2-0-1-Fiasco

You knew that was coming, didn't you? Hi, loves. It's been a while, hasn't it? Oh well, you know, I've been out there, living life to the fullest, didn't have enough time to share with the blogosphere.

That's all a lie.

I've been working so much that I get home and only have enough energy to eat my feelings and drop dead on the bed every night, only to do it all over again the next day. On the weekends I just want to stay in my house and stare at my Facebook feed. The only people I hold conversations with are people at work and people in my house if we're awake at the same time.

Yeah, yeah, you feel sorry for me. That's okay. I spend a great deal of my free time feeling sorry for myself. But you know what? I do okay. I have just enough money to pay my crippling debt, 90% of my students like me, 5% of those have actually created a sort of cult to worship me, and I have a couple of coworkers that really keep me going.

But man, 2015 has been a shit year.

Oh yeah, this post is not nice, nor is it suitable for work, nor is it very Christian.

I began 2015 with the most vicious anxiety about what would be my new job. I was terrified of the challenge, the work load, the students, and my incapacity to be a teacher. I finish 2015 with the most vicious anxiety about my current job, terrified of the challenge, the work load, the students,and my incapacity to be a teacher. Do you see a pattern here?

I began 2015 with a broken heart and a deep sense of bitterness caused by unrequited love. I would lay on bed at night replaying everything that had happened and thinking of things I should have done. I finish 2015 with a broken heart and a deep sense of bitterness caused by people (a person) who trampled all over me and who played with my emotions and who didn't even know what they wanted and they are jerks (just one). Did I say they are jerks? Yep...

I began 2015 without knowing what my purpose in life is or what my vocation, my true vocation, might be, feeling like I'm just wasting my life in unimportant things. I finish 2015 without knowing what on earth I'm supposed to be doing with my life or if I'm supposed to run to a convent or to the courthouse and find the first chap to marry or what. I am still as clueless.

I began 2015 telling myself that this was the year I was finally going to get in shape and feel great about my body and be the athlete my subconscious still thinks I am. I end 2015 fatter that I've ever been and more achy than ever. Oh, did I mention white hair has started growing on the area around my temples. Cheers to getting old.

So yeah, you're probably thinking I need some Xanax. But really, I'm fine...ish. I'm sure it's not all been entirely bad, but it just feels like the bad stuff sometimes is louder than the good. But someone once told me that the key to staying afloat was to be grateful, so I suppose I could do some of that.

2015 was the year when I saw one of my dearest friends again after three years. Amber, I'm really grateful for you and for your contagious strength and for all of your reality checks. I'm also very grateful for amazing food every time I go visit you and heck, even for Star Trek. There I said it. You are so wonderful.

Even though it only happened in the last six weeks or so, I'm really grateful for reconnecting with a person I kind of always secretly hoped would be my friend. Claire, thank you for being awesome and always listening to me (or reading my messages). It's been a lot of fun. Also, finish Downton already.

Also, shout-out to my favorite turbaned person on earth. Raja, your generosity never ceases to amaze me. I'm so lucky to have you in my life and so happy we're still managing to keep each other in the loop. I know you'll kick 2016's ass.

2015 would not have been the same thing without the other half of the bromance, my favorite Tomato. Lauren, I don't even understand how we've become an item so quickly. But thank you for loving me in spite of my assholery. Thank you for being my work companion and my confidante. I think Tina and Amy would be proud of us.

God...

Hey, how are you? Great, okay. I'd appreciate it if you could cut me some slack in 2016 before I die of diabetes or a stroke. Thank you for never leaving my side, even when I was trying to push You away. I don't know anything. Help please.

Finally, thank you all for reading. It's not been as prolific as it was meant to be (see the New Year's resolutions for the year 2015), but I'm glad you're still around, all the four of you. I am grateful for your friendship and your support. Happy 2016.

WHY WRITE WHEN I CAN LET YOU WATCH?!

https://youtu.be/7DcBSQX_KVI

Finally! You get a glimpse of my amazing month of June :D

Enjoy the video, because my face's in it.

https://youtu.be/7DcBSQX_KVI


I hope this makes up for all the time I have spent not writing.

https://youtu.be/7DcBSQX_KVI

https://youtu.be/7DcBSQX_KVI

WELL, THIS IS AWKWARD...

