I really don’t know how to begin this blog. But I feel I have to write it in any way possible. It’s a true story about Laura, an old flame. The latter part of this love story is no secret — I’ve told it to several people, sometimes to change the subject of a boring conversation, sometimes to shock. But most often, I think, I wanted to be honest and reveal an unusual, if not important, part of my life to a significant other. To be understood, warts and all. Mostly warts. And now I feel comfortable enough with myself and my life to share it with everyone.
I met Laura at a party at a beach house near where I lived with my family in a small town north of Honolulu, Hawaii. It was late spring, early summer, 1978. I think she was not yet 15, about a year or so younger than me. The attraction was instant. It was her beautiful oval face, long brown hair, warm smile and cutest giggles that did me in. She was sitting on the floor, wearing a colorful wool pancho to keep warm from the cool ocean breeze. We played backgammon and laughed all night. I couldn’t get enough of her.
A few days later she joined a group of schoolmates and I at the movies. I made sure I would sit next to her as we watched “Smokey and the Bandit”. Our elbows would meet from time to time, sending an incredible jolt throughout my body. While driving on the way back home, I would constantly stare at her face through the rear-view mirror every chance I got. I couldn’t help it.
One day I decided to ask her out on a date. I gathered all my courage, took a deep breath and called her home. She first thought this was another outing with a bunch of friends. When I made my intentions clear, she was surprised. She had never been asked out on a date. When she said yes, I was in heaven. I knew she was a Beatles’ fan like me, so I recorded their love songs on a tape and we sang along on the long drive to the theater. I remember every film we saw: “Heaven can Wait”, “Eyes of Laura Mars” and finally, “Death on the Nile”.
The love affair was totally innocent. There was no physical contact, although once at the beach, we were standing waist deep in the water and I slowly reached and held her hand. When our fingers locked, it was the most beautiful feeling. Once in the car I asked if I could kiss her, and she said she was too shy. I didn’t push it and never asked or make any other attempt.
During lunch breaks at school, I would go over to her house and exchange love notes and listen to music. Earth Wind and Fire’s “Reasons” I remember well. She taught me the word “exacerbate”. She was good with words, or rather, I was bad. Still am. On the fresh concrete sidewalk by her house, we etched our names: “Laura + Jahanshah” with a heart. One night we parked near the beach, lied down in the back of my Datsun station wagon and looked at the stars while listening to music on the radio. “1 3 4… I love you” I said, with all my heart. At the school dance she looked so goddamn hot in her pink halter top. Holding her close in the slow dance was… I wanted it to last forever.
“Forever” lasted just a couple of months. Laura broke up with me. I think I was just too intense and insecure. Too high up in la la land. Consequently my inevitable landing was crushing. Even though we were both in the cross country team, I couldn’t look at her. And I certainly didn’t want to be “friends”. She would tease me and try to talk to me like a normal human being, but I wanted all or none of her. Interesting that after 30 years, I still exhibit the same juvenile behavior with those I have lost but still intensely love. I sulk like an abandoned little boy.
A few weeks after the revolution in February 1979, my step-father, who had joined the U.S. military, made a transfer request to a base in Germany and got accepted. Before our departure, Laura put together a surprise good-bye party. A very sweet gesture which I deeply appreciated. After the party I was standing on the road on top of the hill by Laura’s house. She kissed me on the cheek and we parted. I can still feel the big lump in my throat.
We kept in touch through letters. Ah letters… arriving weeks and months at a time, making them so special and exhilarating compared to instant emails in today’s electronic age. I guess I now prefer emails since they eliminate long stretches of heart wrenching uncertainty and fantasizing, although nothing can match the romantic aspect of letters.
When I graduated from high school in Germany and rushed back to Iran to experience the revolution, Laura and I were still exchanging letters. One of her letters arrived from Alaska, where she had joined an oceanic research team. She had included several photos, some showing her in a bikini, which drove me absolutely mad. This at a time when I was turning religious and buying into revolutionary slogans. Theoretically at least, I was supposed to control my temptations, especially towards a beautiful American infidel 10,000 miles away!
When Iraq invaded Iran in September 1980, I called Laura one night. She was worried about my safety. But I assured her that everything would be OK and that Saddam Hussein would be toppled soon! I then mailed her a book of photographs chronicling the 1978-79 revolution. I wrote on the first page [original text]:
“To Laura and everyone who sence [sic] the meaning of freedom. This book is only part of the story of the whole history of mankind to become free and the story of the people who want to bring their message of freedom to the oppressed people all over the world. Learn and understand history.
“With the sure belief that the truth will prevail,
“Jahanshah Javid
October 1980″
Laura on the other hand sent me a copy of our school yearbook. She signed it in the back, partly in Spanish, which to this day I have no idea what it says. See Laura in her cross country team and me in the men’s team. This is me with my big afro :o)
Despite my fascination with the revolution, my love for Laura was something else. Our letters and phone calls continued. John Lennon’s death in December ignited passions again, thanks to one of his last songs, “Just like Starting Over“. But again, I was flying way too high. Laura told me we should stop all the non-sense and get real. Again, I hit the wall at 500 miles an hour. I remember I went and bought some pastille crayons and started drawing feverishly. In one drawing I outlined the profile of a man in blue and a woman in red facing each other on a dark brown background.
