Chapter 4: Ten Years Apart May 1985 - May 1995

May 1985 — May 1995 The Years Apart by Darryl Sanders

Thank God, Grandma Kedrick was with me when I got that note. I found out later that the note actually was given to Robyn, who didn't want the responsibility. When Grandma offered to deliver the note, Robyn gratefully accepted. Neither knew what the note said, but they both knew it was bad news. The entire town knew that Courtney and her family had disappeared overnight. The local gossip was that Mr. Archer had deserted his family to run off with a girl from work, not much older than his daughter. Furthermore, he had emptied their bank accounts and left his wife and daughter penniless, forcing them to move before the next month's rent was due. Nobody had any idea where they'd gone.

Grandma held me while I cried shamelessly. Finally I asked her, "Grandma, I don't want to loose her, what can I do?"

"I don't think there is anything you can do. It's a big world out there; I don't think you will find her unless she wants you to. They didn't leave an address because I think her Dad owed a lot of money. You can't file a missing person report with the police; she's with her mom; you're just a boy friend. No, as hard as it is, I think you have to do what she asks: nothing."

"It's very hard. We had all these dreams together."

"I know it's hard. And don't let go of those dreams quite yet. She still knows how to find you. Sometimes things in life are not as completely hopeless as they seem. Maybe she and her mother will find a way to get their lives back on track sooner than they think. They are both very capable women. Give her a year. Go on with your life, but keep a space open for her that one year. If you haven't heard from her by then, the best thing you can do is take her advice, and move on. Cherish the memories, but let the dreams go."

"I know you're right, and I'll try, but it won't be easy to let go of the dreams. You know she wrote a song for me. I wake up every morning, and I hear her sing my song. You've heard that voice, Grandma. How can I forget her as long as I hear that song in my head every day?"

"I don't know; perhaps the song will fade."

"Perhaps, I guess we'll see. Not like I have any choice. What do you think I should do now?"

"Darryl, you are like our own grandson, and you are welcome to stay here anytime. But I think that staying here this summer would be too painful. If we hear from Courtney, we'll call you. Otherwise, I think you'd be better off at home, but I insist you at least stay overnight, and until I think you are emotionally ready to drive safely."

"Thank you, I think you're right, and I'll plan to leave tomorrow morning.

The next morning I sat on the dock by myself, watching the sunrise over the lake. I thought about the many other sunrises I had shared with Courtney. I remembered the eight-year-old girl kissing my cheek and promising to marry me. I could still feel that kiss. I remembered the budding musician singing me the song she'd written for me. I remembered a newly emerging woman asking me to help her explore this new world with her. And I remembered (was it really only a week ago?) a lover explaining why we had not lost our virginity, and why we would this day. Oh, wouldn't we both like a chance to redo that night, when we let little fears get in the way of the great truth of our love.

But life doesn't always give second chances and we didn't get one. I sat there on that dock but it didn't feel like the same place without her. The most important part was missing, and all that was left were the colors of the sunrise and that haunting song in my mind ... I've stretched and grown,

Spread my wings and flown,

I can stand on my own,

Thanks to you...

I got up, walked to my car and drove away. I had no idea that this would be my last visit. About a year later, Grandma Kedrick was diagnosed with an aggressive form of ovarian cancer and was dead in a matter of months. Paw died about six months after that of unspecified heart trouble. Those of us who knew him knew that a broken heart was the trouble. Life without his wife just wasn't worth it. I would have attended the funerals, but there weren't any. The Kedricks had always joked that they weren't going to host any parties they couldn't attend. At least, everyone thought it was a joke, until it turned out it was actually written in their wills. The lake house was sold, and I never saw it again.

While I never saw them again, I never forgot them, and it turned out they didn't forget me. I graduated college with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, ready to pursue a career in photography. At graduation after greetings from my parents, friends and family, a striking rugged-looking stranger in an Australian Akubra hat stepped up to me. With a friendly open smile, he introduced himself. "Howdy, Darryl, my name's James McNicol. Congratulations on your degree. I am a photographer, too, mostly for National Geographic."

"I know your work, Mr. McNicol; we studied it at school, but I don't understand why you're here."

"First, call me James; all my friends do, and we're going to be friends. I'm here because two of the finest people that ever lived, the Kedricks, believed in me years ago when no one else did. They got me started in photography; without them, there is no way you would have been studying my work in school. They also believed in you. They set up this graduation present before they passed away and your family has graciously given me a few minutes to present it."

"They were very special people and I still miss them so much but it's hard to believe they would be that thoughtful. What did they do?"

"It's in my jeep; you'll have to come with me. Bring your family, too."

We all walked over to his jeep where he opened the back and pulled out a set of brand new camera bags. "I picked this out for you myself; I think you'll like it. Take a look inside."

