Our Story: Part XIV

If you have missed any of the first thirteen installments to "Our Story," click HERE and scroll to the bottom. Pull up a seat, and a snack…it's gotten fairly lengthy… and this is the end. Enjoy. 

Part XIV:

Wedding

I had waited two years for him to notice me, and three years after that for him to ask me out. Then began three more years of long distance waiting for him to ask me the question, and now I only had to wait 1 year and 2 months longer to be called his wife. 

I had prayed that the Lord would help me keep my focus away from boys and on Him. Then I prayed that if I couldn't have Brent, that God would grant me a man like him. And then I prayed that God would give me the patience and trust to endure 4 years of distance from the boy I now loved. And now I prayed that God would empower us both in our final stretch; I prayed He would give us the strength to continue to wait for our wedding night. 

Throughout my final year of college I was a bag of mixed emotions. I planned a wedding from a distance, I student taught, I relished time with friends I would be leaving soon, I watched my dad go through hell with his job, and I fought, and prayed, and struggled with where we would be moving after the wedding. 

Graduation came and went in a flurry of square caps and fluttering gowns, and then I rushed off to Wisconsin to stand up in Renae's wedding. I sobbed through her entire ceremony at I thought of leaving her and at the rush of emotions that came as I thought of my own wedding in just three short weeks. 

The waiting was over. I was going to be Brent's bride.

*  *  *

I watch out the window as the clouds disintegrate and the city lights come into view. Louisville, Kentucky. Lord, I'm still so unsure about this place, please give me peace in this decision while I'm here interviewing. And Lord, may my time with Brent be refreshing and peace-giving. 

A short two days later, after rushing around, having an anxiety attack while driving through city traffic, interviewing and securing a job at a middle school, and checking out what Brent had been up to at his new internship, we hold one another close at the airport gate. 

"You know this is the last time we ever have to say goodbye like this?" I say as I secure my grip around his waist even tighter. 

His sigh and kiss on my forehead told me he knew. 

* * *

"Kels? Kelsey. Wake up, sweetie. It's your wedding day!" I groggily throw the covers back and look up at my mom. I had slept like a rock as nerves and anxiety were no where to be found in my excitement for today. I had never been so sure about something.  "Go jump through the shower. I have breakfast waiting for you." As mom leaves my room, I lay my hand on the empty pillow next to mine and smile-- tonight it would not be empty. Today I would become Brent's wife. 

The rest of the morning and afternoon is a madhouse of hairspray, dresses, makeup, pictures, family, cakes falling over, humidity and wind. However, nothing could mess up this day. As we snap photos I look around at what my grandparents' backyard has become. The space where I used to decorate their landscape with peony petals is now decorated with folding chairs; the lawn where my grandpa used to let me ride on his lap while mowing is now scattered with tables for the reception. My childhood dream is becoming a reality. Our photographer is giving us directions and Brent comes up behind me and scoops me into his arms. We already shared a special "first moment" with one another, and now we are just enjoying one another's company before the ceremony commences. Earlier he had given me a journal he had kept since our engagement. The last entry was just for me, and had been written this morning: I want to be so good to you, always. I want to be a good husband. I want to always care for you and love and protect you. Today, at the end of the day, I want you to fall asleep in my arms knowing that you are loved, cherished, and safe.

And then, in what seems like a matter of moments, I am standing beside my dad. Though he keeps asking me if he has time to go to the bathroom before we walk down the aisle, I am so thankful that this is the man that raised me. I know he is proud to give me away, but I also know that, though unspoken, we are both a little emotional about that moment. And finally the change in music is our cue, my aunt waves us around the corner and there, in an orange setting sun, Brent waits for me at the end of the aisle. He is waiting for me, as he has waited for me for many years. We trusted the Lord would bring us to this day if we remained faithful, and now I walk down the aisle that will forever bring our waiting to an end. 

I look at Brent and see in his face the perseverance that has ensured this day would come. I look at Brent and I see in his face how he beholds me in a way no man ever has or ever will. I looked at Brent and I see in his face the unknown journey we are about to embark. I look at Brent and I see in his face the love of our Heavenly Father, and I know that no matter where that unknown journey takes us-- for richer or for poorer, in sickness or in health-- that Brent will love, cherish, and protect me until death. 

As my white dress trails down the aisle, I look at Brent and I see home. 

