An Ivy League of My Own: Anchors Away

There are a lot of things that I believe people should experience, but one thing above almost all others is that every woman should have at least one torrid love affair in her life.

You know the kind of love affair I'm talking about… The kind that unexpectedly turns your world upside down. Where there are no rules and all inhibition goes out the window. The kind where every moment is filled with desire and heat. Where there are no walls, and no games - only passion. The kind where you fall so hard and so fast that you know the end result can be nothing but a crash.

The kind of affair that makes you feel truly alive.

Yes. I believe every woman should have at least one of those love affairs in her lifetime.

I've been lucky enough to have two.

My first torrid love affair occurred at a time when I was least expecting it. And it was with the kind of man whom I never would have expected it to be with.

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a strong… affection for men in uniform. But it wasn't always that way. To be honest, I still don't really understand it or where it even came from. Growing up, I always was drawn to the poetic, intelligent, emotional, and romantic kind of guy. But at some point, the sight of a man in any sort of military uniform made my heart race. It's become quite a joke amongst my friends and family, but to this day, whenever I see a man in uniform, I'll admit that my heart does go aflutter.

It may have started after I saw "The Gladiator" for the first time. Or it could be my attraction to the romanticized portrayal that was always depicted in my history books and in movies; That of a strong and stoic man returning from war into the open arms of the woman he thought about every day, as she loyally and proudly waited for him back home. Maybe it's my attraction to someone who has strength, courage, ambition, and pride... who knows how to fight and is willing sacrifice for something he believes in.

Or maybe it's because I once had a torrid love affair with a Marine named Jason.

Fleet Week in New York City: that magical week where mighty warships roll into Pier 88 and spill out thousands of Marines and Sailors who galavant around the city looking for a good time.

For me, it's like Christmas.

But it wasn't always so. Of course I had heard of Fleet Week, but I never really "participated" in it. After all, I had spent the last seven years in a relationship and I was busy with other things. I mean, I was a proud American and supported the military, but I didn't have any out of the ordinary attraction to soldiers.

All of that changed in May of 2009. I had just finished my second semester at Columbia for Graduate School. It had been about a year since my ex and I broke up, and because it was such a heart wrenching break up, I hadn't been involved in a relationship since it ended. I decided to focus on myself and things I loved; I didn't want to waste any time on romance or love. I had just returned back from a trip to Miami with some friends from school when I heard that Fleet Week was starting, but didn't really give it much thought. I was too busy loving life.

It was May 21st. I had literally just landed at JFK Airport a few hours earlier when my friend Rich called me up to meet him for a drink to catch up. "Just one drink," he said.

It always starts with "Just one drink."

I was exhausted but decided to go meet him anyway. We met at our normal spot down in Murray Hill and proceeded to have "one margarita." One turned into many and before I knew it, he was stumbling home and I was jumping in a cab to meet some other friends at a bar down on the Lower East Side called "Off The Wagon."

I found my friends on the second floor balcony gawking down at the gaggle of marines and sailors drinking at the bar below us. Like I said, up until this point, I had never really cared one way or the other for Fleet Week soldiers. I mean, I thought they were fun to look at, but that was it. My friends sensed my indifference and started to give me a hard time. So I decided to be a good sport, play along, and pretend to join in on their game.

Then I saw him. He was standing alone at the bar in his khakis, awkwardly watching his friend flirt with some blonde. He looked uncomfortable and out of place. He was tall with broad, strong shoulders, sandy brown hair, and the most beautiful blue-green eyes I had ever seen.

I was instantly attracted to him.

Maybe it was the margaritas, but when we locked eyes for a moment, the whole world seemed to stop.

I looked at my friend Karen and pointed down at him.

"I am going to talk to that one."

And with a confidence that only four margaritas could inspire, I walked down the stairs and strutted right on over to him.

I poked him on the shoulder and he turned around, startled. He looked extremely uncomfortable at my bold and aggressive advancement.

"Hi. I'm Dara. And I'd like take a photo with you," I dauntlessly announced.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Um sure."

God those eyes were beautiful.

"You know," I continued without a beat, "You should really want to take a picture with me. I'm kind of a big deal."

He answered with a little laugh and a doubtful smile. The tension instantly evaporated.

"I really am, you know. Don't you want to hear why?" I asked coyly.

He laughed and seemed to relax. "Sure. But let's talk over a shot of Jack."

Oh my God. He had the most charming southern accent. I instantly turned into putty.

We took our photo, got our shots of Jack, and sat down at a table. We ended up talking there for three hours. Even though he was a little shy, I learned that his name was Jason. He was from Alabama, a Corporal in the Marines, grew up on a horse farm, and was stationed in Jacksonville, NC. He loved Jack Daniels and a good steak. He had just been on deployment for the past year and this was his first time in New York City.

Now it's important to note that throughout this whole thing, I had no intention of being "that girl" (you know what I mean). And I made that very clear with him. I remember after we had been talking for awhile (and after we had drank a few Jack and Cokes) that I said something obnoxious like "Look, if you're here looking for a quick thrill, there are tons of other girls here who are ready and willing to take you home. But you should know, that's just not me. So if that's what you want, here's your chance to walk away."

He paused, taken aback at my out of nowhere, pseudo-bitchy candor, but then he started to smile again.

Oh that smile….

