I Am Here.
Jan. 20, 2007 Saturday afternoon 4:51 PM, BedroomI am sitting here, trying to find the exact words to describe how I feel right this very moment.
The events during the past few months have led to the culmination of last night’s revelations. After a painful departure from the company last Dec. 19, he and I continued– and increased– contact with one another. It was as if by tactic agreement, we each held an end of an invisible thread that unraveled as each day passed and the physical distance grew, every inch of gossamer thread unfolding a new shimmering discovery, another beautiful surprise that allowed us to take another step forward.
It’s hard to explain that although we are apart, we are moving in the same direction. Until last night I had all but been feeling out the road I was on, uncertain of my exact whereabouts but nevertheless forging on because in my heart, it felt right. I half-hoped I would sooner or later stumble upon a marker helpfully proclaiming, “YOU ARE HERE.”
Last night I finally discovered where I was. It was the second time we went out for dinner and coffee. The first one was two weeks ago, a casual invitation to catch up, dinner sandwiched between two trips to the coffee shop and a flimsy excuse of being hungry. We spent five hours just talking. By the time I was driving home, I felt strangely bereft, like the hours flew by so fast and not enough had been said.
This time he brought me to a quaint, cozy Italian restaurant off way the over-commercialized malls, with soft lights, soothing music and great food. We conversed about our usual topics over ravioli and pizza. Then toward the end of dinner in my typical left-field fashion I suddenly asked him, “Is this a date?”
Good thing I waited to blurt that out after he took a sip of his iced tea, otherwise he might have choked on it.
Instead he turned an interesting shade of red and stammered that “it depends on your interpretation of this.”
I was bewildered. What kind of answer was that? What my interpretation was? Did that mean he didn’t know himself and was leaving me to muddle through the awkwardness of figuring out for myself? But that was exactly why I was asking him, because I didn’t know what to think! ”What does that mean?” I demanded.
“Well, you could call this a date,” he carefully said. “But if you choose not to call it a date, it’s okay with me. It really depends on you.”
…which still brought me nowhere. “Do you think this is a date?” I persisted.
“I…uh, I need a cigarette,” was his brilliant reply. Hopefully, ”Can I have a cigarette first?”
“No,” was my firm one. “My friends who know we’re going out tonight have been trying to convince me this is a date. But I don’t really know either. I know it’s not necessary to explain, but even if it is, I wouldn’t know what to tell them. Am I supposed to keep this a secret?”
He was quiet for a moment. ”If you want, you can tell them that yes, this is a date. And no, there’s no reason to keep this a secret because we’re not doing anything wrong.”
My heart started beating faster, but I still had to be absolutely sure. “Do you know what the definition of a date is?”
He looked vaguely insulted. “Of course I do. This… me inviting you to dinner, getting to know each other…”
“…and there’s something else,” I added weakly. “An intention of some sort. You know what I mean?” God, what do you want, I thought furiously to myself, a freaking diagram?
He bowed his head and addressed his half-eaten pasta. “Marge, there are some things that needn’t be said. Even if I have to travel a long way or rearrange my schedule, I do it because I need to see you, to talk to you.”
He looked back up. “So in answer to your question… yes, this is a date.”
“Oh. Okay.” My throat felt strangely tight. “You can go have that cigarette now.”
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I, the picture of perfect primness and poise, gracelessly drop the second bombshell of the night in the car after dinner, on our way to have coffee. “So… your crush in the office, is that me?”
“God Marge,” he complained. “Do you want me to crash this car?”
“Sorry,” I manage to mumble contritely. After a few minutes of relative silence… “So is it me?”
“You know, you are the only person who can make me feel this pressured,” he marveled.
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It was like pulling teeth. Almost two hours later, over half-empty cups of frappuccino, he finally admitted that it was me. He had been attracted to me for more than three years now but never said anything because he had reservations, like our 9-year age gap (’my eldest niece is only three years younger than you, do you realize you could be my niece?’), my then-boyfriend who happened to be someone working under him (’but when you got together, I really wanted your relationship to succeed.’), and the fact that we didn’t know each other then.
But now we know each other pretty well, I told him silently, and here we are tonight.
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He drove me back to the mall where I left my car and asked if he could see me again next week. I looked at him and said yes, I would like that.
My heart felt infinitely lighter, like I could finally see the path laid out for me after so many months of darkness, pinpricks of lightning momentarily illuminating the road but disappearing so fast I was left wondering if I imagined them at all.
As it turned out, I had been heading in the right direction after all.
I probably never told him that around two years ago, I made a deal with God. I prayed that I was willing to wait for as long as it took, for as long as the next guy that came into my life will be the one he has personally chosen for me, and mine to keep for the rest of my life.
I found myself teary-eyed while driving home last night. He is the one God sent me. This is the man I waited for all my life but just didn’t know it until I met him. Kind and compassionate, responsible, close to his family and to God… and so many other wonderful qualities. He is a keeper, this I feel in my heart.
I asked him what his name, Emmanuel, meant. He said it means “God is with you.”
How perfect, I thought with a smile. God is truly with me.
6:51 PM
