Leilani and Me

by Charles C. Cole

From my Air Force base in the Philippines, I flew commercial to Hawaii then LA and finally Maine, to be an usher in my best friend’s wedding and, to be honest, to formally break up with the first great love of my life.

In high school, Leilani and I lived in neighboring towns, only seeing each other at work, at McDonald’s, where I flipped burgers and she worked as a cashier. We kidded each other, and even flirted, but I wasn’t planning on starting a relationship my last summer before my scheduled September enlistment.

Then my blind date for a James Taylor concert chickened out. Leilani, ever the opportunist, found me.

“I’m free that night, if you’re wondering. I bet I know more of his lyrics than you do. I’ll be way more fun than any of your lame guy friends. You’re dying to ask me, so just ask me.” She won me over, and I needed a last-minute pseudo-date. And she was definitely fun.

We were enjoying the entertainment, on our feet almost the whole concert, in a sea of high and tipsy bouncing and hooting strangers. When some unfamiliar guy bumped into her, almost knocking the five-foot waif over, I suddenly wanted to protect her. Then, when “JT” played a romantic tune, we found ourselves holding hands and swaying together, like it was meant to be.

Timing was never my strength. We started dating that night. She was smart, funny, sexy, laughed at my jokes, was the right amount of clingy. I liked her a lot, but I wouldn’t say I loved her.

We worked shoulder to smooth, sweet-smelling shoulder from 4 to close, and used to kiss till we were breathless in the public bathrooms after hours when we were supposed to be cleaning and helping everyone get out the door. Is it any wonder that the smell of fried food still makes me swoon?

Leilani hinted about — gasp — eloping before I left for basic training (aka boot camp) and then coming down to San Antonio for my graduation. She wanted to follow me to my first assignment. She didn’t yet have her own plans for after high school and she hoped to join me. But I was planning a new chapter and wanted to start from scratch.

I talked Leilani out of coming to my graduation at Lackland, and the Philippines (the “PI”) ended up being too far from the USA even for her. I worked in the Air Weather Service and somehow took up meditation, tanning and becoming a vegetarian. I found Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha and Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and saw a USO tour of the play Camelot. The universe seemed to be telling me to travel alone for now.

Leilani wrote long romantic letters that smelled like her, with colorful flowery doodles in every inch of the margins. She once included a horoscope from the local newspaper which, she said, promised we would be together forever. She enclosed a lock of her hair, a bathing suit photo, a petal from a rose I’d given her and a four-leaf clover we’d bought at a crazy neighborhood yard sale. Eventually, the letters got shorter.

I kept her photo in my wallet and would look at it several times during my overnight shift on the flight line (military airfield). She was easy on the eyes. One time I had her photo out on a worktable while I practiced the courage to one day tell her how I really felt: close but not that close. While I was preparing my hourly weather observation, I spilled my coffee. I saved the photo, but the bright green sentiment on the back was pretty much washed away. A sign?

Leilani met me at the Portland Jetport. She was glowing. She was blonder than I remembered and her tight jeans had enough provocative factory-installed slits to vividly remind me of our more intimate moments and make me lose my commitment to breaking up.

“You look amazing!” I gushed.

“What happened to all your hair?” she asked.

We hugged. I picked her up and swung her in a circle. She giggled.

“It’s good to see you!” I said.

“Likewise,” she said with a quick peck on the lips. “You better have a photo for me of you in uniform, signed by you. I’ve been waiting for months.”

“In my duffel bag, sure,” I said. She took my breath away. “Tell me again why I work so far away from you?”

“Because you’re a self-centered moron who thinks relationships are for boring people.”

“I care for you more than you know,” I blurted.

We got in her car. She reached over and held my hand, tightly. “You could have been the one,” she said.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“I’m seeing someone.”

“I’m so happy for you!” I managed.

“So I’m not going to be your date for John and Helena’s wedding, because that would be awkward and confusing.”

“You didn’t have to pick me up today.”

“I love you and I wanted to see you. We had something special. I wanted to thank you for that. And remind you in person of the one who got away — one last time. Kiss me like the world’s about to end. But no groping.”

I did. Then we laughed and I cried a little, not as much as she did.

“Leilani, I truly wish you the most happiness any person can have. You deserve it.”

She started the engine, and James Taylor’s singing filled the car. For the first and last time in my life, I trembled. This was goodbye.

Leilani dropped me at my parents’ house and left with a peck on my check and a twinkle in her eye. “No hard feelings.”

She was married within a year and had two kids before I’d finished my four-year “tour,” while it took me another decade to settle down. Here’s to Leilani and to knowing what you want and going for it.