‘I got to know Angelique in 1981 as one of the children of the Klein Oever pony camp, where I was in charge as a 21-year-old: a cheerful, tough girl of 12 with blond braids. It is strange, in retrospect, that the first contact then so purely friendly, jovial and uninhibited, would lead to a marriage 40 years later.
Every time I tell our story, I am touched by the innocence that characterized those years. It was a time when as an activity leader in your swimming trunks you tickled little children and to their great hilarity you grabbed girls by the waist and threw them into the water and when Uncle Jaap, the owner of the camp, cheerfully calmed down overly obnoxious children. exclaimed by blowing their noses as if it were a horn. You won’t experience that any time soon. But then, in 1981 and the wonderfully fine summers that her father came to bring her, Angelique stood in front of me among the others, impatient to get splashed and frolic. And I was always up for a drink.
correspondence
When the children received a postcard from their parents, Angelique felt sorry that there was no mail for me and promised to send me something when she got home. She kept her word: ‘Will you say hi to Aunt Jannie and give the spotted pony a hug from me?’ she wrote. I replied and got another card, and so a correspondence started between a twenty-something and a young teenager that lasted a few years.
On the envelope I made small drawings and wrote jokes for the postman. She wrote to me about her puppy loves, and besides memories of that pony camp where there was so much freedom and so much uncomplicated fun, we shared camaraderie and I advised her in choosing her boyfriends. After a while the correspondence stopped as spontaneously as it had started: my student life swallowed me up, I got a girlfriend, Angelique grew too old for pony camps and we lost touch.
straight leg
Until the reunion, a few years ago. I was asked to invite some former participants and Angelique was not difficult to find. There was a photo of her with her family on Facebook. I texted her and she wrote back, “Oh, I remember everything. Do you remember when we wrote to each other? I’ve kept all your letters.’ And I replied, “I think I still have yours somewhere, I’ll have a look soon.”
We agreed to let each other read our correspondence before the reunion, and since she was in the middle of a renovation, I offered to drop by my stack. After all, as a divorced man, I had time to myself. She opened it. I had expected to meet her husband there, but her marriage had ended shortly before. She proudly showed me her new place, of her and her children. It had taken her a long time to make the decision, she said, but now she was relieved.
We started talking at the kitchen table. I hadn’t talked to women in years, dating is not for me, my happiness consists of my grown children and my veterinary practice. But suddenly something strange happened. She asked if I wanted something to eat and got up to make an omelette. I don’t like omelette but decided to keep it to myself.
She snipped chives in front of the counter, then turned, stretched her legs and walked over to me with the plate. I was stunned. I recognized that stretching of the legs before walking started, and it had apparently been stored somewhere in my head for years. That one very brief move took me back to a time when adult life had yet to begin and innocence and fun reigned supreme. From one moment to the next I lost all my accumulated reserves. All the walls I had erected after my divorce fell, and all I could think was, What a sweet, lovely woman.
Hug
The next day my surgical assistant asked, ‘Is something wrong? You act differently, are you in love?’ ‘Shut up, please’, I hissed, but I understood that I had to find out as soon as possible what was really going on. Angelique and I started texting and I let her know that I wanted to give her a hug. A few days later I shoved a plush toy into her hand—out of clumsiness and self-protection, because I couldn’t imagine that she really wanted to be held by me.
But, thank God, she felt the same way, and a few days later, waved goodbye from my entire practice, we left for a cabin in the woods that consisted of little more than a double bed. We got married last year: a very happy leader of the pony camp and the child ten years younger with whom he romped in 1981.’
“Gepco was crazy in 1981, some 20-year-old ADD person who was one with the kids, walked around the grounds with a big hat, suddenly jumped into the water with clothes on and flirted with the pony riding instructors. I’ve never been a horse girl: I went to the pony camp for the disco nights and the games.
The first year I was 12, and in the three years that followed I hoped that Gepco was there again. Then I felt safe, it was a familiar face that became more and more famous. It would certainly be fun with him: we frolicked together and played with the other children in the water. Not that I’ve even thought once: When I get married later, I want a man like Gepco – it never crossed my mind.
The leadership to which he belonged was a large group of boys and girls between whom loves blossomed regularly. In that sense, of course, our worlds were completely separate. I liked Gepco because it was guaranteed to be fun and already that first summer I added it to my line of pen pals. We wrote to each other once every two or three months. He cut out pictures from the Eppo and put it in the envelope, and wrote jokes on it for the postman. We kept that up until I was 15, then we lost touch.
Carefree fun
Until five years ago. The moment when the invitation for the reunion came, fell in a turbulent period. After a lot of hesitation, I finally decided to get a divorce. I was married when I was 20, barely five years after my last pony camp – the marriage had been a very sudden transition from child to adult. Suddenly I had huge responsibilities and there was no more room for carefree fun.
The man I was married to turned out not to be the right fit for me. And just when I decided in 2017 to choose for myself and moved with the children to our own house, the message from my old pony camp leader Gepco came out of nowhere. His email was a reminder of what life was and could be. From one moment to the next I was thrown back to the time when everything was still trouble-free and light.
letters
I had yet to have his letters, I was sure I had put them all in a moving box during the move. One night I put them all in order and started rereading them. Not out of longing for Gepco, but out of curiosity about the part of myself that had been buried for so long under a thick layer of formality and sense of duty.
The letters read like a diary. It became clear to me that I had seen him as my confidant at the time. I gathered from what he wrote that I had even asked him which of my two boyfriends to choose, and after putting the letters back in the box, I sent Gepco a message: “Do you like our letters from back in the day? to exchange? Maybe a nice way to prepare for the reunion.’
fun trappers
On January 6, 2018, he showed up at the door with a suit under his arm. I heard his voice, saw his eyes, and said, “You haven’t changed a bit.” ‘Oh,’ he said, and then, fast, ‘then I advise you to see an optician.’ That set the tone.
All afternoon we exchanged nonsense and jokes. The boundless confidence I had in him as a child when he threw me into the pool with his strong arms turned out to be unchanged. It was as if all the intervening years disappeared: we immediately became the two fun-trappers we were then again. And with laughter and trust as a solid foundation, the conversations about our lives came naturally and I heard myself exchange experiences that I had never shared with others.
My son came in and later said, ‘How old is he? Oh, so you’re only ten years apart.’ As if he already sensed what was about to happen. It was also about relationships that afternoon, and Gepco had said, “Some people can make you feel like you’re doing everything wrong without saying it right away.” He started to stutter when he said that, he didn’t want to speak evil. But I understood exactly what he meant: how helpless you can feel when you get comments you can’t defend against.
I had completely renounced men, but this was the moment that I thought: oh no huh, I won’t fall in love so soon after my divorce? But immediately afterwards I thought: so what, I have fulfilled that which belonged long enough. Relieved, free of ballast, I stepped into the coat that had been waiting for me all those years, as it were. The next time I made tea, trembling. Not trembling for fear of the unknown, but for the joy of having found the known again.’