June 18, 2005
I sorta figured that anyone who had to live with me in a confined space for a prolonged period of time would, by the end of this period, want to run as far away from me as possible and wallow in absolute solitude for at least one night.Such was not the case...
Despite the fact that we had been camping in his van over the weekend, in a small five by four space, for three days and two nights, The Boy still chose to remain at my apartment the following Monday. It wasn't like I asked him to and it wasn't like he was waiting for an invite - it just felt right.
Two Wheel Tuesday, at my usual hangout with motorcycle races on the big screen, provided me with an opportunity to introduce The Boy to all my friends who gather for such an occasion. Everyone was congenial and yet everyone held a piece of commentary on how sad it was to lose their favorite bachelorette. Sitting at the bar with a couple of friends who have kept me in the best of company through the years, I sat back and watched his face as he peered up at the big screen.
"He's with me," I boldly stated as Dylan, the bartender, inquired of the new guy.
"Well, then, he's certainly welcome here and here's a drink on the house to prove it," Dylan replied while sliding my twenty dollar bill back toward my hand.
Nothing like a few free drinks to encourage the hospitality of my quaint little hangout.
Wednesday rolled around with perfect timing as I had the day off after having a few too many 'hospitality drinks' the night before. As The Boy headed off to work, I nestled deeper into the blankets for a couple extra hour's worth of repose. Having so much time on my hands, I decided to purchase food for the barren shelves of my refrigerator and make The Boy dinner. As you may have noted, I'm not much a cook, but I do make a mean batch of Tator Tot Casserole. It was well received, he is still alive and thus came Thursday, a new day for us in all its glory.
We sat up that night, talking and drinking Captain and Cokes, until the final hours of the day wore us down. He read my stories, peered into my soul and brushed back the errant hairs which tickled my face. Later that night, as we dreamt deep into the morning, I suddenly sat up straight in desperate need of rehydration. After I was finished guzzling and began to return to my recumbent position, he gently folded me in his arms, supporting my neck, and guided me all the way back to my pillow. In three seconds, we were both of us asleep, but I do insist that the smile he provoked never vanished from my lips.
Friday found us in fine form, barely beating the clock in time for work. In fact, I was nearly a half hour late. Luckily, my cohorts have come to understand the difficulty surrounding me when attempting to pull myself from bed in the morning. And it is nearly impossible, when I awake to his smiling face and tender touches, to imagine myself anywhere but there, next to him.
Perhaps a full week does not qualify for a marathon, especially when one considers the 65 years of marriage my grandparents endured, but for me it is still something to behold.