I opened the bags and stood there stunned, I found a complete professional package of two Nikon F4 camera bodies, then in their first year of production and well out of reach of new graduates. Along with the camera bodies was a complete suite of lenses, filters, flash units and every accessory a well-equipped professional photographer could wish for. The package was so well chosen that I was several years into my career before I spent the first penny on equipment. I turned around with tears in my eyes. "I am completely overwhelmed; what an incredible gift!"

"Well actually, there is a wee bit more to it," said James, almost with embarrassment.

"More? What? I can't imagine what more could there be."

"They also wanted to include some training, so you get me. I have a cabin in the mountains, and I want you to be my guest for a week. We'll go shooting everyday. All types of subjects. At the end, If I'm successful, I'll probably find you my most dangerous competition. You can come next week, if it's convenient."

For a week of one-on-one with James McNicol, I made damn sure it was convenient. I learned more in that week than in four years of college. We shot everything from wildlife to nudes. We spent hours in the darkroom. He was a tough teacher but patient and fair. It was also the beginning of a lifelong friendship, as well as a fruitful professional association. James would often refer clients to me, if he was going to be away, and I did my best to make sure they were very pleased with my work. With the education, the training, the equipment and the contacts, my career took off, and I was soon making a more than comfortable living, while being able to pick and choose the jobs I wanted. My professional life was going nowhere but up.

My personal life was going nowhere at all. I never heard from Courtney, and while I took grandma's advice and tried to move on, it was proving harder than it sounded. Not that I was still a virgin. I finally gave in to the charms of a determined young lady who to this day, believes I was joking about my virginity. It was certainly a far from unpleasant experience. As they say, for a guy, any sex is better than no sex. Was it anything like I believe that night at the lake could have been? No, not even close. As the years went by, I learned that with most of the women I met, if we had more than a few dates, they'd start looking for some degree of emotional commitment. This I just couldn't offer. Not as long as I heard that song in my head, and so far, it showed no sign of fading.

I'll never forget the day I first heard her on the radio. It had been almost seven years since I'd last seen her. I was in the car, driving to an assignment, not really paying attention, when suddenly, I heard her voice. I didn't know the song, but I knew it was her voice, those clear bell-like tones, the feelings, hell, it was the voice I woke up to every morning. I broke out in a sweat; my hands were gripping the wheel like I would break it off and I devoured that voice as if it was the Angel Gabriel singing. It seemed like an eternity before the announcer came on. "And there you have the voice of rising star Courtney Archer, mark my word, folks, this gal's going straight to the top."

My world went black for a minute, and I'm just lucky I ended up on the shoulder, instead of in a wreck. I was a jumble of emotions. Elation that she had overcome everything and made it. Sadness that I was not a part of it. Hope that maybe I could at least see her again. Fear that a big star wouldn't even remember me.

I drove into town and stopped at the first record store "I'm looking for that new singer Courtney Archer."

"You and everybody else. This has to be one of the hottest launches since, hell, I don't know, maybe the damn Beetles; well maybe not that hot, but damn hot. You're in luck; just got a shipment, they'll be gone by lunch."

I grabbed a CD and paid for it. I looked at it and was stunned. The cover showed the unmistakable figure of Courtney, semi-silhouetted, standing on a dock with a lake and a sunrise in the background. I was sure that it wasn't "our" lake, but it looked like someone was trying real hard to duplicate it for the picture. The title of the album was 'Missing You". To anyone else, it was just a typical album cover in the popular style. To me, the picture and the title were like a note in my hand saying "please write." The notes inside even gave an address.

Feeling hope for the first time in years, I went straight home and wrote a note. Knowing she wouldn't be the first to read it, I made it friendly but not overtly passionate. I mainly told her how to reach me and made sure my name was prominently featured in the letter and on the envelope, so however they were screening, they couldn't miss it. I tried to go about my life without thinking about it, but in my mind I was always wondering when I would hear a response.

It wasn't long in coming. When I saw the envelope, regular mail, I was a bit disappointed. I expected a call or FedEx, at the very least. I tore it open, and my heart sank. It was a standard fan form letter and a lithographed 8x10 fan picture, complete with machine-made autograph. Message received; there was no message. The album cover was just that, cover art, I'd even shot a few myself, everything else was my imagination. Well, hell, it had been seven years, I should have known better. Now would the song finally fade?

It probably wasn't the healthiest thing psychologically, but I became a fan. I couldn't help it; I really loved that voice. I had every album. I saw her on TV and wept. Ms Purdy was right; I saw her win Best New Artist, Song of the Year, Album of the Year, Best Female Pop Vocal Performance, and a raft of other awards. It was always bittersweet, while I rejoiced for her; I cried for us.

But I never tried to contact her again. Finally, she had a concert scheduled in my city for May 1995, ten years since I had last seen her. I debated the wisdom of going. I knew that seeing her in person, even anonymously in a crowd, would be very different from seeing her on an electronic box, but I couldn't pass it up. I had to hear and see her in person one last time. Then I would say goodbye forever. When I walked out of that concert, I was determined to turn my back on Courtney Archer as anything other than a voice on the radio.

