Rosemary and Dorothy: A story of friendship, reunion & romantic love 50 years later

We giggled as we ran up the stairs of the three-family tenement house where we lived in Rhode Island. The third floor was our escape from the screaming, beer-bottle-throwing escapades on the second floor.

Every morning, Dorothy and I woke up in a world from which we desperately wanted to escape. We found solace and comfort in each other… and in Aunt Ida. Her flat was on the third floor. There, we could pretend to be anyone … pretend to be any place other than who and where we actually were.

We should have known back in the third grade at Joslin Park Elementary School that our relationship was special. We should have suspected as our friendship grew stronger while attending George J. West Junior High and Mount Pleasant High School.

We were best friends for eight years. Inseparable. Dorothy would carry my books and bassoon from school, give me rides on her bike and pull me on a sled when the snow came. I introduced Dorothy to makeup, gave her dance lessons in my cellar and organized her recital costumes.

As we matured, discussions about boys, kissing and love became common topics. At the young age of 9, we were preparing for our first double date with two boys from the neighborhood. I confessed to Dorothy that I did not know how to kiss. She jumped in to save the day. We taped a picture of Richard, my date, to her lips and the lesson began. Dorothy taught me the fundamentals of kissing!

Years later, I remembered something about that moment but I will save that part of the story for now.

Dorothy was self-conscious about being flat-chested. She actually was envious of my voluptuous “A “ cup bra size. To help her self-image, we stuffed her training bra with a full roll of toilet paper.

Off to the theater with our dates we went. The movie was “Three on a Couch,” starring Jerry Lewis. At some point during the film, the end of the toilet paper roll began to show above the neckline of Dorothy’s blouse. As her date — an older man of 12 — proceeded to unroll the paper, we ran into the ladies room dying of a mixture of humiliation and laughter.

Growing up in Rhode Island could be limiting. Our lives consisted of school, and sledding or swimming at the community pool depending on the season. We also took dance lessons at a local studio, which we paid for by babysitting.

To add excitement, we escaped our home life by riding the city bus to downtown, to Rocky Point Amusement Park, and to go horseback riding in Lincoln Woods. Our parents never knew of our escapades. We were young, adventurous and full of dreams.

Going our separate ways

Then, life happened. We each married one of our high school teachers. Mine was our French teacher, who forbade me to be friends with Dorothy. In those days, you listened to the male authority figure in your life, especially coming from an Italian-Catholic background.

Dorothy insisted on telling me that my future husband was gay. To get even, I told her that she was making a huge mistake in dating and possibly marrying a married man, our drama teacher. We were both deaf to each other’s warnings. I moved to Florida and Dorothy moved to Las Vegas.

For 50 years, we never saw or spoke to each other. We each had rich lives filled with marriage, children and grandchildren. I had two and a half marriages, while Dorothy’s marriage to Paul lasted 47 years until his death in 2019.

Finding each other again

COVID, isolation, and a yearning to fill the emptiness brought about a reunion. The country was in chaos, the pandemic was taking the lives of so many people, and we were desperate to once again escape to that third-floor flat that had been a haven of hope in our youth.

Unbeknownst to either of us, we had each been following the other's life changes online.

I found Dorothy’s phone number through Facebook and called her. She seemed quite surprised to hear from me. We talked about so many things … children, grandchildren, even pets. The hours flew by, and I promised to call her again soon, which I did. First, monthly, then weekly, then daily and, finally, each morning and each night. I called her on my hourlong drive to work and on my return ride home.

I knew her daily routine and she knew mine. We were 3,500 miles apart, me still in Florida and she still in Vegas, but we felt like we were in the same household.

COVID had a huge effect on the world, and I was no exception. Working as head of school for a private Christian school, I had lost patience with parents complaining about masks and questioning the safety precautions set by the Department of Health that we followed.

I decided to retire at the end of the school year. Dorothy and I made plans for me to fly to Nevada to celebrate my retirement. We were anticipating a fun week of “Stitching together 50 lost years.” That is the motto I embroidered on a quilt I lovingly made for her that traced our childhood.

As the time for our reunion approached, we talked excitedly about our expectations, but nothing we said resembled what happened. Instead, it was anything but.

Meeting for the first time in 50 years

As I stepped off the escalator in the Vegas airport, our eyes met. We each saw the little 9-year-old, giggly girl beneath the silver white hair and faces aged with time. We hugged and cried as our emotions swept us into a roaring circle, twirling about us in an unending flood of tears.

Hand in hand, we walked to the luggage area, chattering nonstop about so many things. It was not until later that night that I told her about my flight and the thoughts that had kept me entertained as I looked out of the plane window. Central to all of my memories was that first kiss 57 years ago. I felt her lips on mine and I realized there was no taped picture between us.

Later that night, I put my hands on each side of her face, and we looked into each other’s eyes. It was then that we realized the depth of our love. A love that had laid dormant through two generations of time.

A return trip to Florida alone was incomprehensible. A proposal was made, and we married a mere seven months later in a hoedown, country-western style wedding ceremony, surrounded by both our families and friends.

I had returned to my maiden name of Marshall after my divorce, and Dorothy gladly took that last name as my wife.

We are one of the lucky same-sex couples. Our union was accepted by everyone we loved and everyone we wanted in our lives. We live life to the fullest and enjoy every day, never hiding our love or marriage. For us, life has come full circle. Only now does Dorothy realize that she reaps the benefits of that first-kiss instruction!

This is our story — one of friendship, a 50 year separation, a reunion, a deep, mutual love and a same-sex marriage.

It is a love story that needs to be told. Like so many other people in the world, for many years we each thought something was missing from our lives, but we were wrong. It was not something but someone that was missing.

Now, we anxiously pack at least three days' worth of excitement and love into each day because we have 50 years of time to recoup.

Miracles do happen.

Rosemary Marshall lives with her wife, Dorothy, in Port St. Lucie. Marshall was head of school at The Weiss School in Palm Beach Gardens and Good Shepherd in Tequesta. She was also program planner for gifted students in the Palm Beach County School District.

This article originally appeared on Palm Beach Post: Former principal's love story: from girlhood besties to betrothed