Last week Scott asked the question "Who is the person that you most regret having lost touch with over the years? What is preventing you from getting back in touch with that person?" I didn't respond to his request, but that didn't stop me from doing some thinking. I have lost touch with a lot of people in my life. I have lived in seven states since I finished college and I have been terrible about keeping up with people. I would love to blame it on them but I know that a large part of it has been me. I get busy with my life and whatever is important at the moment and then a week goes by, then a month, then two, then six and before you know it I feel like it's been too long to call. Every once in a while I get a notion that I will look some of these people up and I try on line. I Google them. I search the white pages. But too many of them have common names and there are just too many of them to know which is the right one.

Of the people I miss the most, it's S.G. He was my second boyfriend. We were together from 1991 to 1994. It seems like a lifetime ago. When we met he was a few months shy of his 19th birthday and I was 26. At 40 eight years is nothing when your 18 eight years is an eternity. He was still in the closet and was just coming to terms with his homosexuality. I met him while driving down the street. We passed each other at an intersection and our eyes locked. I quickly turned my car around and followed him into an empty parking lot. We chatted. I gave him my number and asked him to call me. He not only called but he came over later that night. He was beautiful and the sex was great. When we were finished. I asked him if he would like to take a shower. He said yes and then very shyly ask me if I would join him. Seems one of his fantasy's had always been to have sex in the shower. Of course I agreed. I might not even remember this bit of information if were not for the fact that his right index finger was in a bandage and couldn't be gotten wet. He had to shower with his finger held above his head. It was sweet and comical. I was smitten. I pursued him and eventually he relented. Oh, and should I forget, he was still living at home and had a 2:00 a.m. curfew. So every night we'd go out and then come back to my place. We would have sex and often fall asleep together. But the alarm was always set so that he could leave by 1:45 to be home by two.

This went on all summer until college started in the fall. I can't say the relationship was perfect but by the fall it was well known in my world that we were boyfriends. We were together almost every night. Not long after school started I moved into a one bedroom apartment and gave him a key. It sealed the deal. The only real catch was that his friends didn't know about him. They knew he had this new friend that he spent a lot of time with, but he was constantly concerned with being caught. As we all do, he eventually told one person and found out the world didn't end and that they didn't care. So then he told another and then another. By the time we celebrated one year together almost everyone knew he was gay except his parents.

By this time we were practically living together. He stayed every night at my home although his parents thought he was staying in the dorm. He had all of his clothes at my house and even had friends who called him on my phone. It was our second summer together that he told his parents he was gay. His mother cornered him out in their flower garden one day and he told her, "Mom, you always said I was special. Well you were right." They weren't happy but they continued to love him. Who they didn't continue to like was me. I was suddenly the root of the problem. I had made their son gay. They also found out about this same time that I was 8 years older. Suddenly, I was not really welcome in their home. It was okay for their son to be gay. But he could do better. I didn't drive the right car. I didn't own a house. I was still going to college. My parents didn't belong to a country club. I pretended none of this bothered me but it's hard to know these things and not be bothered by them.

Eventually we did move in together. We found an apartment in an old house and worked our gay magic and it was beautiful. Together we painted it, polished the floors, relandscaped the back yard, we shopped at thrift stores and yard sales and found some wonderful treasures. We created a home. We were happy here. We had the best parties. We threw huge Christmas parties for my entire department at my University. We once had a summer party that started on Saturday evening and was still going on Sunday at midnight. Life was great.

Or so I thought. As with any relationship there were problems. There were still issues with his parents. One of the things that I had encouraged S.G. to do was to take an entrance exam and actually pursue the degree he wanted not the one his parents wanted. Unfortunately, this degree was insanely time consuming and he was spending all of his time at his studio. I was dealing with severe bouts of depression I later realized and since they were untreated I was often unbearable to be around and would have fits of rage that were often unprovoked. But most and foremost, my little S.G. was growing up and wanted to experience the world. He wanted to be free, to find out what it was like to be gay, and go out, and well...

On January 9th, 1995 he sat me down and told me the relationship was over and that he wanted to break up. I couldn't say that I was surprised. I was hurt. He moved out with in the week and I found myself living in our beautiful home alone. For the first two weeks I was fine. I went about my life acting as though nothing had happened. Two weeks to the day later, I was at work and lost it. I was waiting tables and asked to go home. I went home and went to bed and cried for what seemed like days. It was the beginning of the end of life as I knew it.

It feels good to write about this. But I think I am done for the night. I'll tell more of the story tomorrow. To understand why I miss this boy so much the entire journey must be shared.