Expect me to be blogging more now that I have here, cradled in my lap, my cousin's old Apple laptop (cue angel choir). After exactly one year of independence (I moved out on September 17th 2006) with an old mutt desktop that never really got to have a prime time of life before it passed it, I now have a damn good computer. Brian, since he just bought a newer better computer, deigned to give me his old laptop. I couldn't care how old it is as long as it does what I need it to, and man does this baby get the job done and more. I don't know how to handle all this sudden access to the internet.
Introductory ramble aside, let me get to the real point of this blog - to catch you up on other things far more important. For starters:
Let it be known that on September the second two-thousand-and-seven on the bench on walkway number eleven-thirty-seven at Holden Beach, North Carolina David McCray told me he loved me for the first time in words.
That's just the kind of thing that deserves a formal declaration in bold and bigger font, especially because I had to date him two years two months and twenty-two days to hear it. We had just gone on a triple date with two of my roommates and their boyfriends, even though he wasn't feeling very well. He treated me to a nice fish dinner with the world's slowest waitress, we played putt-putt at a course with a scummy moat and big plastic zoo animals, and then asked if he could talk to me alone afterwards.
We walked out to the bench and sat down and he poured out his heart into a list of compliments a mile long. Then he paused. "I want to tell you something," and popped a cough drop in his mouth, staring out over the dunes and walkways. I had a feeling...but that feeling had been wrong a couple times before. Continuing to look alternately between his hands and into the distance he said, slow and matter-of-fact, "I prayed about this before and felt like I shouldn't say anything, but I didn't get that feeling this time...so, I just wanted to let you know...that I love you." He turned to face me as the words struck and then sunk in, fireworks fizzling in my gut and spreading their sparkle out to my fingertips and toes. I grinned so wide I felt as though the corners were off the boundaries of my face, then the emotion overwhelmed me and the tears welled up, words some barbaric notion I could not fathom trying to butcher the moment with. Laughing a little, I asked him to say it again. And this time, looking me straight in the eyes, calm and certain, he said "I love you." He held me as emotions and joy rocketed around my body and bruised my insides; for the next hour we would say it over and over again to each other, delighted by its novelty. I insisted it was important when he laughed a little at me because we'll never have a first night for saying I love you ever again.
I would wait another two years two months and twenty two days for that night - the value it had from maturing over time was an incredible gift.
Don't worry - more to come soon! (as in, less than two months...)
Introductory ramble aside, let me get to the real point of this blog - to catch you up on other things far more important. For starters:
Let it be known that on September the second two-thousand-and-seven on the bench on walkway number eleven-thirty-seven at Holden Beach, North Carolina David McCray told me he loved me for the first time in words.
That's just the kind of thing that deserves a formal declaration in bold and bigger font, especially because I had to date him two years two months and twenty-two days to hear it. We had just gone on a triple date with two of my roommates and their boyfriends, even though he wasn't feeling very well. He treated me to a nice fish dinner with the world's slowest waitress, we played putt-putt at a course with a scummy moat and big plastic zoo animals, and then asked if he could talk to me alone afterwards.
We walked out to the bench and sat down and he poured out his heart into a list of compliments a mile long. Then he paused. "I want to tell you something," and popped a cough drop in his mouth, staring out over the dunes and walkways. I had a feeling...but that feeling had been wrong a couple times before. Continuing to look alternately between his hands and into the distance he said, slow and matter-of-fact, "I prayed about this before and felt like I shouldn't say anything, but I didn't get that feeling this time...so, I just wanted to let you know...that I love you." He turned to face me as the words struck and then sunk in, fireworks fizzling in my gut and spreading their sparkle out to my fingertips and toes. I grinned so wide I felt as though the corners were off the boundaries of my face, then the emotion overwhelmed me and the tears welled up, words some barbaric notion I could not fathom trying to butcher the moment with. Laughing a little, I asked him to say it again. And this time, looking me straight in the eyes, calm and certain, he said "I love you." He held me as emotions and joy rocketed around my body and bruised my insides; for the next hour we would say it over and over again to each other, delighted by its novelty. I insisted it was important when he laughed a little at me because we'll never have a first night for saying I love you ever again.
I would wait another two years two months and twenty two days for that night - the value it had from maturing over time was an incredible gift.
Don't worry - more to come soon! (as in, less than two months...)
Comments