Written 2/07/01, when I was still young enough to believe in happy endings. Silly girl.
I didn't see him at first.
The airport was crowded as I stood next to the baggage claim, surveying
our surroundings. My friend pointed him
out to me, asking if he was the one. He
wore the black Adidas pants and the white T-shirt my brother had told me to
look for.
“Yeah,
that’s him”.
He
and his friend strolled casually towards us.
My brother was right, he did have the “All American Boy” look. Young, but nice to look at.
“He
gets all the girls. We all hate him,”
My brother told me on the phone the night before.
He
had given the impression that he was quite the player, not at all my type. I had had every intention on being my usual
obnoxious self; however, had a sudden change of heart as he approached.
He
said my name as a question and I smiled at him, sticking out my hand to greet
him. What a beautiful smile.
It
was still pretty early and we had asked to take them both out for breakfast for
picking us up. As we sat across from
them, conversation was small. I watched
him eat waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. Damn, he was so cute. Only eighteen years old, so I wasn’t
interested in him as anything except a friend, but I sure wouldn’t mind
spending more time looking at him.
Afterwards
they dropped us off at my brother’s apartment and disappeared. On my first trip to Phoenix, I would see very
little of him. All of the guys worked
during the day and attended classes until 9pm.
Most, however, came back to the apartment to hang out with us; two,
fairly nice looking women in their early 20’s.
But not him. A dedicated employee
of Albertson’s, he worked most nights stocking shelves with various food items.
The
one time that he did come over, he spent trying to sleep on the couch while we
drank beer and talked out on the balcony of the apartment. On the way to the bathroom, I stopped and
tried to wake him. After a little
effort, he did come around. In the cool
air-conditioned apartment, we sat on the couch and talked. He was shy and somewhat uncomfortable around
me. I made jokes and he would smile and
laugh. He told me where he was from and
on an atlas showed me where the small town of John Day, OR was and where he had
lived with his mom in Puyallup, WA. A farm
boy from the northwest. I had lived in
Kansas City my whole life and never met anyone like this.
When
my brother came in to get another beer, he casually asked what we were
doing.
“Planning
to elope”, I said with a sly smile, pointing to the map.
He
blushed and I was pleased that I could embarrass him so easily. He was not at all what my brother had led me
to believe. The idea that there were men
who were capable of being embarrassed, intrigued me. And I found that the role
of aggressor was something I was quite comfortable playing.
The
guys threw us a going away party the night before we left. Of course one never really needs a reason to
party when you are in college. Almost 2
weeks from the time we arrived and I was better friends with his roommate than
him. To my disappointment, he didn’t
show, he had to work.
When
morning came, most of us were still partying.
A mere hour before our flight was scheduled to depart, he showed up
looking totally refreshed as though he had just awoke up from a good night’s
sleep rather than just getting off of work.
Along
with his roommate and my brother, they drove us to the airport and waited until
we boarded. We exchanged phone numbers
and addresses and promised to write. I
gave him a hug goodbye and left. It
would be seven months later before I saw him again.
In
the interim, I would write occassionally and call less frequently. When he would answer the phone he always
sounded pleased to hear from me, but was quick to give the phone to his
roommate. I began to think I was a
little too aggressive for his liking. I
once mailed his roommate a pair of my underwear as a joke. He would later tell me how shocked they both
were when the envelope was opened. He
also would confess that they both would argue over whose girlfriend I was.
In
January of the following year, I had a conference to attend in Phoenix and was
excited at the prospect of seeing them again.
This time I would stay in a hotel in Scottsdale, almost an hour from
where they lived.
This
made seeing any of them, including my brother, somewhat of a challenge. After class one night, my brother came and
picked me up. We drove their townhouse
in the slums of Phoenix after picking up some alcohol.
With
work and classes the following day, it was with some protest that they partook
in a few drinks. He on the other hand,
was a little more eager than my brother and his other friends. Soon it became a contest between the two of
us as to which one could consume the most Lemon Drop shots. After about two hours of drinking I helped
him up the stairs to his room, shouting triumphantly that I had one. Later, as I lay on the cool bathroom tile, I
would remember that winning wasn’t everything.
In
his room, I got him into bed and proceeded to help him out of his pants. He wore a pair of Hard Rock Café boxers and I
couldn’t help but admire him lying there.
As I turned to leave, he called out my name and begged me to stay with
him for a while. Hesitating at the
doorway, I turned to look at him and then back at the door. I was pretty drunk and my brother knew
that. By my calculations, I had
approximately 5 minutes before he would come up those stairs to get me before I
could do something I shouldn’t. I walked
back to the bed, leaned down and kissed him.
