Memories
It will be tomorrow, but I remember it as though it were yesterday--
The long drive to grandma's house. Just like every summer, captivating and warm.
Restless at times, but well worth the stuffy drive to play in the hay loft, chase the sheep and collect the speckled chicken eggs. I picture the oak tree with my initials carved in its ancient side as it spreads its branches over the grassy lawn.
Then I remember the boy--no man--who sat in the wrong seat next to me; his blond hair shagging over cobalt blue eyes. Sheepishly he had to move to the row behind me when the flight attendant directed another passenger to his seat. We met again at baggage-claim when he helped me with my overweight luggage, introducing himself as Tanner. "Mel," I say with an automatic smile. His hair reminds me of the straw in grandma's loft when he brushes it aside to see me better.
It took a week for him to build up the courage to call me. Of course, since I worked two hours north in Detmold; I never expected to see him again. Children are my passion; my distraction. But the sound of his voice filtering through the trac-fone brought his face to startling clarity. "Can I come visit you?" he asks. My weekends are free. And he is willing to visit a complete stranger.
The flowers are a riot of pinks and purples lining the summer lawn. The huge oak shaded us as we stand before a hundred people, ready to commit publicly to one another. My small tanned hand in his, dark hair brushed aside and veiled in white. His shaggy mass now cut neatly to match his crisp white shirt and checkered gray vest. Mouthing "I love you," he winks across the foot-and-a-half spanning between us. A light breeze swirls around us, scattering the flower petals down the aisle. Grandpa sneezes from the front row, handkerchief brought to his nose.
I breath deeply, the scent of summer grass filling my nostrils, releasing the butterflies from my belly. They take flight with the rose petals--some catching on my dress, others floating to sights unknown. Our eyes are locked--his a deep blue sea, mine the color of melted chocolate, liquid and pure. He squeezes my fingers as he says those two words:
"I do."
A thrill shoots up my arms. I don't know if it was from the pressure of his warm touch or those short reassuring words, but my soul sings to the heavens. Before I have a chance to blink again, his lips capture mine...
But this is no sweet remembrance. No memory exists, only potential. The images fade into the future of tomorrow as I lie awake anticipating the long drive to grandma's house.
It will be tomorrow, but I remember it as though it were yesterday--
The long drive to grandma's house. Just like every summer, captivating and warm.
Restless at times, but well worth the stuffy drive to play in the hay loft, chase the sheep and collect the speckled chicken eggs. I picture the oak tree with my initials carved in its ancient side as it spreads its branches over the grassy lawn.
Then I remember the boy--no man--who sat in the wrong seat next to me; his blond hair shagging over cobalt blue eyes. Sheepishly he had to move to the row behind me when the flight attendant directed another passenger to his seat. We met again at baggage-claim when he helped me with my overweight luggage, introducing himself as Tanner. "Mel," I say with an automatic smile. His hair reminds me of the straw in grandma's loft when he brushes it aside to see me better.
It took a week for him to build up the courage to call me. Of course, since I worked two hours north in Detmold; I never expected to see him again. Children are my passion; my distraction. But the sound of his voice filtering through the trac-fone brought his face to startling clarity. "Can I come visit you?" he asks. My weekends are free. And he is willing to visit a complete stranger.
The flowers are a riot of pinks and purples lining the summer lawn. The huge oak shaded us as we stand before a hundred people, ready to commit publicly to one another. My small tanned hand in his, dark hair brushed aside and veiled in white. His shaggy mass now cut neatly to match his crisp white shirt and checkered gray vest. Mouthing "I love you," he winks across the foot-and-a-half spanning between us. A light breeze swirls around us, scattering the flower petals down the aisle. Grandpa sneezes from the front row, handkerchief brought to his nose.
I breath deeply, the scent of summer grass filling my nostrils, releasing the butterflies from my belly. They take flight with the rose petals--some catching on my dress, others floating to sights unknown. Our eyes are locked--his a deep blue sea, mine the color of melted chocolate, liquid and pure. He squeezes my fingers as he says those two words:
"I do."
A thrill shoots up my arms. I don't know if it was from the pressure of his warm touch or those short reassuring words, but my soul sings to the heavens. Before I have a chance to blink again, his lips capture mine...
But this is no sweet remembrance. No memory exists, only potential. The images fade into the future of tomorrow as I lie awake anticipating the long drive to grandma's house.
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