. It sure hurt like hell. It still hurts. I still see him online sometimes.

If you're reading this Jeff, I hope you're doing great. I'm OK too.  I don't understand why you couldn't have just simply told me, "I'm sorry it didn't work out. I wish you all the best." 

I'm sorry it didn't work out. I wish you all the best.

As Bob Hope says, thanks for the memories.

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Update

A very tiny miracle occurred this Christmas. I was fiddling with my iPhone, and turned on my chat program. Jeff was online. I debated whether or not to send a simple "Merry Christmas." I expected it would be unwelcome, but, then again, in the spirit of the holidays, I wanted to send him good wishes. By the time I made up my mind, he had signed out, but I sent the greeting anyway.

The next morning, I was amazed to see an email in my inbox from Jeff. Yes, he was annoyed that I contacted him. But he also said some beautifully kind things, about how he respected me, offering condolences about the recent loss of my Dad, and wishing me happy new year. Evidently, Jeff had read this blog. The internet is impressive.

I wrote him back, with profound thanks. It was beyond wonderful to get some closure. It was all I ever wanted; I was not looking to restart a romance. There was far too much water under the bridge for that.

It's been a couple of days now, and Jeff, not surprisingly, did not respond, and that's fine. I get it. Jeff is more of a don't-look-back kind of guy when it comes to things like this. I am different in that I generally, though not always, maintain ties with the guys I have dated. Some people like vanilla ice cream, some people like chocolate.

If this were a movie, it reminds me of the final scene of the "The Way We Were," a movie which is a known cause of hypoglycemia. The character played by Barbra Streisand runs into an old flame, played by Robert Redford. The scene is almost wordless, the scene purposely played awkwardly, filled with sadness for what used to be. Streisand reaches up and touches Redford's cheek, with a tear in her eye, clearly knowing that they can't go back. 

Of course I won't contact Jeff again, but there is a permanent soft spot in my heart that he created. My hand in friendship will always be extended to him.

Jeff, live long and prosper. You deserve it.