Hi... how are you? You look great. Did you lose weight...? Oh, no, I actually have gained a few myself, that's okay... I...listen...

I am sorry.

I just didn't know what to say, so I figured it was better not to say anything. I know, I know I left you hanging... it just hasn't been the best few months. No, I know it's not your fault, but there's something about being completely and utterly broken down (emotionally and mentally) that leaves one with no desire to say much.

BUT HERE I AM, WRITING YOU AGAIN!

Sorry, interwebs, I have been horribly busy and the little time off I've had I've spent wrapped up in a blanket regretting my life decisions, so as you can see this blog was left unattended for very long! I'm even more sorry that I left all of you (the three of you, that is) hanging with my tales from the summer back in England.

The main problem right now is, of course, that I am a stupid idiot and did not write down anything as it was happening, so, my memory being the Teflon pan that it is, I hardly remember anything anymore! But I will try my best to relate to you the adventures of the Mexican Geordie during the month of June.

1. Ah yes, after the nightmarish night in the crappiest city in the world (Manchester), I woke up, packed my gigantic bags, and headed to the train station to meet MY FAVORITE PERSON OF ALL. I waited what seemed to be an eternity, walking back and forth from one  platform to the next because I did not know which train she was coming from. Then, I saw her, in her cute big-polka-dots dress.

Don't get me wrong, they were happy tears! We were just both so overwhelmed by the pure joy of seeing each other again after almost a year (a tough year). It was wonderful and super dramatic, as you would expect from me. People stared a lot. Haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate.

What is the first thing that two Catholic besties do? We went to mass, obvs.
It was quite a walk, though, and you know me... I'm a walking waterfall. So I was drenched and cold by the time we got to the church. But it was beautiful, and it made me realize how much I missed going to mass with my a good friend.

We rushed back to the station and got on our train to Durham. DURHAM. D-U-R-H-A-M.

2. I was feeling a combination of two things: sheer terror and utter elation. On the one hand, I kept having fears about things being different when I got there: if I was going to feel the same way, and what was it going to be like not having some of the most important people present anymore. On the other hand, my heart was racing at the thought of seeing my college, my cathedral, my chaplaincy, those streets I walked for a year, the shops I used to go into, the teashops I loved on a rainy day. Some of the people I loved so much. In short:

As we approached Durham, the cathedral and castle started peeking through the trees. I think my heart skipped a beat at that sight. The last time I had seen this place, my eyes were clouded with tears. I was home again.

3. Agenda of the first day in Durham:

1. Find food.
2. Ceilidh
3. Compline

A pretty accurate representation of my life in Durham, really. Of course, I couldn't go through a whole day without some kind of embarrassing/bizarre situation, so what better place than the Durham Student Union?

Ah, the DSU, with its lovely stench of humanity and its ability to conserve all the heat in the universe! We got to the ceilidh and waited for a chance to join in the merriment. By this point, Elena and I had already met up with the one and only Betty Jo, who I'm pretty sure is both Princess of Belgium and captain of the Belgian Football Team (yes, my friends are very accomplished).

Anyway, so we're all finally dancing and having a blast, and as I twirl and what not, it all goes down. LITERALLY. It happened so fast. Suddenly, someone had stepped on my skirt and I had continued moving away from that person, causing my skirt to fall down from my waist to my knee. YEP.

Thank God I'm still a tomboy and always wear shorts under skirts.

After the ceilidh, we went to my favorite place on earth: the Durham Catholic Chaplaincy. Being inside St. Cuthbert's once again brought things full circle. It felt like I had never left, sitting there in my pew, surrounded by friends. It was almost an out-of-the-body experience. I am not sure how long I stayed in the church after compline, but it felt like a very long, delightful time.

4. God knows there was a lot of crying while in Durham. It was therapeutic and very necessary, and to be honest it just felt great to be able to do it right there at the feet of the altar. With people I love. The silence that I had craved for was there. The peace was there. The joy of being around people one loves. Man, I wouldn't trade it for the world.  I would have gone all the way back to Durham only for those moments alone. Forget graduation and forget seeing new places and exploring and being a world-class traveler. Those moments with two or three people that my heart has longed for in front of the tabernacle were the best moments in a very long time.

5. Anywaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, Cathsoc BBQ, where the air was hugged out of my lungs (in the best way), and then a few lovely days in Durham before going to the fairy tale land of England: THE LAKE DISTRICT!

