In 1986 I came from the advertising department of Stewart’s Department Store in Louisville Ky., to L.S. Ayres in Indianapolis. Some time after that, I met a young lady, a graphic designer who worked in the advertising department with me. She was — and is still — a thoughtful, lively and creative mind. But I was a new manager in the department, and full of hubris. I walked by her cubicle one day, and upon seeing the project concept she was developing, told her, “That will never fly.” I was wrong, and she teased me about that error for years afterward.
In 1993, after having been disgorged by the parent corporation, I was hired by Famous-Barr in St. Louis. The artist who had become my friend offered me a place to stay when I moved there. My tenancy in her apartment was short, but we became even better friends. She let me borrow her car to take my children to and from school when they suddenly came to St. Louis to live with their father; I was able to provide her with temporary living quarters when her first marriage slid off the rails.
It was during her temporary homestead with me that she met a man. (I have always believed that it was through an online dating site, but I do know that the Internet was involved.) She introduced the man to me — I am her friend, after all and she was living with me — and the three of us would communicate through Instant Messages. At some point, my friend decided that he was not going to fly, and I groaned.
“He has my e-mail! He’s going to stalk you, through me!” And I did get e-mails from the man, imploring me to advocate for him, to convince my friend to continue to see him. I told him that she was my best friend and I did not know him; I could not make his case for him. I don’t know what happened, and the details are unimportant to me; the man stayed, constant and diligent and loving. My friend moved into her own place, and later, I drove to Arkansas to attend her wedding to that man she’d met. I imagine that he had stepped on an “ILB” — “Improvised Love Bomb” — and she was engulfed in the blowback; the fragments are still buried in both their hearts.
That man loved my friend when she most needed it; he made his case and waited for her to see him. I would love him for no other reason than that, and I have added him to my list of friends. When I still lived in St. Louis, he would arrange to visit with me when he was there on business. I like the person he is, outside of the person he becomes in concert with my friend. The man and my friend have increased their union, and the two now live in the state of New York with their young son.
Perhaps Alan Dugan wrote the poem, “Love Song: I and Thou,” for that man. The last lines are: “I can nail my left palm/ to the left-hand crosspiece but/ I can’t do everything myself./ I need a hand to nail the right,/ a help, a love, a you, a wife.”
Recently, my friend made a very public statement about what she feels for that man: “15 years ago … I went on my first date with my best friend.” It is important that we should believe in love, as he did, and accept love, as she did, and indeed — it will fly.