Our Story: Part XIII

If you have missed any of the first twelve installments to "Our Story," click HERE and scroll to the bottom. Pull up a seat, and a snack…it's gotten fairly lengthy :-) There will only be one installment after this one!

Part XIII:

Proposal

My phone rings and I look at the caller ID: Jared. My roommates’ boyfriend of seven years.

“Hello?”

“Hey Kels…is ‘Nae around because if not I need to talk to you?”

“Uh, no. What’s up?”

“Okay….I’m gonna do it. I have the ring and I’m gonna do it!” He sounds like a little kid.

“Really?! That’s awesome! When? How? Does she have any clue?”

He dives into his plan, the details, the ring--everything.

“Well that sounds perfect, Jared. Are you calling for my permission or something?” I joke.

“No…actually, okay, this might be weird but I need you to figure out a way to get her to move her purity ring from her ring finger.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t want to have to take off that ring to put on this one…I don’t know…”

“Actually I totally understand.”

“Yeah, and she’s used to your weird ideas so she won’t think anything of it. Just make something up. She won’t have a clue!”

The next day I tell Renae that we are going to have a dinner date and then a “moving of the rings ceremony.” She stares at me blankly. “Come on! It will be fun. We’ll play music, or something…I don’t know the details yet…and then you and I will move our purity rings from our left finger to our right hand. I think it’s time. I mean, I don’t know about you but I don’t want Brent to have to stumble around and figure out the logistics of all that while he’s proposing. And who knows…that could be any time….” I keep rambling.

“Okay! You’re weird, and whatever, but okay.” Excellent. She has no clue.

* * *

I look out the window at the whiteness. The wind howls through the cracks and the snow piles up in drifts. I can’t even see down to the sidewalk below my second story dorm window. I let out a sigh and sit down at my computer, pulling up Southwest Airlines’ website. There is no way I’m going to be leaving Northwest Iowa anytime soon, let alone make it to airport in Kansas City to fly to Nashville. My trip to visit my sister will just have to be postponed. I make the appropriate clicks on the screen before calling and letting her know.

So much for SPRING break, I think as I bring the phone to my ear.

* * *

I throw my bag into the backseat of my blue GrandAm. It has been packed for three days, ready to make the trip home, but the interstates have been closed. I have gotten sick of consoling my stir-crazy wingmates since I, though their RA, have also been going a bit crazy sitting in a dorm that was supposed to be emptied for a week long break.

But now I have checked all the girls out of their rooms, have double checked that the interstates are passable, and talked to my dad to see what he thinks about the roads. I look at the clock on the dash as I start up the car: 9:42. I should have already been in Nashville for over a day. I throw my shoulders back, determined to still make the most of my time off from school. I have called about subbing to make a little extra cash, and Brent has decided to come up for the weekend, so it will only be three and half more days until I get to see him again. I can’t be upset about that!

I glance at my left hand. It has been empty since Renae and I shared our silly “ring-moving-ceremony.” Hers filled up quickly after that with a beautiful diamond from Jared’s grandma that had been put in a new setting, just for her. But here was my empty hand, four months since our silly ceremony, two and half years since he’d said, “I love you,” and over three years since our initial conversation in that cold car in February. Sigh. I pop in a CD and ease my car onto the still-snow-packed local streets, sinking into my seat a bit to get comfortable for the five hour drive home.

* * *

Standing before the band students while substitute teaching, my mind wanders to this afternoon. Brent will finally be here and, since I haven’t seen him for over a month and a half, I can’t help but imagine the feeling and warmth of his arms around me. Even after three years, the sound of his voice still sends tingles to my toes.

My lunch of leftovers warms my throat as I dial his number. He picks up and I take a sip of water to clear my throat. “Hey you, I’ve got some good news.”

“Hey, beautiful! What’s the news?

“Apparently I’m done subbing at 1:30 today instead of 3:00. Which means…I’ll get to see you a whole hour and a half earlier than we thought!”

“Oh. Great. Um. You can go home and change though. Take your time. You don’t need to rush around.”

What? Weirdo. What is he talking about? Of COURSE I’m going to rush around if it means more time with him, and furthermore how dare he………GASP!! Oh my gosh…he’s acting weird which can only mean one thing…he’s going to propose! Why us women tend to go there at these points in time is beyond me, but now I have to feel him out.

“Really? Cause I could be at your house by two?”

“Yeah, I’m still getting around anyway and doing laundry and stuff. Don’t rush. Spend some time with your mom or something.”