My dear friend Paula accompanied me in this trip, and had to suffer through my road rage while I suffered through her road anxiety. In other words, we'll take a train next time.

Our destination was Coniston, a picturesque town in the heart of the District. I wish I could tell you that we did a lot of adventurous things, but really it was only two practically middle aged women vacationing for two days, so we mainly just walked a lot in the cold and rain. The funniest part of it all was the fact that people seemed surprised to see two women of color in their village, so we were asked "where are you from?" several times and when we replied "America", we got skeptical looks.

Anyway, we had great conversation, yummy food, and stunning views, so can't complain. The roads, though. I think I still have nightmares about them. So narrow, and people were still driving just as fast. Yeah... I'm never driving in England again.




6. Back in Durham for graduation week! Those were some fantastic days. Are you bored yet? 'Cause I'm not. I don't even remember most of the things that happened leading up to graduation, but I just remember being really happy. Tea, company, shopping. THE WORKS. I'm telling you, if this is the only way I can be truly happy.... then I better marry rich or win the lottery.

7. GRADUATION, A.K.A. the reason why I actually flew over there. It was a crazy ass day. Woke up before 7am for a shower, then took basically all of my belonging down to St. Cuthbert's to get ready over there after Lauds.

Agenda for June 23rd, 2015:

Shower
Lauds
Food
Get ready
Mass
Food
Graduate
Food
Drinks Reception
Food

To graduate in Durham Cathedral, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, is something too beautiful to put into words. The university's chancellor said something in his speech that stayed with me, something that sounded like "you'll always be a part of Durham and Durham will always be a part of you". I think that was the only moment in the ceremony when I almost cried. Damn, Durham, I'm pretty sure I'll never get over you.

8. The next day was rough. It was the day to say goodbye again. It's a day I don't really like to think about. That same sense of abandonment remains with me today. It's nobody's fault-- life's life. It's still hard to accept it. Living in a perpetual state of homesickness is something I wouldn't wish on anyone.

After having my heart ripped out of my chest, I got in a train north, headed to a new adventure.

9. I spent the next four days in Scotland, seeing the stunning mountains, numerous lochs (THERE ARE SO MANY), and being incredibly sick. Yes, as it was to be expected, I caught a bug, so I was coughing my lungs out during the whole tour and the tour guide suggested I had Ebola, which did not amuse some of our fellow Chinese tourists.

I still enjoyed myself, though: HAGGIS, SHORTBREAD, WOOL BLANKETS. I wish it would have been a more active tour, though, because I gained weight during it. Who can blame me? We were in a tour bus for 10 hours a day and we probably walked 2 miles a day, tops. I also developed a bit of a crush for our bus driver, who reminded me of a guy I used to like in college. So yeah, it was nice to look at his face in the rear view mirror.

So yeah, overall, a great Scottish experience. Except, of course, that you know who you're reading about and therefore are sure that something happened--the type of thing that would happen to me.

Well, yes. Someone stole my bank account information on my last day in Scotland. YOU READ THAT RIGHT. They stood close by while I withdrew forty quid from the ATM so they could see my pin number and then cloned my card. They took almost $900 bucks. The best part of the whole thing? I didn't notice at all until ONE MONTH LATER WHEN I WAS ALREADY BACK IN THE UNITED STATES. I swear... the universe just hates me, eh? Let's not go to that dark corner of my psyche...

Luckily, after a lot of crying, fanning of the face, and telling myself how much of an idiot I am, the bank finally believed me and gave me my money back. So it's all good in the hood. I've already spent it all, so don't worry... they won't be able to steal from me anymore...

10. After Scotland, I went back to Ireland for a couple days, for quite an uneventful stay in Limerick, also known as possibly the most boring city in Europe. The weather was very Irish, so we hardly had a chance to see anything in our one-day tour of The Ring of Kerry. I did, however, have excellent food and I stayed in the most amazing hotel with an awesome big bed that I totally deserved.

That was my almost-a-month holiday. Even with its low points, I wouldn't have traded it for anything. I can't wait to go back home next summer and to live with you, my dearest friends, more adventures.

THE UNITED KINGDOM: RELOADED! A history of my travels told with Miranda GIFs

OI! WELCOME BACK! Apologies, it's been a solid two months without a blog entry. I would love to tell you that it was because I was extremely busy planning my wedding, but the truth is I was lazy and--let's face it, only five people still read this thing (thanks guys!).