As I again turned to leave, he grabbed my wrist and pleaded with me to stay. Playfully I tried to pull away, to no avail.
The
next time I leaned in towards him, instead of kissing him, I went for his
throat. Like a vampire on its prey I bit him and held fast, biting him
harder than I had intended. He laughed
as he struggled against me. It was not
until he released my wrist that I released him.
Quickly, I stepped out of his reach and again headed for the door. Ignoring the pain radiating from the right
side of his neck, he held out both hands and called my name. I blew him a kiss and stumbled out of his
room, down the stairs.
For
the next half hour, he could be heard calling out my name. Downstairs we would laugh and comment on how
sick he would be the following morning.
It was not until my brother went into his room and announced that it was
time for him to go to sleep, that he finally quieted.
The
following morning I was an hour late to my conference and had developed some
flu like symptoms; vomiting, dizziness, headache, etc. though I somehow managed to struggle through
the 5 hour event. He also had difficulty
making it to work.
The
day I left, I stopped by to tell them goodbye on my way to the airport. He proudly displayed the bruise on his neck
as though it was a battle wound, though admittedly he could vaguely recall
getting it. His roommate chastised me on
the manhandling of his friend. Jokingly
I told him, he shouldn’t have grabbed me and it was done only out of self
defense.
When
I looked at him, I searched his face for any sign that he remembered our kiss,
but I saw nothing. Either he did not
recall, or he did not want to. I felt it
best not to bring it up, especially not in the company of others.
I
was to return the following month for my brothers graduation and asked if it
would be alright if I stayed in the townhouse.
His roommate would be leaving and there would be an extra room. I would be bringing my 6 year old daughter
and had no desire to stay in my brother’s small, cluttered one room
apartment. He agreed and promised to
have everything in order when we arrived.
When
I returned home, the kiss was easily passed off as nothing as I went about my
life as usual; work, school, motherhood, etc.
It wasn’t until I saw him again just 4 short weeks later that I began to
second guess the meaning of that one kiss.
It
was late when we arrive. My little one
was half asleep and eager for a comfortable bed. He helped me with my luggage, up the stairs
to his room which provided a bed big enough for two. As any good host, he took his roommates old
room and a mattress on the floor. He
appeared a little nervous as he chatted about his day.
As
I stood over my daughter, tucking her in, he grew quiet.
“Did
I really ‘grab’ you?”
This
caught me off guard at first until I realize he was referring to a lewd act. I smiled at him and laughed softly.
“You
grabbed my arm. Nothing else, just my
arm. You just seemed to have difficulty
turning loose of it.”
A
look of relief came over him and he returned the smile.
“I
am sorry”.
I
assured him I harbored no hard feelings against him and hoped he had not been
too upset about the hideous bruise I had left him with.
“I
am glad you are here”, he said as he excused himself to his room for the night.
“Me
too.”
As
I lay in bed I thought about the wonderful possibility that he had actually
concerned himself with this one little detail for an entire month. That something so small so me, could have
mattered so much to him.
It
was not until late the next night that we had another chance to talk. We had been watching movies with several
friends. After they left and I had put
my daughter to bed, the two of us sat on opposite side of the room. Both stretched out on the sofas, exhausted
from the days events.
For
a long while, there was only silence between us. When he brought up how sick he had been
following our little drinking episode.
Laughing we recounted how we both had faired the morning after.
“How
much do you remember from that night,” I asked, searching for a specific
answer.
“Everything.”
He said without any hesitation, looking up at the ceiling.
“Everything?” I asked again. He still wasn’t looking at me and I found it
difficult to read him.
“Everything,
EVERYTHING” He answered with enough
enthusiasm to make it sound as though it would have been a crime to forget such
a thing. This time he turned to look at
me.
At
that moment I wanted more than anything to kiss him again.
But
I couldn’t, I couldn’t even bring my self to get up off the couch. It had been 2 years since I had dated anyone
and though I had guy friends who had been interested, never had I felt what I
felt at that very moment. And it scared
me. He was four years younger than I and
regret was sure to be a factor eventually.
We
talked more about it and how each of us had thought the other couldn’t recall
or didn’t want to. We talked for another
hour and the entire time all I could think of was pressing my lips to his. I could not decide which I would regret more,
kissing him or spending the rest of my life wishing I had.
It
was getting late and he had to work the next day. He politely excused himself to bed. As I followed him up the stairs, he began
turning lights off as he went. I was
standing closer to him than I had been all night and I could smell him.