“She’ll be at work still…but okay. I’ll take my time. I’ll probably be there by 3 or 3:30 though, is that okay?”

“Ugh…sure. Just give me a call before you head over.”

“Okay. Love you. Can’t wait to kiss you!”

“I know, Squeeze, it’s been awhile.” I smile at the nickname he’s randomly assigned me over the past couple years. I’m still unsure of how he came up with it or why it’s stuck around. “Love you. See you soon.”

Immediately after hanging up, I dial my sister. “Kali! What-do-I-do-I-think-Brent-is-going-to-propose-to-me-tonight-how-do-I-act-what-do-I-wear…”

As I take a pause to gasp for breath, she cuts in, “Woah, Kels. Why do you think he’s going to propose?”

“I don’t know he’s just acting strange and doesn’t want me to rush over which is just SO weird, right? I mean, right?”

She talks me through my excited anxiety, and helps me think of something to wear that is still casual enough in case my rampaging imagination has deceived me and he is, in fact, NOT proposing. The bell rings and I tell her I’ll keep her informed as students trickle back into the classroom.

* * *

I sit in my parked car in Brent’s driveway. Breathe in. Breathe out. Look normal. I expect to walk in to a room full of daisies and Brent on one knee or…something! Instead, as I make my way into the living room, I find him in sweatpants…and a tshirt…folding laundry!! WHAT?!

He jumps up and I bury my face in his neck. Though I’m disappointed by the lack of proposal material that is happening in the room, I feel my body relax as his scent fills my nose and the warmth of his body embraces me. I feel safe, protected, and loved, even without a silly ring on my left hand. I guess I can wait a little longer if he wants to drag this out.

* * *

After visiting three of our nephews in town, we make our way to Fazzolis. Ever since prom, we’ve decided that cheap Italian food is the way to go. I sit across from him in the small booth. As I suck down my fettuccini noodles, he smiles at me. I begin to wonder how we have made the past three years work. It’s as if being in his presence reminds me of his absence in an even stronger capacity than when we’re away. We munch on breadsticks in silence. He reaches across the table and quietly grabs my hand. I don’t need a ring to understand his commitment in this moment.

On the way home we laugh about old memories, and comfortably sit side by side. I’m so completely happy in sharing this car ride with him that I hardly notice him miss the turn that will bring us back to his house. Before I can say anything he is turning into the church parking lot just a block past the missed road. I assume he is going to turn around, but he throws the car into park. Kissing in parking lots is not above us; after all we are college students in love, but in a church parking lot? I mean, I have my standards!

Before I can begin my rebuttal, Brent steps out of the car. I stare at him through the windshield, trying to figure out what is happening as he opens my door. And then I realize it is a good thing I wore a top that I liked because what I thought may be happening this evening may just be happening right now. I tell myself to mentally hold onto every moment, and grab my purse in which I happened to throw my camera before leaving home.

He leads me to a door on the side and before I notice the note stuck to it, I remember that this is the church where my friend introduced me—braces, bangs, awkwardness, and all—to that quiet seventh grade boy eight years ago. I look at the note, then at Brent, who urges me with his gentle, brown eyes to take it.

“Kels, look inside the 1st book in the 3rd pew on the left side.”

He pushes the door open for me and I remind myself not to run. As I locate the proper pew and hymnal, he disappears momentarily into a side room. I peel off the note, which instructs me to turn to hymn #221, off the top of the blue book. 221. Our high school basketball numbers combined. He has thought of everything.

Just as I reach the page number, an envelope falls out. I don’t even notice Brent slide into the pew next to me with his guitar. I tear into it, open the card, and then open the note that is inside:

“...I wanted to tell you how much I have enjoyed the past 3 years, 1 month, and 1 day. It is amazing to see how God was working internally in our own lives and externally in the events leading up to us being “brentandkelsey”. I have learned so much in the past 3 years about you, love, myself, and God.

...I have been able to study you: how heavy your head is after it has fallen asleep on my arm, how your eyes peek open as you slip into a nap just to see me watch you fall asleep, how your hand rests into mine, how you look at me when I’ve said something that is just like my father, how you love me even though I have sometimes disappointed or failed you, how competitive you get at card games, how your smile can take my heart and create peace within the deepest part of my being, how excited you are to have children, how much you adore your parents, how much you hate dogs, vomit, storms, the feel of jeans, and being away from me, how you love kids, cheese, home, hearing how much I know about you, hearing that you’re beautiful to me, kisses on the forehead, and our Father God, and finally how you look at and adore me.