Where did we leave off? Ah yes, it was my birthday and I was being a complete downer, eh? But just in case you were wondering, I was able to recharge my joy batteries during 25 fantastic days in my favorite side of the world! That's right, I WENT HOME, BABYYYYY!!!!

But let's start at the beginning, shall we? I think the trip was eventful enough to actually write more than one blog entry, but let's see how much I can milk this cow.


1. Canada, eh?

the afternoon of Sunday, June 7th, 2015, I got on an AirCanada flight to Toronto. You may call me cheap, but I choose to call it economical. It was a very tight flight with no TV screens, so I was left to my thoughts and delirious excitement about going back to the UK and seeing all my favorite-est people in the universe.

Toronto airport was lovely and I am now a Tim Horton's Coffee convert. Who can even think about Starbucks now? Tim Horton's is every Catholic man's fantasy: the hotter, humbler, more modest sister of Starbucks. Starbucks definitely has a superiority complex.

Turns out, however, not everything Canadians make is beautifully perfect. AirCanada is crap, ya'll. Their planes are crammed and they make you download an app on your device to be able to watch anything instead of having screens like other normal airplanes. Of course, I missed the part where they instructed us which app to download, so I literally was stuck on an intercontinental flight with no movies-- torture, basically, since I just cannot sleep in planes for more than 30 minutes at a time.

2. Dublin meh-ness

With red eyes and bags under my eyes, I arrived in Dublin and was received by Autumnal weather. After an encounter with a very nasty bus driver (who I dared to call a jerk to his face) and much idle walking with my two HUGE suitcases (don't judge me, you know I can't help it), I finally managed to find my hostel. They made me wait for an hour and a half to let me into the room, but I was so exhausted and sweaty (TMI) that I just decided to stay there waiting for my room instead of trying to get adventurous and finding food.

After a nice shower and some Subway, I dared to venture out into the streets of Dublin, only to quickly change my mind. Don't get me wrong, it's not that Dublin is not a charming little city. But I was SO. TIRED. And jet-lagged. So, I am ashamed to say, I did the awfully touristy thing and bought me a ticket to one of those hop-on-and-off tour buses that takes you around the city.

I am sorry, but those things are WONDERFUL. You cover a lot of ground, you can get off whenever you want to and go do your thing and then just get back on later, you have a vantage view point for the majority of the trip,  and you've got a person explaining to you all the ins and outs of the city. TOUR BUSES, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE??

I saw the Guinness factory, the Old Jameson Distillery, and Trinity College, and a bunch of other nice buildings I honestly don't remember. Then, I went and had a huge three course dinner, eventually making my way back to the hostel for the night. Feeling tired really blurs your perspective. I really thought I did not like being in cold, rainy Ireland. Luckily, that changed the next day, when I arrived to.... *drumroll*

3. SUNNY GALWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!

You guys, the place is a dream. Big enough to be called a city but small enough to stroll around in a day. Quaint and clean yet packed with booze and yummy food! Did I mention live music in every other pub? Even the sun likes Galway better than Dublin.

Now, my hotel was quite out of the way, about four miles away from the city centre (which means it was in a totally different town). But I stayed in the world's best B&B, so Anne, my lovely hostess, actually gave me a lift into town. And made me tea. And gave me brochures. And booked a cab for me. JUST ALL THE THINGS!

Music, fish and chips, drinks, the works. Oh, you know what else? MEN.

I guess this is when I tell you about the Claddagh ring.

Months ago, the Claddagh ring was brought to my attention by my friend Iris. Little did I know that it was a symbol originated in Galway. So when I saw a jewelry shop with a big painting of the ring on the wall, I couldn't resist. I went in and entered the realm of the Claddagh magic.

According to what I understood, the Claddagh ring symbolizes loyalty, friendship, and love. It is customary for women who are married/taken to wear the ring with the heart pointing inwards, while ladies who are looking for luuuuuurve wear it pointing outwards, to draw in "the one".

I honestly bought the ring because I think it's really pretty; little did I know of its power. After buying the ring, I went into a restaurant to eat, and as I came out of it, sighing with satisfaction and smelly fish breath, a man approached me.

"So, good fish and chips?"
"Yeah, fantastic!"
"What's your name?"

