A Tale of Two Ts

A Tale of Two Ts
Laura Fischer

Dorothy's story:

  They say you never forget your first love.  Dorothy knew this to be true.  She smiled, remembering, and gently caressed the faded T-shirt before returning it to the rustic handcrafted box.  Along with a thin packet of letters tied together with a satin ribbon, the chest contained a single photo of 30 gangly teenagers in tie-dyed shirts. Called the Timber Wolves, her tribe of friends had shared a cabin and adventures that unforgettable summer at Camp Chippewa.

Of all the young people in their group, Dorothy had found herself strongly attracted to Roger, a tall and handsome teen almost as shy as she was.  They had met during the first boy-girl square dance lesson.  The Virginia Reel was chosen by the counselors to keep the campers at arm's length and their innocence intact, but when the two first touched, Dorothy felt something special.  She looked Roger directly in the eyes and knew he felt it too.  She tightened her grip so he wouldn't have to and, awkward and afraid, they do-si-doed their way through the unfamiliar steps.     

From that day on, the pair spent almost every moment together - swimming and hiking, laughing and joking, studying nature and crafting projects like the tie-dyed shirts they wore. The two weeks flew by all too quickly, and all too soon the big yellow buses arrived that would carry the campers to their homes the following morning.

That last night, after the stories and the singing had ended, and after the last marshmallow had been toasted and the campfire had burned to embers, the other weary campers retreated to their cabins.  But Dorothy and Roger slipped away from the watchful eyes of the counselors and strolled hand-in-hand into the woods.  There they held each other tightly and shared a magical first kiss.  They promised they would write and would remain faithful until reunited the following summer.  To seal their pledge, they traded the shirts they had made.  Dorothy slipped into Roger's sweaty tie-dye and Roger enveloped himself in the one smelling faintly of Dorothy's perfume.  They vowed never to wash away the lingering scents until together once more.

Half a century later, the sight and smell of Roger's shirt still brought back memories of that special summer and the broken promises made.  Wiping away the salty tears from her cheeks, Dorothy carefully packed the box of  summer treasures in the trunk that held her most precious memories: the family pictures, the love letters her deceased husband had sent when they were courting, the cards and artwork their children and grandchildren had made.  Taking a last look at the home she could no longer keep up alone, she called to her daughter that she was ready to leave.  She handed the trunk to a grandson to carry, and reluctantly she closed the door to her old life and set out on the journey to her new one.

"Who knows what surprises lie ahead," she exclaimed trying to be positive, "or who I may meet along the way!"  

Roger's story

Roger had Altzheimer's.  At least that's what his nephew said when he took away his uncle's car keys and put him on the waiting list for an apartment at Hillside Retirement Homes.  Roger didn't mind moving to Hillside.  He liked the pretty aides who helped him bathe and shave and who washed his clothes and cooked his meals - except for Sunday night when everyone ate in the large communal hall.  Every morning they counted out the pills he took to slow the memory loss, and every evening at bedtime they listened to the stories he told of his youth and of a very special girl he had loved once upon a time many, many years ago.  The dementia had slowed his current thinking.  He could not always remember where he hid his tv remote or the names of the girls paid to help him with the simple tasks of living.  But his memories of that summer at Camp Chippewa remained as clear as yesterday.

That autumn, before cell phones and the internet made it easy to keep in touch, Roger and Dorothy wrote each other every week.  But then one day Roger's father's company transferred the family to another city.  And Dorothy's mother, worrying her daughter was too young for a serious romance, felt it best to put an end to the infatuation by returning her daughter's mail unopened and unseen.  Roger did not understand why Dorothy returned his letters, nor Dorothy why Roger had abruptly ceased to write.  Heartbroken, each was left with only their tribe's photo, and the other's brightly colored shirt, and the bitter-sweet memories of that special summer.

Summer came again, but neither returned to camp Chippawa.  After Roger graduated, he tried to find Dorothy.  He thought that she had probably married and changed her name, but he hoped she still thought of him, and he knew, if he could find her, that they could rekindle the passion they had felt.  Unsuccessful, after a time Roger gave up his futile quest. He dated other women, but none could take Dorothy's place, so finally he resigned himself to the life of a lonely bachelor.  

Years before he moved to Hillside, Roger had Dorothy's shirt made into a pillow.  Now every night he slept with his arms tightly wrapped around the faintly scented shirt, reliving that special summer in his dreams.  The aides at Hillside tried to take it from him to wash, but true to his promise, he refused to let it go.  They finally quit asking, thinking his stubbornness was an aspect of the Altzheimer's.

"Maybe he'd forget this strange obsession with that shirt," one of the aides speculated, "if he could make friends with some of the women here at the home."

"Yes," the other agreed. " A nice widow just moved in who is about his age.  She has a camp photo like the one in his bedroom too, so they might have something in common.  Let's arrange for them to sit together at supper Sunday night and see what happens."