...I also wanted to thank you for giving me a chance and for believing in me to fulfill that dream guy you have prayed for and thought about since you were little.

...I care so much about you, and can’t wait until I can devote my life to serving you. I want to sing you the first and last songs that I wrote for you to show you how much you mean to me. It has been a blessing being with you for so long and sharing all the memories, laughs, cries, and frustrations with you. I hope you know my love for you and my desire to always pursue you.”

I look up and see that while I have been reading his words through now glistening eyes, he has gotten out his guitar. I reach over and place my fingers on the side of his face, tilting my head and smiling. He begins strumming and I hear the chords of a song that I have cherished now for three years...when I look into your eyes...and soon he is beginning the latest one he has written. Knowing now what is about to happen, I cherish the lyrics even more: There’s a day, and I can’t wait...no more tears as I drive away, and all you want is for me to stay. But today, I wouldn’t trade today, for any day no... There’s a day, and I can’t wait, when a little girl calls me daddy. And her hair, curly brown, and all she wants is to have me around. And there’s a day...when our tired eyes tell you a story of a love old in age, but as fresh as the dawn of day. But today, I wouldn’t trade today...

The tears that have been resting just behind my lids now spill down my cheeks. I make no attempt to wipe them away as I am caught up in the moment. As he finishes the last chord, I lean over and wrap my arms around his neck. He holds me for a moment, kisses my wet cheek, and then hands me another note.

“By the front door, where we 1st met, look behind the picture of the old couple.”

I immediately know the picture he is referring to. It is a photograph I have always loved of an elderly couple that used to attend the church. They are walking away from the camera, and it is almost indecipherable which one is holding up the other as they make their way down the sidewalk. I jump up from the pew and walk the long aisle to the foyer. I see the picture resting in the corner of the shelf and, reaching on my tiptoes, I move it to the side. There, resting in the shadows of the room, is a small, wooden ring box. I pick it up, unsure if I am supposed to open it. I spin around to ask Brent.

He is down on one knee, smiling bigger than I’ve ever seen him smile. I reciprocate and hand him the box. He opens it, and reaches for my hand. “I want to grow old with you, Kels. Will you marry me?” He slides the ring on my finger. It is a beautiful, princess cut on a simple, wide band. It’s perfect. This is all too perfect.

“Yes! Yes!”

* * *

Grinning and foolish, we tumble back into the car. I want to say something, to thank him, to form some words worthy of this moment he has just given me, but I can’t seem to get my mouth to function with my brain. So I simply reach over and grab his hand. He smiles and then pulls the car out onto the road...in the wrong direction yet again.

He glances in my direction with a mischievous grin. “I have a couple other things in store for you.” I then realize why he panicked when I said I could come over sooner today-- he had a lot of things to get in order.

As the night progresses I find out what “a couple other things” means. First is a starlit dance on a dirt road that boasts the last name we will soon be sharing. Brent has created a mix CD of some of my favorite love songs, and as we dance in the moonlight he whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to give you my last name.” Before we leave he pulls out a huge bouquet of daisies that has been hidden in the trunk until this moment.

“A couple other things” also means a trip out to my grandparents’ land. As we pull the car into park, Brent explains that he is excited to marry me here, where I’ve always dreamed of creating an outdoor wedding. As I look out at the landscape and begin to envision the aisle and chairs in the yard of my childhood memories, he hands me a gift bag. I’m too curious to be patient and soon I am holding its contents in my lap: a pink newborn outfit saying, “Daddy’s Little Lovebug” and a blue one reading, “Daddy’s Allstar.” Slightly confused I look over to my new fiance in the driver’s seat and he smiles and says, “I'm so happy you'll one day be the mother of my children and happy that I get to raise a family with you.”

We sit in the silence for a moment, letting the dashboard lights dance on our ecstatic faces, holding this moment in our hands like sunshine on the first day of Spring.

our Story: Part XII

For those of you still hanging with me on this, may the good Lord bless you. Seriously, I started this two years ago. I don't want to just whip out an entry, so it's taking me a little time. I think that, including this one, there will be three more entries. The end is in sight!

If you've missed any of the previous installments, forgotten what's happening because it's been so long ago that you read one, or you're just joining in click HERE to read from the beginning.