Just like that. We chatted casually as we walked up the street, and after a few minutes he asked if he could buy me a drink. Yep. Just like that. I politely declined, since I'm pretty sure he was my dad's age (although I gotta admit he was not bad-looking... we just reached a whole new level of 'eww', huh?).

Oh my gosh, this ring works!
Don't be silly, that's just a funny coincidence. 

Except it wasn't. The next day, I met a couple guys at a tour of the Cliffs of Moher. I spent the whole day hanging out with them. One of them kept winking at me. From then, it was just a series of cat-callers, kiss-blowers, starers, smilers, plain ole' creeps. What. the actual. f****?

Look, I'm not saying the ring has magic. All I'm saying is that I am suddenly super irresistible and very confident. Especially to Irish men. Clearly, I've been wasting my time with a bunch of non-Irish men my entire life. Now it's only a matter of finding a somewhat sober Irishman with acceptable teeth.

But it didn't stop there. It went on. In Durham. At the Lake District. In Scotland. In FREAKING LAFAYETTE, LOUISIANA. Everywhere (except in Texas, apparently). I'm quickly collecting binders of men around here.

4. THE CLIFFS OF MOHER

Also known as The Most Beautiful Place on Earth. Seriously, there are no words to describe the Cliffs. Dumbfounded. Awe-struck. Fangirling. There really isn't much to say. Just look at this place:

5. Day of Madness: Galway -- Dublin -- Manchester

Took a train from Galway to Dublin.
Took a bus from Dublin's train station to Dublin Airport.
Took a flight from Dublin to Manchester. I almost lose my life because I looked at a wrong screen and I thought the flight was leaving so I ran and ran and suddenly discovered that running with luggage practically makes me asthmatic. Turns out I had plenty of time. Fool.
Took the metro from Manchester Airport to the city centre.
Took a million years to find my hotel. I hadn't had food all day. But they have burgers. Delicious burgers.

Then, I waited and waited for someone I was supposed to meet up with. Waited and waited. AND WAITED. After hours of waiting (I waited, ya'll), I decided to dust myself off and take my pretty dress out for a walk, for a night in town. By a night in town I mean I went to the nearest Tesco to buy comfort food to bring back to the hotel so that I could watch the Women's World Cup. I bleeping hate this stupid city forever. #notbitter

Oh, here's a "Things that Only Happen To Me" moment:
Turns out, my hotel had been going through some "renovations", and it seems that they might have forgotten to actually finish some of the walls...

This meant that the walls of my room did not go all the way up to my ceiling, the same ceiling I was sharing with several other tenants. It was a matter of hours before I realized there was a beast sleeping next to me... because I could hear every single thing that was happening in the room next to mine. And it was not pretty. Burping. Growling. Hardcore snoring. GROWLINGOMGWTFISGOINGON!!!! The guy was GRUMPY, slamming drawers, windows, the door. I was actually scared for my life. Then on the other side there was someone else, also snoring. Oh, did I mention there was a drunken homeless man shouting "OI MATE!" outside my window for what felt like hours? Yeah, I had almost no sleep that night.

But it's totally fine, ya'll, because the next day I was Durham-bound. And that, my friends, is enough for me.

***TO BE CONTINUED***

I'M BACK BABYYYY!!

Well, hello to you all and happy birthday to me!

It has been AGES since I've written you, blogosphere, and I am very sorry that things ended the way they did between us--that is, with me being buried under a pile of what I call "adult life" and you left  to wander lost in the immensity of the internet without your beacon of hope, the light of your life, the joy of your heart (this blog).

But I've got great news for you:

1. THE SEMESTER IS OVER!!!!

This means that I get to have a nice break from my responsibilities as an inspiring teacher in an inner-city high school (LOL). It's not like work was entirely consuming my time (just about 11 hours of my day), but I was so mentally exhausted by the end of each day that I had little desire to write. But today is the last day of work and I'm sitting at work, all done with my duties like the good over-achiever that I am, writing you all and eating Cheez-its.