Brokenhearted, confused and jobless, I wanted to leave Iran and go back to the U.S. It was impossible. I could not leave before completing compulsory military service. [see “Saving Private Zero“]
Five months later I married a colleague at the Islamic Republic News Agency.
***
In January 1990 I was back in the U.S., burned out, sick of politics and religion, divorced and hungry for love again. I enrolled as a student at the journalism department of the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque but my mind was somewhere else. I had no idea where Laura was but I took a chance and wrote a letter to her best friend and neighbor, Davalyn, in Hawaii. I did not have the exact address, so I just wrote her name and the name of her street. I got lucky. The letter reached Davalyn’s parents and they passed it on to Laura, who was now living in southern California. A couple of weeks later I got a letter. You can imagine how I felt just looking at the envelope with Laura’s name on it. I was besides myself. I opened it and… I was shocked. She was not only married with two kids, but she had married our chemistry teacher! The chemistry teacher?! That ugly bald guy with a mustache who was married and had a kid when we were in school?! Good Lord…
Laura still looked beautiful though. She had sent a couple of pictures along with her letter, one family portrait, and one of herself. Along with a phone number. When I called, her husband was out at a football game. We spoke for several hours and I was once more under her spell. But this time, something happened, something I never expected or experienced before. Towards the end of our conversation, I detected a change in her voice… how can I describe it? Sensual? Like a cat purring? She was lying on her bed and wanted me to talk and talk until she finally had an orgasm! I did not know what was happening exactly since I had never had phone sex before. It was the strangest thing. What just happened? What does it mean? We broke a few moral codes, to say the least.
Despite the questions and confusion, the call ended with a promise to meet. And sure enough I was in southern California a few weeks later. I was supposed to meet her at work. She was the branch manager of a major company. I walked in and there she was, all busy — and shy. I wanted to take her into one of the office rooms, lock the door and kiss her. I didn’t, of course. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. Neither of us did. We got into her van and drove to meet up with Davalyn for lunch. It was a lot of fun recalling our time together in Hawaii and my adventures in Iran. Afterwards Laura and I went for a walk. We went inside a bookstore and I saw a second-hand copy of a book of poems by Hafez in Persian with English translation. I couldn’t resist the customary “faal”. I made a wish (love) and opened a random page and the poem said something like “you owe me a kiss or two”. I can’t remember it but I found this online and it could very well be the one I saw that day:
KISS ME
Even
after
all this time
the sun never says to the earth
“you owe me”
Look
what happens
with a love like that
it lights the
whole sky
Like
a pair
of mismatched newlyweds
one of whom still feels very insecure
I keep turning to you
saying
“kiss
me”
I showed the poem to Laura. “No way! That’s too weird!”
We then went to see a movie, David Lynch’s “Wild at Heart”. It was wild alright. We held hands and cuddled through most of the film. It was the summer of 1978 all over again.
We left the theater and drove down Santa Monica Blvd to Ocean Ave. She parked her van and we stepped out. It was sunset. With the orange ocean view, it couldn’t have been more romantic. Finally, more than 12 years later, Laura and I gently held each other and kissed. I could have died and happily gone to heaven. I didn’t care that I was kissing a married woman. I was kissing the one I loved. That’s all that mattered. And that was just the beginning.
We drove further down on Ocean Ave and parked on the street. It was dark but people on the sidewalk could still see us if they came close enough. We didn’t care. We went into the back of the van and began making love. It was an unbelievable, unforgettable hour of being one with the one I had loved so long. All those crazy, childish fantasies of Laura had come true. At least for one night. When we stopped, the windows had fogged up. We sat, naked, looking at each other, in silence. She looked so beautiful, like a mermaid, her long brown hair covering her breasts. We kissed I don’t know for how long.
“I have to go home, it’s very late,” she said. Yes, back to reality. Reality! My god… reality. I didn’t want to think about it. But there it was. The one thing no one can escape: reality.
The next day I arrived at Laura’s house to have lunch with her and her husband. It was just a dumb gesture of “friendship” so that he would not suspect anything. Everything went fine. We talked about the old days and life in general. Nothing unusual. We all behaved politely. As I was leaving, Laura walked me to my car.
“He knew about last night.”
I froze. I looked at Laura with anger and disbelief. “What?!”
“He knew. I told him.”
“Are you serious? You told your husband we slept together? And you didn’t tell me before I walked into your house?”
“We tell each other everything.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What did he say when you told him?”
“He said ‘I hope you had safe sex and used a condom’.”
I was so angry. The weird factor of this reunion was multiplying beyond my ability to shield myself with fantasy and denial. Good old reality was back with a vengeance.
We met the following night for dinner. The air had changed. I don’t know if my love had diminished but I was upset that a special moment between us had now turned into a psychological threesome of sorts. That didn’t stop us from making love one last time. This time, there was more lust involved than love.
In the following weeks we spoke on the phone once or twice. It was uncomfortable. The spell was broken.