PART XII:

Distance

I carry the eight hours from Orange City to Joplin with me everywhere I go. In the cafeteria as I meet new faces it weighs heavy on my shoulders. As I travel from class to class, I wish I could remove it from my backpack as easily as a book. Not only am I trying to figure out this new college thing, but I'm trying to figure out how to be me, be involved, be HERE, without Brent. I try by reminding myself that I am only 18 years old. I have so much life before me. I try to remind myself that I'm no good to him if I don't know who I am first.

But the ache and the distance seems insurmountable. Four more years of this? Are we kidding ourselves to think that we are capable.

I grab my friend's cell phone, since she has free nights starting at seven instead of nine, and dial Ozark's number from memory. "You have reached the residence directory of Ozark Christian College," the recorded, yet chipper voice informs me. "If you know the four digit num…." I hit the keys quickly and Brent picks up on the first ring.

"Hey there beautiful, I've been waiting by the phone." Since he doesn't have a cell phone, we pre-plan all of our phone calls so I don't call an empty room. "How are you doing today?"

I burst into tears. It hasn't been a good day and the sound of his voice is simply too much. I suck back tears and snot, and though he isn't looking at me I'm sure he can tell it's not a pretty sight. "It's been…tough…Brent…I miss you…."

And so our conversation goes. I suggest, again, the possibility of transferring to Ozark, and getting a joint teaching degree through the other local college. He assures me we just need to give it some more time.

Time. I hate time right now.

* * *

As I make my bottom bunk for my sophomore year, I think back to 12 months earlier. Saying goodbye this time was certainly no easier, but understanding the cyclical nature of my grieving helps. I know I will feel the ache physically for nearly two weeks, craving to be back with him. The next weeks I will begin to feel like I can handle it, for however long the Lord calls us to do this; I can handle the distance because Brent is worth it. Then the next week or two will bring with them more discomfort and anxiousness as I count down to the next time we'll see one another. Understanding this helps a little, but knowing I am in the beginning stages of this cycle leave me feeling sorry for myself.

I crawl into my yellow sheets and pull the lime green comforter around my shoulders. I now carry with me his "I love you" that he finally relinquished to me last fall. He had been at my school visiting and after a movie we sat laughing and talking and then he got quiet. I, like all teenage girls, instinctively asked what he was thinking. Almost before I was ready for it he said, "Oh, thinking about a lot of stuff. Like how ridiculous that movie was, how much I like laughing with you… and how I love you."

I've returned his sentiments many times over now, never doubting his sincerity in response. But now I think of beginning another year of this-- of this constant departure, of this constant aching, of this constant pull of wanting to be somewhere else yet knowing I'm where I'm supposed to be-- and the tears spill from behind my eye lids as I try to fall asleep before another new year of classes begins.

* * *

As I make my way back from class, trudging through the freshly fallen snow, my mind wanders to another campus hours away. What would it be like to walk across campus with him? To share the same groups of friends with him? To talk about professors we both have? I plop my bag on the loveseat in the corner of my little dorm room and flip on my computer.

New email from m0nkey21. The sensation I feel is still the same as when I first started getting these emails 4 years before. I click open the new message and can't help but smile. This message is written in a poem format:

you make me smile every day
for your heart i'll aways pray

your more beautiful than i could dream

your so hot that you almost steam.

i like writing you these dudes
escpecially when im in a "i love kelsey" mood...'s
your probably like awww, my boyfriends the best
and im like yeah, i aced this test.

i better keep rolling, man this is good
i wonder what i would be like living in the hood
i need to do laundry i have few cloths left
if i go any longer ill probably commit theft

your so nice your cute when your upset
i've never disliked you since we've met
you even like me when i cant read
or spell or mess up a deed

...
ok i love you so much, and i hope you like the
poem, you have to cuz your my girlfriend. ok i love you ill talk to you
later. by smoochums :)

Brent

Sigh. Yes, I can do this. I can wait for man who makes me laugh, and giggle, and feel cherished. Yes, the ache due to distance is worth this.

* * *

I scribble in my notebook as Prof Carl informs our class on the importance of having a clear vision of what you want to accomplish with each lesson. I look around at the faces of other students in my "Teaching Literature to Adolescents" class. Do they realize that most of us only have 3 semesters of college left after this? Do they even realize that I refer to this as "the downhill"? We get our journal assignment for next Thursday and bundle up before barreling across campus again.