There
was a moment when I felt I had been shocked by electricity. A moment when I had a chance to act on an
impulse, and I took that chance. In that
dark stairwell, I grabbed the back of his shirt, spun him around and brought his face close
enough to mine, I could read the surprise in his eyes. And I kissed him. We stepped back down the stairs and fell onto
the couch. That one kiss would last
until the early morning hours and again he would be late for work.
I
saw him again later that day, shortly before the graduation ceremony. He was sitting outside the school with his
leather jacket on and holding his motorcycle helmet. As soon as he saw me he stood up and brushed
himself off., “Wow, you look great.”, but it was quiet enough that no one else would
have heard him. I sat next to him at the
graduation and wondered of anyone could tell just by looking that there might
be something between the two of us. I
liked just being next to him. I liked
the way he would look at me, but most of all, I liked the fact that what we had
would remain a secret until I chose to make it otherwise. I had no doubt that the previous night would
not be a topic for conversation among him and his friends.
After
the graduation ceremony, my family and I went to dinner. It was late when we finally got back to the
townhouse. He was asleep on the
couch. After tucking my daughter into
bed, I came back downstairs and watched TV with two of his friends until he
awoke, looking pleased to see me sitting there.
Eventually
they left and again it was just the two of us.
I was leaving the next day and saw it as our last night together. We would spend it talking mostly, however,
there were times that we made out like teenage lovers. His age and my own
history with men were a major factor in abstaining from sex, though my body
disagreed greatly with my decision. He was such an amazing person and the more
I learned about him, the more I wanted to know.
The
following morning, my daughter emerged sleepy eyed from the upstairs to find us
lying on the floor giggling like small children, fatigued from lack of
sleep. The look she gave us both could
have killed.
“Didn’t
you guys go to bed?”
During
the short three day trip, my six year old had gotten along with him
famously. He knew how to relate to her
on her level and he had an abundance of energy to spend on her. We couldn’t tell if she was angry with me
because she had to sleep alone or with him because he was only suppose to be
having fun with her. He had his chance
to make it up to her later, while I attempted to catch a quick nap before my
grandparents and brother came over for brunch.
Brunch
at a college frat house with your grandparent; as one could imagine, it was anything
but typical. We had picked up some
groceries the previous day and replaced any fur-bearing, foul smelling and
unknown things in the refrigerator.
However, we had forgotten to pick up drinks. The menu consisted of eggs, pancakes and wine
coolers. Thank God my grandparents have
a great sense of humor.
Some
time later my grandmother would confide in me that during their plane ride
home, they had discussed the chemistry we had inadvertently displayed during
that brunch. She suspected that neither
of us were remotely aware of the depth of our feelings for each other, however,
it had been apparent to both her and my grandfather.
After
everyone had left and the kitchen had been straightened up, I went up stairs to
pack my bags. I was a little startled
when he entered the room and quietly touched my shoulder. He caressed my neck with his lips. Damn, he smelled good. When I had finished packing, we both lay on
the bed and talked until my brother called from downstairs to say it was time
to leave.
As
we were getting in the car, I had asked him to come with us to the
airport. We sat in the back seat with my
daughter between the two of us, stealing glances when we knew we could get away
with it. When we arrived at the gate and
it was announced that they were boarding, I hugged him goodbye.
For
some time I had believed that it took a few months of contemplating before I
asked him to move to KC to be my roommate.
In reality, it was less than two days.
Upon arriving home my daughter had expressed her great disappointment that
she would again have no one to play with.
We had been discussing the possibility of getting a roommate for some
time, to help with bills. When I brought
him up as a possible candidate, she was very much for it.
I
don’t recall if I posed the question to him or my brother first, however, my
brother was less enthusiastic about it than he was. I don’t think I ever really expected him to
come. It was just so far fetched to
believe that anyone would alter their entire life for me. I was hopeful, but tried to remain realistic
about the chances.
At
first, he speculated it would take some 6 months for him to make enough money
after graduation to afford the move. But
that quickly changed to 6 weeks after his father volunteered to help move him
the day after he graduated. His family
was more than supportive of his move; his friends on the other hand were a
different story. Most would tell him
that I wanted him as a live in babysitter and would only use him and hurt
him. A few actually told me what they thought. I heard everything from “You can have anyone,
why don’t you just leave him alone”, to “You couldn’t give him anything but
marriage and more kids”.
My
biggest fear was that they might all be right.
How horrible it was to think I might be taking so much away from him and
burdening him with so much responsibility at the young age of 19.
During
the six weeks before his graduation, we exchanged letters almost daily. The highlight of my day was getting his
letters. And after work and homework, I
would spend at least an hour responding.
I counted the days till he would be there.
