His car would always be in the first slot. Except on Wednesdays. On Wednesdays, he was a slacker. On Wednesdays, his car was in slot three, which wasn't all that far away from one, or so I tried to tell him.We liked to eat tomato soup, get dressed up and go to company parties and, he even took me out for steak. We ate cereal at 10 p.m. every night for almost a month. We would waste time building my dream truck online, (my idea, not his, but he was thrilled I like to talk cars), and I'd help him build a pretty sweet BMW. Once, we went to look at one. He looked good behind it, too. A natural.
When I'd take him to the airport, we had a little routine. We liked to make fun of the silly boyfriend-girlfriend types who would hug and hug and hug alongside the curb. He'd park the car, leaving the keys in the ignition because I'd be driving home. We'd meet on my side of the car. He'd pick me up in one giant hug (this is the making fun part) and, as I got a mouth full of his fleece jacket, say into my ear, "Are you going to miss me?" To which I'd always give him an overly-dramatic, "Desperately!" He'd nearly squeeze the life out of me and mutter a soft, "Good." Then back down on the ground I went. He'd let go, grab his carry-on and his golf clubs and head across the cross walk. As he walked away, I'd wait for one last signal. A small gesture. He'd turn back towards me, bend his arm up at the elbow, and open his palm for about three seconds. He'd smile his cute half smile, which for any body else would be considered a full smile, then close his hand up again. I'd do the same from the other side of the street. And, turning, he and his navy hat would disappear into the sea of travelers. We did this for years, so long in fact that towards the end, we both fessed up that we weren't kidding about the missing desperately part.
Now I have no clue where he parks. He's 400 miles away. I haven't had Captain Crunch at 10 p.m. (let alone at all) in about a year and there's no one around to help me make fun of cheesy airport couples. Mr. L, wherever you are, come back. I'm feeling like tomato soup and it just doesn't taste the same without you.
Love,
Your M of M
9 comments:
If you don't write this into a book, I will.
Adore the goodbye wave. So well written.
Thanks, E. There are enough stories to write in a book, that's for sure. Love that kid!
No, seriously. Take this to the publisher immediately.
agreed
This is a very sexy story and I'm fantasizing about Mr. L and I'm very concerned at the same time that once I call you and discover who he really is, I'll vomit a little bit in my throat...
Vomit?! First of all: gross. And second, huh? I'm confused. There is nothing about this Mr. L. that would merit that. What would make you say that? He's all good, Karli. Nothing but good!
p.s. Thanks, friends, for being so kind about my writing. At least I know if I ever DID write a book (which isn't in the plan) there would be 4 people who would maybe read it!
make that 5. i would read your book in a second!
make that 6.
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