While my nose suffers from the frigid air, my mind wanders to the letters I have been saving and accumulating since my sophomore year of high school five years ago. I still allow myself the giddy excitement of scrawling "to my future husband" across the tops of letters before stuffing them into the box.

When I get back to my room, I slowly remove the layers of clothing and the stress of the morning. I don't have a roommate this semester, as I'm a resident assistant, so I breathe in the quietness of my little corner of the world. I curl up on the love seat and grab the nearest notebook:

"My love, I am currently working on a unit of lessons for my someday students: a descriptive essay describing one of their favorite places. So I wanted to share a few of mine-- at my old house there were two spots outside that I loved, and both involved lilac bushes. One was by itself at the edge of our front yard. It was almost hollow in the center and so I would crawl through the branches and sit in there and read. I eventually found an old seat cushion…"

I continued to let my hand dance across the page. Though Brent and I had discussed marriage, I still tried to keep my mind open to the possibility that I was writing someone else.

"… An old wicker basket worked as a makeshift mailbox, hanging from the handle of the propane take. Eventually I found a broken road reflector and used it as a welcome sign. Many hours were spent in this 'house', the smell of lilacs constantly wafting over my body and bursting through my senses. Over the years I outgrew the small space, but it will always remain tucked away in my memory. Maybe someday I could take you there…"

How many more of these letters will I write before I know exactly, without a doubt who I am writing to, I wonder as stretch my fingers.

"… Right now in my life, God is challenging me to be fully faithful and fully present in all that I do. Like Job, God is showing me to put my hand over my mouth and be still before the Creator of everything. I love you, and I can't wait for the day I get to give you this, and every other, letter."

I sign my name in the orange pen and carefully crease the paper, folding it into a neat square. I lay it in the box and look down at my left hand. It's been nearly three years since Brent and I started dating. Three years of conversations and dates and laughter and tears. Three years of growing with one another, enduring the distance for one another, and learning about and how to love one another. Three years worth of knowing that this is the man I want to give these letters to.

But I still look at my left ring finger and wonder when it will no longer be empty.

______________________

The actual box of letters:

our Story: Part XI

To read this story from the beginning, click HERE and scroll to the bottom. Enjoy!

Part XI:

Leaving

The summer rains have washed ruts into the now drying dirt beneath our feet. Graduations have come and gone, hugs have been offered more frequently, and every moment of time we can be together we are. There is one unspoken rule between us now: Don't speak of August 20th.

This rule is fairly easy to abide by for the time being. It is June and the sun is warm, the air is thick, and my tan is excellent. It is a lazy Saturday and I find myself lounging on the couch at Brent's house. His parents will be leaving soon, so we're making plans for the day, as neither his or my parents want us to be alone in their homes.

After deciding on Shrek II, we pull our lazy bones off the sofa and make our way to the car. On the porch he stops me by gently grabbing my elbow. I wheel around to face him. I am no longer afraid to look directly into his brown eyes. He doesn't say anything, but instead he wraps his long arms around my torso. I reciprocate, reaching up to wrap his neck in an embrace.

We stand for a moment, interlocked in the warm shade on the porch. I know what I am feeling now is not just excitement and butterflies and prom jitters and everything else that comes with teenage romance. I know that what I am feeling has been bubbling beneath the surface for years. Three years ago when I saw this boy grab his guitar on that mission trip, I simply wanted to get to know him more, but now that I know is thoughts and passions, his loves and dreams, I know what I am feeling for him is more than wishful teenage hopes.

I don't dare speak my mind though, after all our first kiss hasn't even been shared. Could I really love him already? I open my mouth. Because of our embrace, he can't see me and I shut my lips together once more. We slowly release our grip from one another, and he slides his hand down my arm to my hand. Before I realize what is happening my mouth is open again and almost inaudibly I whisper, "Thank you."

***

Late afternoon is approaching dusk as we pull into his driveway. The movie is long over, and post-movie ice cream cones have long since been devoured through laughter and more easy conversation. His parents still aren't back, and I need to get home, so we linger in the driveway putting off the inevitable, "See ya later."

I kick a piece of gravel with my sandal covered foot as he asks me what my week looks like. "Tomorrow we have a dinner after church, so I probably won't get to see ya then. When do you get off work on Monday?"

"5:30 or 6, I'll have to check."

"I may ask Mom if you can come over for supper then?"

