51-year-old Georgene Martin, née Huber, received delivery of red roses. Her husband had recently passed away, so the flowers didn’t seem completely out of the blue. But the name on the note that came with them did. The last place she had seen that name, Jerry Zimmermann, was in her high school yearbook—from 1965.
“Dear Georgene,” Jerry’s card read, “I was a classmate of yours, though I don’t believe you knew who I was. I was painfully shy, and you were the prettiest girl I had ever seen.”
It was true that Georgene hardly remembered Jerry. Nearly four decades had passed since their paths first crossed in the hallways of Farnsworth Junior High School in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, where she still lived.
“Though I now live in DC, I keep close ties to Sheboygan,” Jerry continued. “I return several times a year. And now to the crux of this letter—I will be visiting the weekend of May 15th, and I’m wondering if we could meet for a coffee? I am, however, sensitive to the recent loss of your husband. If this approach comes too soon, I will understand—and wait another 40 years.”
Why not? Georgene thought to herself as she put down the letter. She was certainly curious to see what Jerry looked like after so many years. If nothing else, it would be nice just to chat with him. She wrote back and agreed to meet with him that spring.
In Washington, DC, Jerry anxiously checked his mailbox each day. When Georgene’s reply came, he was elated. She finally said yes! Georgene didn’t know it, but she had broken Jerry’s heart all those years ago.
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