beginnings
I need a fresh start.
I need people who don't speak in hushed voices about my little disappointment last spring, or look at me with pity when others discuss weddings and babies and new houses. I want to watch my friends get married without everyone around me staring at me instead of at the front of the church, hovering like I'm due to explode any second.
I need the good natured teasing over the fact that within two minutes of being introduced to someone, I've shown her pictures of Bonnie and pictures of my students and have eagerly agreed to run a 10K with her next winter, while Derek and Adam stand behind our chairs and resign themselves to living with a couple of crazy girls. Two hours later and I'm chasing her around the dance floor to keep her from spilling a vodka soda on the mother of the bride, and she's introduced me to the bartender with whom she's somehow managed to get on a first name basis (who squints at me and expresses disbelief that I'm over twenty-one). I've pinned and re-pinned her hair three times, I've patted her waist and smiled at her when she falls dramatically against my side and declares that she loves me. Nodded good-naturedly when she's declared that "I can't find my boyfriend, so you have to be my girlfriend now." (Resisted the urge to yank her hair out when she misses and collapses onto Derek's lap instead of Adam's.) After three more drinks she's tearfully singing praises the praises of the Fairfax County Schools, and telling me that this place needs teachers like me, and I'm still smiling and nodding and stealing amused glances up at Derek's glassy-eyed incomprehension. Because really, he should be able to follow that sort of talk by now. Eventually I take pity on him, and Adam takes pity on us, and he and I exchange eye rolls as we hook our arms through our respective partners', and lead them out to the taxi stand in the rain.
And it's funny that this already feels right, with his arm looped through mine and my head tucked securely against his shoulder on the ride home, while we talk about whether we can afford the rent on that flat down the street while I go back to school full-time, and what I'm going to do while he's away for officer training next year, and how we can keep the dog from eating Bonnie when we're not looking. It feels like home when the first thing he does after walking inside is rip his tie off and fling it over a dining room chair, while I pick it up and put it back in the closet where it belongs. It feels like home when I put the kettle on and he dangles a chocolate bar over my head and pokes me in the side as I futilely try to leap up and grab it from him.
It feels like home first thing in the morning when he bellows from amidst clouds of steam that he's forgotten a towel, and can I please come in here and make his hair lie flat, and does this purple tie go with his red shirt? Also can I please go downstairs and pick up the dry cleaning, and make sure they didn't forget his pants this time, and yes of course he'll get that thing down from the tall cabinet for me as soon as he's done brushing his teeth. It feels like home when he unexpectedly sticks his head around the shower curtain, causing me to scream and drop the soap, and asks me if I've seen his wallet, and if I think there's time for breakfast before we have to go. (I have - it's still in his pants from yesterday - and yes, does he want eggs today or just toast?)
It feels like home, and a fresh start, and yes I'll miss this place and miss my students when I'm gone from here, but... in the meantime I'm on very good terms with the airports in Providence and DC, and getting better at writing lesson plans while on the train, and at not giving into the urge to go into a homicidal rage while stuck in traffic on the Jersey Turnpike.
I need people who don't speak in hushed voices about my little disappointment last spring, or look at me with pity when others discuss weddings and babies and new houses. I want to watch my friends get married without everyone around me staring at me instead of at the front of the church, hovering like I'm due to explode any second.
I need the good natured teasing over the fact that within two minutes of being introduced to someone, I've shown her pictures of Bonnie and pictures of my students and have eagerly agreed to run a 10K with her next winter, while Derek and Adam stand behind our chairs and resign themselves to living with a couple of crazy girls. Two hours later and I'm chasing her around the dance floor to keep her from spilling a vodka soda on the mother of the bride, and she's introduced me to the bartender with whom she's somehow managed to get on a first name basis (who squints at me and expresses disbelief that I'm over twenty-one). I've pinned and re-pinned her hair three times, I've patted her waist and smiled at her when she falls dramatically against my side and declares that she loves me. Nodded good-naturedly when she's declared that "I can't find my boyfriend, so you have to be my girlfriend now." (Resisted the urge to yank her hair out when she misses and collapses onto Derek's lap instead of Adam's.) After three more drinks she's tearfully singing praises the praises of the Fairfax County Schools, and telling me that this place needs teachers like me, and I'm still smiling and nodding and stealing amused glances up at Derek's glassy-eyed incomprehension. Because really, he should be able to follow that sort of talk by now. Eventually I take pity on him, and Adam takes pity on us, and he and I exchange eye rolls as we hook our arms through our respective partners', and lead them out to the taxi stand in the rain.
And it's funny that this already feels right, with his arm looped through mine and my head tucked securely against his shoulder on the ride home, while we talk about whether we can afford the rent on that flat down the street while I go back to school full-time, and what I'm going to do while he's away for officer training next year, and how we can keep the dog from eating Bonnie when we're not looking. It feels like home when the first thing he does after walking inside is rip his tie off and fling it over a dining room chair, while I pick it up and put it back in the closet where it belongs. It feels like home when I put the kettle on and he dangles a chocolate bar over my head and pokes me in the side as I futilely try to leap up and grab it from him.
It feels like home first thing in the morning when he bellows from amidst clouds of steam that he's forgotten a towel, and can I please come in here and make his hair lie flat, and does this purple tie go with his red shirt? Also can I please go downstairs and pick up the dry cleaning, and make sure they didn't forget his pants this time, and yes of course he'll get that thing down from the tall cabinet for me as soon as he's done brushing his teeth. It feels like home when he unexpectedly sticks his head around the shower curtain, causing me to scream and drop the soap, and asks me if I've seen his wallet, and if I think there's time for breakfast before we have to go. (I have - it's still in his pants from yesterday - and yes, does he want eggs today or just toast?)
It feels like home, and a fresh start, and yes I'll miss this place and miss my students when I'm gone from here, but... in the meantime I'm on very good terms with the airports in Providence and DC, and getting better at writing lesson plans while on the train, and at not giving into the urge to go into a homicidal rage while stuck in traffic on the Jersey Turnpike.