Though
I didn’t have the money for plane fare, I allowed him to talk me into coming
down for his graduation and help move him to KC. He picked me up from the airport with one of
his disapproving friends. Disappointed
as I was, I hugged him and found it to be a little awkward. I got to meet his dad and younger sister, the
two of us hit it off immediately.
The
trip out was a little uncanny. He had
failed to mention one of his disapproving friends would be making the trip with
us. We had two vehicles and because his
sister and friend refused to ride with his dad, I spent most of the time in the
Ryder truck getting to know his father.
He was a very pleasant and interesting man. Having grown up without a father, I began to
think, if I had had one, I would have wanted him to be like this guy.
At one point, we lost site of the their car and began to
think it was a bad idea for all the “minors” to be traveling together. So the disapproving friend and I changed
places. This of course proved to be a bad
idea and both his friend and his father were unhappy. A couple of times at rest stops, his dad
would come back and beg to exchange back, as he much preferred my company to
his current occupant.
When
we reached New Mexico, we stayed overnight with his roommate and my friend. Sleeping arrangements had already been
planned out prior to us arriving and I was a little shocked to learn I was to
be sleeping in the same bed with my soon to be roommate in a tiny trailer not
much bigger than the average bathroom.
I
believe all his friends thought this was nothing new to two people planning to
live together, but I found it to be a little uncomfortable.
That
morning when we awoke and I found myself wrapped him his arms, I realized it
wasn’t as bad as I had previously thought. In fact, it was the most comfortable
feeling I have ever known. It was like
finding something you had no idea you lost.
And though I was still months away from admitting any of this, even to
myself, as I look back now, I know this was the exact moment when I fell in
love with him.
When
we finally arrived in KC and moved all of his belonging into my two-bedroom
apartment, things between the five of us finally began to mellow out. It had been a long, stressful trip, but we
had made it.
His
father and sister stayed less than a week and did a great deal to help get him
settled. I went back to work and he tied
up lose ends with his new job. His
friend did not leave for two weeks after our arrival and though we had started
out on the wrong foot, by the time he left he confessed that I was a good thing
and his friend was lucky to have me.
Those
two weeks were hard for us. We had
maintained that our relationship was strictly plutonic and needed to stay that
way at least until he was a little older and sure that he was capable of
handling all the responsibility that a relationship with me would involve. And that lasted until after he returned from
driving his friend to the airport.
Of
course we were always discrete. Stolen
kisses while my daughter was in the her room playing, finding casual ways to
touch each others hand so no one would notice, staying up till the wee hours of
the morning, trying never to fall asleep in the wrong bed. For the six months that we lived in that
apartment, we maintained separate rooms, mine the living room and his in the
smaller of the two rooms. But we were
always sneaking into the others bed and sneaking out at the first sign of dawn.
It
was some time in July before we involved my daughter in the relationship. He took her aside and tried to find out what
she thought of him asking her mother to be his girlfriend. She promptly took him by the hand and began
pulling him towards the front room. When
he questioned her motives she responded by saying, “Come on, your going to ask
her right now!” After he asked me and of
course I accepted, she suggested we kiss to make it official.
In late September, we moved into a new house and settled
into a fairytale-like existence. One
night in the heat of passion, he whispered something in Italian. Instantly I said yes, though it would be some
time before we again discussed marriage.
In
mid November, I discovered I was pregnant.
We were both very excited, though neither of us was too surprised. We had been planning to spend Christmas with
his parents and thought it would be a perfect opportunity for us to wed.
His
mother set up all the arrangements so that everything would be ready when we
arrived. But the day before we left I
had gone to the doctor for a check up and discovered that I had
miscarried. Devastated, we contemplated
not going. In the end we decided it was
a good idea to go ahead as planned.
While
standing in front of the Justice of the Peace, looking deeply into my new
husband’s eyes, I realized just how far I had come and how I never would have
gotten there if he hadn’t been the patient, caring man that he was. As I watched him, he chewed his bottom lip
and tried not to cry. A few times he put
his hand to his chin to keep it from quivering.
All the while I stared in awe at this wonderful man that had picked me
up from the airport as a favor to my brother.
We
spent a one night honeymoon in Seattle at a hotel downtown. As I lay in his arms, it was my turn to
cry. In one moment I had given myself to
him. All my fears, scars and baggage, I
had handed over willingly. And I trusted
him with my heart, something I had not ever been able to do.
More
than two years later, we have now have two beautiful daughters and when I awake
wrapped in his arms, feeling the warmth of his body, I still feel at
peace. With each passing year our
friendship is stronger, our passion is more ardent and our love for each other
is deeper than the vast regions of the ocean.
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