2. THE MEXICAN GEORDIE IS RETURNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You guys, this is huge-- I'm coming home, baby! *cue to all the eye-rolling courtesy of the skeptics who think I'm snobbish for calling Durham home*. I have been waiting for this moment since the day I left. My heart is a-flutter with elation! I realise things won't be quite the same--lots of people won't be there anymore-- but the fact of being able to go back and relive some of those memories is such a precious treasure to me. *ALL THE CLICHES!*

3. IT'S MY BDAY, YA'LL!!!!!!!!!! (lots of exclamation marks today--the excitement is real).

Yes, let all flower buds bloom and all birds chirp with felicity for Cris (there it is, the pretentiousness) has turned a year older. My birthday is literally in about 10 minutes (I was born at 9 a.m., according to the Associated Press/Mum).  I was also born on a Friday, so I'm having birthday inception right now (this is also probably why Friday is my favorite day of the week and why I think the perfect time to wake up in the morning is 9 a.m.... demonstrating that newborn me and adult me are the same).

Anyway, being my birthday and all I figured I could write something inspirational and cliched worthy of Hello Giggles, so I sat down to think about what I could possibly say, and I started thinking about the past ten years and the things I wish I could go back and tell myself, my eighteen-year-old self. Ten years gone seemingly in a heartbeat, but feeling like a lifetime of memories--so much so that I know there's a lot of stuff I don't even remember anymore. Roughest years but also in some ways the best years... going from being a teen to being a full-time adult, all while still being secretly a child (though not a teen, I would hope). So, if Martin McFly could take me back in the DeLorean, I'd go find skinny young me and give myself this letter (I wouldn't talk to myself because remember that can screw up the future in crazy ways).



Dear Eighteen Year Old Cris,

It's me, Twenty-Something Year Old Cris. Before you ask me questions, let me put you up to speed:

1) No WWIII yet.
2) Music got worse--yes, it's possible.
3) Phones do everything but call people (because T-Mobile is a crappy carrier).

I am sitting here at my desk at work (yes, we work now) typing this letter to you with a massive belly ache due to overeating of cupcakes. I just wanted to take the time and give you a heads up on some situations coming your way. Because I (we) love making lists, here goes:

1. Things are about to change a lot. You're entering your last year of high school and everything feels amazing and beautiful and fun. You feel like you have it all, but the rug is going to get pulled from under you and you will be very angry for a long time. None of it will be your fault. Honey, life just isn't fair. Things happen. You've let yourself be defined by who you are to people and have lost sight of your true essence; you've grown accustomed to the idea that you are self-sufficient and that you're a big deal, and this has caused you to be arrogant and look down on others that don't have their shit together. What's about to happen is all necessary in a way. Your heart will be broken, your pride will be shattered, your hope will be lost. Tears will choke you at night as you're staring at the white ceiling of your bedroom. The walls of your throat will tighten and close in as you look at the people you loved so much moving on with their lives. Your heart will be blackened in the fire of bitterness and anger. I wish I could tell you not to sweat it, that it's not all worth it--but I can't. Because I know what it all means to you, and I know that being left, forsaken, let down, and humiliated is a painfully necessary process for us. Be reassured that it is a process continuing to this day. But whatever massive challenge lays before you like an insurmountable peak, know that you shall overcome, not because of your own strength, but because God will carry you through. The faster you understand this the better. You can't do it alone, you need Him. It will all be okay, I promise.

2. Don't stop smiling, even when the world is crumbling. Don't stop opening up your heart. You will feel like you can never trust anyone again, but you will, and it will be wonderful. You will, after many tries, finally find people who will love you for who you are, not just because you do things for them, but because they actually like you. Suddenly you will find yourself surrounded by love again. But smile, because that's how you draw people in.  Or else your resting bitch face will make everyone run away (yes, that's a term now... it's basically the face you have 90% of the time). There will be times when you will feel very lonely; bring that loneliness to God. He will take care of it, in time.

3. Yes, all in time. God will make you wait for every. single. thing. Your impatience will win sometimes, and you will grow desperate and restless and anxious (and gain a million pounds). But that's not going to make him waiver-- He will still make you wait. I'm sure He has good reasons, though I haven't figured them out, but I guess what I'm trying to say is put that cupcake down because eating isn't going to make anything better. Oh, also try to enjoy whatever it is you do have and stop worrying about the things that are not happening for you. The faster you surrender entirely to His will, the better for you, not because waiting will get any easier, but because you will be able to thrive in the midst of it.