Without saying a word, he stared at me point blank and didn't move a muscle. It was then that I realized that maybe it wasn't his game either. I didn't know if he was just trying to be polite or if it was really how he felt… but in that moment, we established a mutual respect for each other.

And I was hooked.

We continued to talk and I found myself so unexpectedly into him. We laughed all night and talked about the city's many splendors.

When it was time to leave, he suggested that we go to Central Park the next day so that I could show him around the city a bit. I agreed. We exchanged numbers and said goodnight.

I figured that I'd never hear from him again.

But I did. And for the next seven days, we spent every possible moment that we could together. It was surreal; all my rules went right out the window. We walked endless miles around the city, I took him to all my favorite restaurants, and we talked for hours on end. He was a taciturn guy so he did most of the listening, but he seemed to get a kick out of hearing my stories and learning about my life. Our first afternoon together, he compared me to Scarlett O'Hara, telling me that he thought I had her tenacity, stubbornness, and spirit. So for the rest of our time together, he called me Scarlett and I called him Rhett.

I had never felt so alive.

The best part about Jason was that he was the antithesis of my "type." In the real world, he would never have been the kind of guy I would have seen myself with. He was a small town boy from the south who smoked like a chimney and had never been exposed to any real culture or education. He was reticent and preferred to listen to me loquaciously babble on about things rather than talk about himself. And I'm sure I intimidated the hell out of him with my big city personality and loud mouth. But there was something about him that I was just so drawn to. Even now, I can't really explain it, but we had this extraordinary chemistry. We were two completely different people with barely anything in common, but for some reason, the energy between us was electric.

He was tall, strong, and stoic. He was kind, and respectful. I felt safe with him and for the first time in almost a year, I started to feel something of affection for someone. He was the first man, in a long time, I let into my world. I never thought my heart could feel those things again, but it did. We spent every possible moment together, avoiding the reality that this would all soon come to an end. We knew we were on borrowed time, and we didn't let any minute go to waste. Each day together was filled with a passion I hadn't experienced in years. It was all so thrilling.

On his last day in town, he invited me to the ship for a tour. I showed up that morning so excited to see the ship and all it's splendors. But we never did take the tour; we ended up sitting on the deck overlooking the Hudson River talking for six hours. And for the first time, he opened up to me. He told me his life story, and shared some of his most personal, heartbreaking, and uplifting memories with me. We just sat there, two strangers, falling in… well into something. I'm not sure what it was, but whatever it was, we were certainly both enjoying the ride.

Since that night was his last night in town, we had a special evening planned. So after our heart to heart talk, I left to get ready for our final night together.

I showed up to the ship right before sunset wearing my favorite white dress. As he walked off the ship, my heart melted. He was wearing the dress blues; my favorite uniform. Earlier in the week, he had told me that he never brought his dress blues with him on deployment, so he didn't have them with him. But tonight, he had borrowed a friend's set for our last night together. I was speechless. He looked dashing.

And so, as we watched the sun set over the river, the night officially began.

It was a night that turned out to be one of the most unforgettable nights of my life - a night that I never wanted to end.

But it did end. We spent the last hour just talking… about everything. Every unspoken thought and feeling was disclosed… except one; the tacit understanding that when he left on that ship in a few hours, it would be over.

That night, the ship had a two am curfew. The hour came way too soon. And before we knew it, it was time to say goodbye.

I walked him down to the street, and right before he got into the cab, he turned back to me and told me something that I will hold close to my heart for the rest of my life.

"I'm a better man because I met you."

Then he kissed me in a way that made my knees weak and my soul cry. And as the cab drove out of sight down Broadway, I felt an overwhelming wave of sadness.

Just like that, he was gone and out of my life.

I didn't sleep that night. I just sat by my window and looked out at the river, knowing that in a few hours, it would be the portal that would take him away. Right before the sun came up, he sent me a text. It was the last text I would ever receive from him.

It said, "I'll never forget you Scarlett."

That morning, I walked all the way down from my apartment at Columbia to Pier 88 to watch the ship depart. As I watched it cruise down the river, I knew that I would never see Jason again. Once again, that overwhelming wave of sadness washed upon my heart.

That's the thing about torrid love affairs: they're like tornadoes. They come into your life without warning, turn your world upside down, and end just as hastily, leaving a path of destruction and heartache. But after a torrid love affair, you are a different person… and there can be no room for regret.

That affair changed me.. It made me feel alive again in ways I didn't think were even possible. Of course after he left, my heart broke and I cried many (many) tears… But the fact that my heart was even capable of breaking meant that it was still alive. And to me, that alone made the whole affair worthwhile.

About a year later, I received a missed call from him on Memorial Day. He never left a message and for some reason, I didn't call him back right away; I guess I didn't really know what to say. But when I finally did call him about a month later, his phone was disconnected. I never heard from him again.

After that, I started to find myself drawn to soldier-like men. The stoicism, strength, masculinity, and discipline that Jason encompassed was just so attractive to me. I still can't really explain the attraction, but I like to think that part of it derives from that beautiful affair I experienced all those years ago.

I find myself thinking of Jason often. And when I think of him, I think of him fondly. He was a real southern gentleman who made me feel alive again, and I am so grateful for our brief, but wonderful time together.

Semper Fidelis, Rhett. You'll always be one of my great love stories. I'll never forget you.