Marcia Savin writes:
When I wrote Just a Song at Twilight 30 years ago, the last thing I imagined was that someday I’d reconnect with someone special I knew 40 years ago — just like my characters. Their scenario, of course, was very different. The Michael I met again last year (yes, same name!), unlike Mike in the play, was a devoted husband and father. And we were friends, nothing more. But there was a bond … here’s the story:
In the 70s, I moved to New York from California for my husband’s job. I didn’t know a soul. I remembered Michael as a warm, funny guy I knew in Berkeley in the 60s. We were both in our 20s, married, and shared a love of language and literature. He’d moved East with his young family, to teach. I called the school but he was no longer there, plus I’d lost his address. Off and on, over the years, I thought of him, but had no idea where he was. On top of that, I’d forgotten his last name. That seemed to be that. But decades later, after my marriage ended, I found him. I was going through old journals, tearing out anything I’d written in anger about my children — in case I died suddenly — when I came across Michael’s name — first and last. I went to the Web and there he was, in Jersey, across the river. I wrote. He called two days later. We talked for an hour. He said his wife had died years earlier. He suggested dinner. And … we’ve been together ever since.
It’s not the play’s scenario. But it is a bit eerie…