Read them both? You ready to go? Okay, here it is…
A storm was coming. It was one of those east coast storms that you could feel deep down in your soul. The air was thick, humid. Everything was tense. We had been waiting for days, and it still hadn’t come.
It was Monday, lecture day. At Hallmark, this was either wonderful, or excruciatingly boring. I don’t remember who’s idea it was to skip, all I know was that nothing seemed worse than spending eight hours being lectured about photo competitions. So, we grabbed our things and left.
We picked up some coffee, and drove with one purpose in mind: to get lost. And lost, we got.
Somewhere off MA Highway 2, we pulled over and got out of the car. We had found a beautiful old farm (actually two, one on each side of the road). So, we went a-trespassin’ on some unsuspecting farmer’s property.
There we were, wandering about and photographing everything we laid eyes on. That’s what you do when you’re in photo school, after all.
Suddenly, without warning, there it was. The storm, in all its glory, began to pour down upon us.
(No, I'm not a hunchback, that's my camera. We protect our equipment at all costs.)
There was something magical about this storm. We both love the rain, we were in our element. We crossed the road, and wandered through a graveyard. A rather sobering experience, you know, visiting a graveyard in the pouring rain with a boy you’re having a fling with.
(Did I mention that’s what Drew was to me at first? I had no intention of starting a serious relationship during the last month of school. He knew right from the start that we were meant to be.)
We continued to explore the property and began poking through an old barn next to the graveyard. We paused a moment, and Drew came up behind and put his arms around me, holding me close. Everything was perfect, in that moment. I felt so safe and secure in his arms. It was probably the most romantic, fairytale set up for a first kiss, ever. New England countryside, rain pouring down, old barn…
Come on. Disney couldn’t top that.
Suddenly, the door to the house opened, and the owner came out onto his porch We froze. This ain’t Seabeck, (where people chase you off their property wielding shotguns), but we figured he wouldn’t take kindly to us tromping around in his barn. Our concern was needless. First off, this guy was probably about four hundred years old. We watched, transfixed, as he made his way to the car. It was parked about 10 feet from the door, but I kid you not when I say it took him 10 minutes to get there. This man gave a whole new meaning to the word “deliberation.”
There we stood, entwined, living out some ridiculous romance novel’s dream come true and watching, transfixed, as this fine gentleman inched his way closer and closer to the car. At long last, he made it, climbed in, and sat. Rolled down his window. Adjusted his mirror. Sat for another moment. Adjusted the mirror again. Again. Finally, he was gone.
Here, we reach the pivotal point in the story. The climax, if you will.
I turned around.
Let me repeat that.
I TURNED AROUND.
Now, I’m not the queen of body language, but I’d at least rank up there with the ladies-in-waiting. I’ve studied the complex psychology of the human mind enough to know that when a girl turns around and puts her face about 2 inches from a guy’s, it usually means something like “Hey. It’s cool if you kiss me. I guess. Ya know, whatevs.”
The pause. Oh, the long pause.
(This would be the part in the black and white movie where the girl cries out “KISS ME, YOU FOOL!”)
What did he do?
Two days later, on Cinco de Mayo, we drank too much tequila, he fell over the arm of a couch and kissed me by mistake.
Stay tuned for the part I like to call “Hey, stranger! Want to drive 3,000 across the county with me?”