"Sounds good." He smiles at me and then pulls me in for another hug. I lay my head on his shoulder. We hold each other in silence for several moments.

"Okay…I probably need to head out," I say as I reluctantly pull myself away from his arms. Standing face to face, we gingerly hold hands at our sides. I tilt my head sideways, smile, and say, "Okay…I probably need to head out."

"Umm…yeah…okay…" he says distantly, looking at the ground. "But…uhh…hey, what did we ever decide about, you know?…uhh." I have no idea where this is going, and no real clue about what he is talking about. "You know, I mean…what did we ever decide about the whole kissing thing?"

WHAT?! My whole body tenses as I try to keep my face relaxed and calm, lest he know what I am thinking. Am I ready for this? My first real kiss? Have I watched enough Disney movies to know how to lean in properly to get the most magical effect? "I didn't know we were deciding something? I thought…uh…it would just, ya know…whenever it's right."

"Okay." He pulls me back in for another hug.

Seriously? All that and nothing? If this fool doesn't kiss me after…

Brent leans back from our embrace and searches my face. I try to let it say, "KISS ME!" but am afraid it is coming across as, "I have to go to the bathroom." But before I can think about it much longer, his hands wrap around my face, he pulls me closer to him, and gently allows his lips to meet mine. They linger, but just for a moment, before he pulls back. As his hands leave my face, I slowly open my eyes to meet his smile.

Before either of us can say a word, we hear tires crunching gravel and see his parents who, with their impeccable timing, are pulling up the driveway.

"Of course," Brent kids, as we wave and then walk towards my car. Beyond my mortification at having possibly shared my first-kiss-moment with his parents, I'm grateful that it has provided us a transition through the awkward post-first-kiss-moment, when no one is quite sure what to do. Do we talk about the fact that we just kissed? Do we carry on like it never happened? Do we kiss again? Do I just say goodbye now? Instead, for us, we say hello to his parents as they make their way to the house.

He opens my car door and I situate myself in the driver's seat. He shuts the door and leans through the open window. "Let me know about Monday," he says, and quickly moves forward, kisses me once more, then begins walking towards the house.

***

The inevitable is only one moment away at all times. August 20th loomed before us, and was now only one day away. Tonight we would be saying goodbye.

I sort through and label boxes all morning, the knot growing tighter and tighter in my stomach while waiting for Brent to get off work. I eat the sandwich my mom makes me for lunch out of necessity, not because I am hungry.

Before I know it, I am at Brent's. We have three hours before that moment. We want to spend it normally, but this task seems impossible. I help him pack some stuff, as he will be leaving in a week for his own college adventure. We make it through supper with his parents in a haze. And then it is time.

We step out into the humid air that we have grown so familiar with this summer. This summer--and that thought makes my mind reel-- evenings spent by a campfire; a date to the park that turned to a vicious rain storm which forced us into the public restrooms, we laughed and kissed as the power went out and the rain poured down; dinner time conversations surrounded by family and friends; movies together while curled up on the couch, my hand in his; worshipping side by side at church; two additional songs he wrote and sang to me. Yes, this summer had been an exceptional one and I was not ready to put it into our past while being so unaware of our future.

Before he even says a word or moves to wrap me in his honey-tanned arms, I begin to cry. Slowly but surely it turns to weeping. Before long, fifteen minutes have passed and he simply holds me in his arms, whispering, "Shhh. It's okay. Shhh."

Taking a deep breath, I finally work up the nerve to look at him. A tear is streaming down his cheek. I reach up and wipe it away and hold his face in my hands. "How are we going to do this?" I question.

"We just will. I have no doubt in that."

"Really? No doubt? It's eight hours…" I trail off as I swallow the sob that is rising in my panicking throat.

"Kels, look at me." I look up as he grabs my hand. "I told you I will wait for you through this. We'll make it work. I trust you. Okay?" Through his sad eyes I see something else. There is an earnestness in them that begins to break through my panic. "There will be no one at Ozark like you. Kels, we'll make it work."

I could no longer stifle the tears. My bleary, red eyes peer at him and trust him. I simply nod my head as he wipes my cheeks clear then wraps me in his arms again. I could stand here for hours more, in this embrace that has come to mean safety and warmth, but I can't put myself through this right now. I pull away, indicating it is time, and he grabs my face and kisses me. I can taste the salt from his tears and mine as they intermingle on our lips.