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(Since Oct. 7, 1999)

Bob Andelman Articles Archive

My last secret is out.

My wife was in the garage, thumbing through cardboard boxes she never opens, looking for a will belonging to a recently deceased relative. That's when she inadvertently discovered a pile of identical, over-stuffed manila envelopes. All but one holds aging business receipts that should have been thrown out years ago.

The contents of the other envelope? Love letters.

Written on stationery, greeting cards, napkins, popsicle wrappers you name it, I squirreled away every scrap of communications that my first true love ever sent me. It was 1979; I was a skinny, naive,19-year-old University of Florida student, Celia was a 17-year-old farm girl with a freshness and spunkiness I'd never encountered before.

Some of the notes are corny, some funny, others are sexy and provocative. I never expected or wanted anyone to read them. That's why they were hidden away.

Who wants their wife or current girlfriend to read: "I miss making love to you ... " Or this gem from the outside of envelope: "Sealed with wet panties and sugar on top!"

Another note I saved came from the middle of an old college notebook. I found it while doodling during an anthropology class at the University of Florida. "Robert," it says, "you are supposed to be doing your work and listening to the teacher. I know you aren't doing either because you are reading this dumb letter! Get back to work!"

And when I say I saved everything, I mean everything. There's even a brochure in the envelope titled "Contraception: Comparing The Options." It lists all the options and then a chart for each one, describing effectiveness, advantages/disadvantages, side effects, health factors to consider and long-term effect on ability to have children. This was my first serious girlfriend and I read everything.

So many of the notes are innocuous, talking about shared experiences, mutual friends or dreams. We wrote a lot of notes back and forth at that age, it was easier to write certain things down than say them face to face. (Years later, when my wife and I were courting, we spent hours on the phone, night after night, time we remember fondly today.)

Another brochure from two years later in the relationship was titled "Diamonds." Just before the whole thing crashed and burned, I went to one of those gold and diamond outlet stores and bought an engagement ring for $525. How do I know the exact price? I saved the receipt, natch, along with business cards from all the stores I shopped.

In the end, our relationship collapsed and I was crushed for a long time. She became pregnant and I wasn't the father. Get the picture? But I kept everything, remembering the good times and letting history heal the bad.

Still, I'm paying for my stealth. My wife knew that years before we even met there was someone very special in my life, just as there was in hers, but it never seemed so personal until she discovered this trove. I've fielded an endless stream of questions about Celia.

"Why did you keep these letters?"

"You really loved her, didn't you?"

And my favorite: "Did you love her more than you love me?"

Think you're pretty smart? Figure out an answer to that question.
I've re-read the letters for the first time in a dozen years. It's almost like reading someone else's mail because I feel so separated from the person to whom Celia was writing. And the pictures of us in the envelope well, the guy I'm looking at had long sideburns and, the biggest difference, hair.

I'm keeping the letters. But my accountant says it's time to toss the receipts.

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