May 1985 — May 1995 The Years Apart by Courtney Archer

I knew I had made a mistake before we even left the lake house. I had let my brain take over the one time my heart should have been in charge, and I let Darryl leave with our love unexpressed. I wondered if he had any way of knowing how much I loved him. That mistake made all that followed even harder to bear.

I never was particularly close to my father; he was not a very warm and caring man. As my friends and I started to sexually mature, we found ourselves uncomfortable around him as his eyes showed an unhealthy interest in us. Soon my friends stopped coming around. When my mom asked me about it, I made excuses, but I think she guessed the truth. Even I avoided being home alone with him. I always felt him undressing me with his eyes, and I felt sure that it wouldn't take much to get him using his hands.

Still, it was a total surprise when I came home and found my mother in tears. She had suspected him of fooling around, but she never thought he would totally desert both of us and leave us without any means of support. Hell, we didn't have anything beyond the cash in our pockets. We just packed the car with what we could and left the rest. I took time to write a note to Darryl. It was hard, but I basically wanted him to drop me and get on with his life. I couldn't see anyway for us to be together. I'd just be a drag on him and hold him back. I wasn't sure how mom and I were going to survive. We stopped by, and I gave the note to Robyn. Neither she nor Grandma Kedrick asked any questions, though I knew they wanted to. They just hugged us.

We were a hundred miles down the road before I realized that Grandma had stuffed $500 in my pocket. I would have pitched a fit if I had caught her at it, but I'm glad she did. I don't know how we would have made it without that money. It was way after the fact that I learned of their passing, but it made me sad and I wrote a song about them called "Angels Among Us"; it did really well.

My mom had an uncle she thought would take us in. Uncle Bill, as I called him, was the salt of the earth and very kind, but he totally lacked ambition. Consequently, he had a large house, which he had inherited, and not two dimes to rub together. We had a roof over our head and nothing else. So Mom and I hit the pavement job hunting. Mom was a capable lady, but with no particular job skills or experience, about the best she could hope for was waitressing. Since Dad's timing had managed to get me before college and before I had cut any music demos, I wasn't much better off myself. No one here had heard me sing. I was getting close to the bottom. I was starting to think about those things I had mentioned in my note, things I'm not proud of. I might have one-in-a-million vocal cords but my fairly nice, but in no way extraordinary, boobs had a better cash value. I had picked up a fair number of job offers for nude modeling, topless dancing and the like. The money was good, but I wasn't quite desperate enough to take that step yet. But I knew it might come to that eventually. It always does for a pretty girl if she's desperate for money. That's why I warned Darryl in my note that I might end up forced to do things I was ashamed of.

My honor was saved by the unlikeliest of knights in rather tarnished armor. It seems that dad, in his mid-life crisis, had taken to booze as well as young chicks. He managed to head-on a semi, killing both himself and his playmate instantly. I felt sorry for her. It also seems dear old dad had gotten behind in his paperwork and had never changed his will or the beneficiary on his insurance. That means we got back all the money he took, minus what he'd spent, some investments Mom didn't know about, and best of all, a quarter of a million, triple indemnity life insurance policy. It wasn't enough to put us on Easy Street, but it got the wolf away from the door, so that at least, we could get our own place.

I actually thought about trying to contact Darryl, but I decided against it. I was a long way away, and I couldn't leave Mom, who remained an emotional basket case. I still did not have anything to offer him. I had found a small, private college, nearby with a good music program. There was one faculty member who was retired from the Met and taught voice. She figured she could teach me for maybe two years, before I would need to move on. There was also a good guitar instructor. They could offer me a student work scholarship, for teaching individual lessons and supervising practice sessions. It wasn't Juilliard, but it was a start, and it wasn't costing anything but time. I soon picked up private students on my own and started making a little money.

I was also meeting people my own age and making friends. I went out on a few dates, but the results were not very pleasing. I even relinquished my maidenhead to one sincere and persistent suitor. I'm afraid I did him a disservice. He was a kind and well intentioned lover, but unknown to him, he was expected to fulfill my expectations from that prom night with Darryl. He failed, and I never went out with him again. I locked myself in my room and cried for two days; I felt so cheated and dirty. I had deserved that night, and my father stole it. But I also cried, because as much as I wanted to blame my father, I also knew I threw that night away.

After that I just didn't have a sex life. I fell back on the pattern from high school of being available for friendship only. A few times, I made exceptions to that rule, and I always ended up feeling empty afterwards. Eventually, I just stopped being very social. I started dreaming of somehow reliving that night. It was a childish dream. I didn't know where Darryl was or what he was doing. Did he ever think of me? The lake house was gone. Why was I so caught up in a stupid teenage dream?