One day I will write a story and it will be real. It will be the
truth. It will be my reality. It will tell the story of a meet-cute between me
and some woman out there, yet-to-be-named. Not that she doesn’t have a name, I just
don’t know what it is yet. And I won’t have to live in these fictional stories
I write. I won’t have to live vicariously through my own characters I created
or through this fake me. The story will have no famous people in it, no
actresses, no characters from my favorite TV shows. It will just be about a normal
girl with a normal job and we will have a normal life, like I always wanted.
We won’t need to travel through wormholes and time to alternate Universes. We
will just be here on this Earth. We will live wherever we live. I won’t need to
rewrite my teen years in which I knew who I was earlier in life. My past will
be my same past and my girl will love it. She’ll be into the stories of shy
awkward me at Church Youth Camp. She’ll want to go see the swings I jumped off
of at my Elementary school playground. Where I felt like I was flying for that
brief moment in time. I can take her to where I broke my femur the day before I
turned 13. I’ll show her the house I grew up in, the roof I hung out on and the
front door where I got my first kiss. And we’ll kiss at it too, and make a new
memory. She’ll read every single one of my stories and she’ll laugh at some and
be turned on by others. She’ll tell me I’m a weirdo, but in a good way. She’ll
find them sad but hopeful. She’ll have her favorite, but she’ll say she loved
them all. I’ll know her family and she’ll
know mine. Maybe her family is her life-long best friends, maybe it’s just a
Mom, maybe it’s 2 parents or maybe it’s grandparents, but whoever it is, I will
be the same respectful girl I am with my own. They’ll love me. How could they
not? My day job is being nice to families, so I got this.
She’ll watch my favorite shows with me, The Walking Dead and Orange
is the New black. She’s a lesbian so that’s already her favorite show. She
won’t want to watch The Walking Dead because she thinks it’s too gory and gross and
scary but I’ll wear her down and I’ll come home one day to find that’s she’s
binged the first season in an afternoon and I’ll re-watch the rest of them with
her. She’ll show me her favorite shows and I might have to tolerate them because
she loves them and I love her, but I’ll get into it, if it’s that important to
her, I’ll grow to love them too. But most nights we’ll lay in bed in each other’s
arms and listen to music. We’ll say “Alexa play this” and “Alexa play that” and
share with each other are all-time favorite songs, which will easily take up an
entire night. We’ll talk until the sun comes up and I’ll call in sick and sound
like I’ve been throwing up all night…cuz I want to stay in bed with her another
whole day.
I’ll finally have someone to go on my trips with…more importantly
someone to share a hotel bed with. I don’t see the purpose in going on a trip
with someone you’re not sleeping with. That’s called an annoying extra person
in a room made for one, or one couple. I’d rather go alone than share a hotel
room with even a friend. I’m too old for that. Or it just doesn’t sound fun to
me. If I can’t walk around holding your hand or sneaking kisses on the tour
bus, then what’s the point? I just can’t see it I guess.
I hope to have this
one day. I had zero hope that I’d see snow in Chicago when I went to bed at
midnight and the 7pm snow they promised still hadn’t come. But I awoke the next
morning to white…and I thought I had gone blind or something. A bright white
light I was seeing and not the fake green grass on the roof of the building
below me. But no, that was snow. I couldn’t believe it. Being jilted so many
times from meteorologists in Dallas promising snow, made me not believe. But I
guess I should’ve expected more, since it is Chicago and they have a ton of
snow. And apparently in April no doubt. But since every time I have the least
bit of hope for anything, I’m always let down, always disappointed, I just stopped
hoping altogether. I got a little bit of hope back that day. I’m not saying it
was a lot. Maybe the low battery isn’t flashing anymore. Maybe it’s not in the
red. Maybe it’s at 21% instead of the normal 6. Maybe it’s making its way back
down to 6, now that it’s been 4 days…but it was nice having a little bit hope
for a time. Maybe it got me to write this. To write the hope of being able to
write a real story one day, not one of my many many fiction tales in which I always
meet a girl and fall in love, but an actual story of a real live girl. I’ve
never considered that one day I could write the true life story of how I met…what’s
her name. I never thought I would write anything but fiction, at least
story-wise. But maybe I will one day…and maybe I’ll read it to her when we’re
old, to remind her of how we met, how we fell in love and how we shared a life
together. Even if it wasn’t as long as I’d hoped it be, time with someone you
love is never going to feel long enough anyway. You could have 65 years
together, like my Grandparents did, and still be left wanting more. It’s never
about amount of time anyway, it’s about quality; how it felt, how she made you
feel loved and how you loved her as long as you could. If she felt loved…then
it was enough time.
