Today’s blog will be a personal one as my assignment from Old Friend from Far Away instructs me to write about the things I am afraid to write. It also suggests that I find a good hiding place for the notebook I write this in or rip it up/burn it/swallow it after I’m done. Therefore- I will not be sharing this on my blog. I already learned that lesson the hard way.
Today, six wonderful years ago, I was broken down in the Millbrook High School parking lot. It was probably just as hot then as it is today: an unbearable 98 degrees. My car needed a new alternator; I needed to swim in a pool of ice. My mother and I waited for AAA to the Camry to the shop. While we waited, the sweat dripped from our brows. I could feel the beads forming on my back and slip beneath my bra strap: a very uncomfortable feeling.
As we waited, a familiar white Chevy truck pulled into the abandoned parking lot. It was Jonathan. Jonathan and I had hung out some in the past, but his obvious feelings for me always made me uncomfortable which lead our relationship no where. Friends, if that, is all we were. When J emerged from his truck, he asked what the problem was and how he could help. For the first time ever, I was uncomfortable before he arrived and at ease when he did. That was new. J handled everything when the AAA truck arrived, and he even offered to follow the Camry to the shop to make sure we didn’t get screwed. I felt butterflies. That was new.
When everything at the shop was settled, we parted ways with an innocent hug. In the past, J would call me frequently. I would avoid his calls. I’d pick up and hang up. I’d pretend to not be home. I wasn’t very nice. After our concert outing the most immediate summer’s past, his phone calls ceased. He’d given up.
On this day, six wonderful years ago, I called him. On this day, six wonderful years ago, everything changed!
I love you so much, sweet future hubby!