SEE YOU LATER
It was Junior High, and Rob was my first boyfriend. Before 7th period we would meet up in the hallway to catch up before the next bell. And every time, before we went our separate ways, he gave me the same send-off; "See you later!" he would say, in a smiling, sing-song voice with the emphasis on "later" as he gave me a quick hug. "I will see you later." Every. Single. Time. It was cute at first, but, to be honest, it got on my nerves after a while. I never told him that, though.
Rob was fairly new in town. He was a cute football player with an athletic build, a little bit of a wild side, and the deepest dimples I have ever seen. He was dating Julie, a long-legged, pretty girl with unbelievably gorgeous thick, straight, white-blonde hair down to the small of her back. It was the stuff of legend. As an average, "big-boned" girl with thunder thighs and an unruly head of brown hair that rivaled a tumbleweed on its best day, I dreamed of being her.
I don't know how, when, or even why it started to happen, but Rob and I began hanging out, getting to know each other, and, ultimately, falling for each other. Rob ended it with Julie and started going out with me - and the number of people who understood why (including me) was zero.
"You're crazy," his friends said. "You're giving up that for this?" Nonetheless, Rob and I hit it off and started down the road of innocent young love. And since finding that one "true love" and realizing how different it is from every other experience, I do use that term loosely. I mean, we were barely even teenagers - the kids I look at today as mere babies - what did we know? But we had a great time figuring life out together and finding things to do in that simpler pre-screens era.
We spent the summer walking for miles around town and talking for hours about nothing. We both learned how to knit, and to this day, I still have no idea why. We cleaned up the "playroom" at my house that was used for storage to have a place to hang out and even refinished a few pieces of furniture together. We shot hoops and played endless rounds of every classic game together. He patiently let me arrange creative hairstyles with his longish, thick hair and would try just about any crazy idea I came up with.
Even though he was as casual as a person gets, Rob willingly donned awkward suits time and again to match my equally awkward homemade hand-me-down dresses and escorted me to all the dances. I even took my first fuzzy, over-exposed "selfie" with a Polaroid camera wearing his football practice jersey. And, although he lived a good 20-minute drive away on the outskirts of town, he rode his bike in all weather conditions and all seasons to my house and back multiple times a week - a nearly one-hour ride each way - with no complaints. Rob was the quintessential "good sport" and so easy to be around.
When the new school year started, I noticed that Rob never ate lunch - he just sat at the table with friends and talked. "I'm not hungry," he would say when I asked about it. That Christmas, I found out that he had saved all of his lunch money to buy me a coat that caught my attention on one of our walks through town. I don't remember what I gave him that year, but I know it wasn't worthy of that grand gesture.
The "boyfriend/girlfriend" part of our relationship was easy, innocent, and rarely strained. Still, that part faded after about a year and a half, but we remained friendly throughout our school years. As everyone did before social media, we lost touch after school, but I occasionally heard from others about things going on in Rob's life.
And a few days ago, I heard from a former classmate about his unexpected death. Gone at the way-too-young age of 60. It was a complete shock and another stark reminder that "man knows not his time."
Rob is being buried tomorrow, and I do not doubt that he will be surrounded by a large tribe of people who were touched by his kind, good-hearted, and generous nature.
The picture in his obituary shows him with a big smile - older, but still very much the same - deep dimples and all. It took me straight back to those heady, awkward days of discovery, the innocence of those fun times - and that old school hallway.
And all I could think was, "See you later, Rob."
I'm grateful that our lives crossed paths on this planet, and I will see you later.
Robert L. "Rob" Coryea, October 16, 1961 - December 28, 2021