right-side door and saw him sitting in one of
the porch chairs; rocking and looking off into the
distance.
He noticed my presence and invited me
to sit with him a while. We wandered down to the large cedar swing
at the end of the veranda.
It was so peaceful. Not a hint of the
rush and hurried sound of the city in the background; just miles
and miles of Texas. The gentle, cool breeze melted into the warmth
from the sun shining down on us.
“ So tell me,” he casually
inquired, “what’s a woman like you doing still single? Why hasn’t
someone come along and stuck their brand on you, yet?”
With a delicate balance of words to
escape the possibility of breaking the rule regarding talking about
past relationships, I touched on the peaks and valleys of my
experiences over the past few years. I tried my best not to linger
on anything negative. In spite of how lousy my circumstance had
been, I didn’t want to run him off with my sad, sad story. Besides,
I was well past the point of desperation. I had done a pretty good
job of pulling myself up by the bootstraps. He didn’t need to know
all of the horrific details.
I had survived many disappointments and
heartaches that had led me to that front porch in the heart of
Texas. But in my mind, I had to give him credit. In spite of my
independent nature, I suddenly realized something very important
about him. In so many ways, he had already come to my rescue. He
had given me hope of something I had ceased to believe in—finding
true love with a good man. Of course, I didn’t reveal that
particular peak to him.
He disclosed some of the details of his
recent heartbreak to me. It was one of the few times he didn’t make
eye contact with me; as he informed me that his divorce was not
quite legally final. Because of all the financial details, they had
been in arbitration. He told me about how unhappy he had been over
the past few years. He confided the only reason he had stayed in it
so long had been his boys. Obviously, they meant the world to
him—as they should.
He told me about how he had met his
soon to be ex-wife in college. Like many other relationships
founded in youth’s prime, it had gone south after the newness had
worn away. From the way he described her, apparently, she had been
rather materialistic. He said no matter how hard he had worked or
how much he had done, it had never been enough for her. He said he
simply grew tired of trying. He was exhausted from being in a
situation where there was no longer any appreciation—or
passion.
He looked me into the eyes when he
said, “You know, if someone really loves you, they make you feel
appreciated. They make you feel important. They make everything
worth it. They make you feel it in everything they do and it makes
you want to return it. It makes you better. I haven’t felt that way
in long time. But I’m starting to remember how it feels again. And
I like it.”
Once again, he elicited a big smile
from me. I understood his words. It was reassuring to know that
this wasn’t a one sided thing; he was feeling it, too.
He approached a rather touchy subject
when he asked, “So, why didn’t you ever have any kids?” He fumbled,
“I mean do you like kids? Do you ever want to have any
children?”
“ Well, that’s a loaded
question, Mister!” I tried to lighten the mood and continued, “Of
course. I’ve always wanted kids. I just never found myself in the
right situation. To make a long story short, I just never found a
sperm donor with a good man attached.”
He threw his head back in
laughter.
Changing the subject, he asked, “So
tell me, sugar britches, do you know how to dance?”
“ Ummm, yeah.
Why?”
I didn’t want to let him in on another
surprise I was keeping up my sleeve. Not only did I know how to
dance: like any self-respecting girl from Texas, I loved to dance.
In fact, back in the day, I had won a jitter-bug contest—or two—or
three. There wasn’t much else I would rather do than
the porch chairs; rocking and looking off into the
distance.
He noticed my presence and invited me
to sit with him a while. We wandered down to the large cedar swing
at the end of the veranda.
It was so peaceful. Not a hint of the
rush and hurried sound of the city in the background; just miles
and miles of Texas. The gentle, cool breeze melted into the warmth
from the sun shining down on us.
“ So tell me,” he casually
inquired, “what’s a woman like you doing still single? Why hasn’t
someone come along and stuck their brand on you, yet?”
With a delicate balance of words to
escape the possibility of breaking the rule regarding talking about
past relationships, I touched on the peaks and valleys of my
experiences over the past few years. I tried my best not to linger
on anything negative. In spite of how lousy my circumstance had
been, I didn’t want to run him off with my sad, sad story. Besides,
I was well past the point of desperation. I had done a pretty good
job of pulling myself up by the bootstraps. He didn’t need to know
all of the horrific details.
I had survived many disappointments and
heartaches that had led me to that front porch in the heart of
Texas. But in my mind, I had to give him credit. In spite of my
independent nature, I suddenly realized something very important
about him. In so many ways, he had already come to my rescue. He
had given me hope of something I had ceased to believe in—finding
true love with a good man. Of course, I didn’t reveal that
particular peak to him.
He disclosed some of the details of his
recent heartbreak to me. It was one of the few times he didn’t make
eye contact with me; as he informed me that his divorce was not
quite legally final. Because of all the financial details, they had
been in arbitration. He told me about how unhappy he had been over
the past few years. He confided the only reason he had stayed in it
so long had been his boys. Obviously, they meant the world to
him—as they should.
He told me about how he had met his
soon to be ex-wife in college. Like many other relationships
founded in youth’s prime, it had gone south after the newness had
worn away. From the way he described her, apparently, she had been
rather materialistic. He said no matter how hard he had worked or
how much he had done, it had never been enough for her. He said he
simply grew tired of trying. He was exhausted from being in a
situation where there was no longer any appreciation—or
passion.
He looked me into the eyes when he
said, “You know, if someone really loves you, they make you feel
appreciated. They make you feel important. They make everything
worth it. They make you feel it in everything they do and it makes
you want to return it. It makes you better. I haven’t felt that way
in long time. But I’m starting to remember how it feels again. And
I like it.”
Once again, he elicited a big smile
from me. I understood his words. It was reassuring to know that
this wasn’t a one sided thing; he was feeling it, too.
He approached a rather touchy subject
when he asked, “So, why didn’t you ever have any kids?” He fumbled,
“I mean do you like kids? Do you ever want to have any
children?”
“ Well, that’s a loaded
question, Mister!” I tried to lighten the mood and continued, “Of
course. I’ve always wanted kids. I just never found myself in the
right situation. To make a long story short, I just never found a
sperm donor with a good man attached.”
He threw his head back in
laughter.
Changing the subject, he asked, “So
tell me, sugar britches, do you know how to dance?”
“ Ummm, yeah.
Why?”
I didn’t want to let him in on another
surprise I was keeping up my sleeve. Not only did I know how to
dance: like any self-respecting girl from Texas, I loved to dance.
In fact, back in the day, I had won a jitter-bug contest—or two—or
three. There wasn’t much else I would rather do than
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