Story-A-Day #34: He Is Right

HE IS RIGHT

I was early, by about three hours, but I didn’t feel like waiting. Call me impatient if you must, but I hadn’t seen him in almost six months. I was actually up about four hours ago, so I have been fairly patient in the bigger scheme of things. I showered, spent a little longer than usual drying my hair, and even snuck in a quick breakfast in the hotel’s modest restaurant. It was continental, but I was early enough that the rolls and fruit salad were still fresh.

I went back to my room for an hour and found myself on a little trip down memory lane. He wasn’t my first love, not by any stretch, but he was definitely one of the big ones. When we met, it was a perfect storm of passion – and not just physically. We stimulated each other as much mentally and spiritually as anything, trading ideas and principles with every kiss. Unfortunately, it ended abruptly, almost as abruptly as it began, and we both moved on to different phases in our lives.

We kept in touch over the years; cards at Christmas, phone calls on birthdays, all the usual pleasantries. In a weird way, we actually grew closer years, settling into a comfortable friendship. We had met for coffee a couple times when we happened to be in the same city and it was always cordial and friendly. When he showed up at my husband’s funeral, I actually smiled. It felt like the first time I had flexed those muscles in over a year and the first time I had felt solace since my husband had first been diagnosed with cancer.

And now here I am. It’s been almost six months since the funeral, but we have been talking on the phone every week. It’s crazy, but I feel like a little girl again; like none of what has happened in my life since those halcyon days matters. As nice as the feeling is, it leaves me a little cold and guilt ridden sometimes. It almost feels like this happiness is a slight against the memory of my husband, who I loved very much. I know that isn’t the case, and that my husband will always play a significant role in whatever my future brings, but this comfort is a weird feeling.

The intensity of the feelings I have for this man are stronger than any I have known. There were times over the years where I tried to chalk everything up to fond nostalgia. We had become great friends and those lingering moments of love from the past were just that – lingering moments.

And yet, here I am, heading down a snowbound street in a town I barely know. The sun is just creeping up over the horizon and my breath is catching, not from the cold, but from the anxiety I am suddenly feeling. We are just friends. This is just going to be a nice visit. I repeat these things over and over, like a mantra designed to soothe. It isn’t working.

I count the numbers on the houses, as they slowly build towards the one he had sent in his email. I see the house, modest and well kept and decide to keep walking. I am way too early. I’ll find a coffee shop and kill a few hours before heading back.

I tuck my head down and set off down the sidewalk at a rapid pace and then stop. My name is being called. Cringing, I turn back towards the house and see him standing in the open doorway, casually ruffled as always. I smile and wave, and start back towards him.

“I was just going to grab a coffee,” I offer weakly. “I’m a little early.”

“I’d say you’re right on time.”

I smile as I walk up his driveway and step into his house. He’s right. There is no kiss, but the warm embrace is just right. I don’t know where this is going, but I am excited to find out. It feels right.