4) And speaking of waiting.... there's one department in which you will be doing LOTS of waiting. Yep. News flash, honey: you ain't marrying him. I know you think you love him and that there isn't anyone like him, but that's not love--not the real kind, anyway. Besides, he's a douchebag... why on earth are you with him? You'll see what I'm talking about. Anyway... it's going to hurt a lot, baby girl. It's going to feel like your heart's bled dry. Please know that there wasn't anything you could have done to fix it. You two were just not meant for each other. It's going to take you a long time to heal but you will heal and you will fall in love again. Twice, actually. Nope, it's not going to work out. Yes, it will suck... especially the second time around. You will feel like you just want to buy a farm in the middle of nowhere and die alone and have your cats eat your corpse. You will feel like you're just too weird and there isn't anyone else out there for you. But I daresay 38-year-old Cris would say that everything works out at the end. Whatever happens, know this: You've met the love of your life already. He's been right there all along and will never leave you. Give him a chance to woo you--He is enough. Always. He knows you and loves you with a passion that cannot be put into words. Hint: He's also your God.

5. You know how you love writing? Yeah, that's great and all... but you should really look into your love of science. I'm not saying you're unhappy now, but you will regret your career choice because as much as you love books, your brain works like a mad scientist's. Besides--I (we) don't even write for a living... it's something we do on a super popular blog called Mexican Geordie.  No money involved. I'm sorry to have to tell you that you are a teacher. A high school one. I know, I can't believe it either. OH, THE IRONY, amIrite? But I guess it's too late for me to say that to you, so I will say this: it's never too late to change careers; it's never too late to go back to school; it's never too late to write that novel you have been daydreaming about for years. Do it and don't worry about what people will think. You know why? Because nowadays there's a super popular pornographic book called Fifty Shades of Gray that is making millions of dollars and was apparently written by a raccoon with rabies whose second language is English (or so I hear). So write.

6. And you know what? Studying English won't turn out to be so bad, because you'll get to live your life dream. You will make it to England. You will LIVE THERE DUDE. It will be all you ever imagined and more.

7. Be kind to your family. There'll be a point in time when they are all you have. Right now you put so much more emphasis on your friendships and neglect your family. Well, that's about to change. You lucked out, you got an amazing set of parents and some pretty wonderful siblings. Here's something funny: you will actually get along with JP, LOL (this is also a new term that stands for "laughing out loud" because we've basically become too lazy to type out laughter. Now people type "lololol" instead of "hahaha" which totally defeats the purpose). Anyway, your family is the most precious thing that you have. Please treasure them. Also, don't forget our grandparents. Write them letters. Hug them tighter. They won't be around for much longer.

8. You're balder. Start saving up for a hair-loss treatment.

9. Believe in yourself. You are beautiful and perfectly capable of talking to anyone, no matter how utterly gorgeous you think they are. No one's ever "too beautiful" for you. Moreover, you have more than just beauty: you have wit, sense of humour, and a perfectly intelligent brain capable of conversation. TALK TO PEOPLE. It will do you good.

10. This reminds me... we're still very awkward. But getting better. You still talk to yourself out loud, though. That's never going to go away, I'm afraid.  But guess what? You are so loved. Love yourself. I love you.

Part V

She turned around and looked at the house—the house she loved, the house that had nourished her when her heart had been torn and bleeding. She opened the gate, got in, and closed it without hesitation. Then she looked up at him, his mouth half-open as if he were about to say something else. She held his gaze for a few seconds then started locking the gate. When the lock clicked, she looked up again and there he was, in disbelief. But there was nothing else to say. She slowly turned around and started toward the house. Her first instinct was to look at the living room window to see if anyone had been watching, but there was no one there. This seemed to be the longest walk of her life. Who would have thought? She was walking away from all that she had ever wanted at one point in her life—from the boyish smile, the brown curls, the veiny hands. She opened the door, stepped inside, and looked back. He was still there, with defeated shoulders and glistening eyes. Life seemed to be going in slow-motion, with so many possibilities opening up like endless scrolls in front of her.

It felt like it was just yesterday. They were dancing under the dimmed lights of the elegantly decorated party room in the Marriott. She had on a beautiful shimmering dress and dangling crystal earrings. She felt like a million bucks. His hands were around her waist and he kept bringing her closer and closer to him. Her knees were rattling violently and her breath was quick and shallow. He brought his mouth close to her ear and started whispering the things she never thought she would hear. Her imagination was quick—she could see her future, their future. There would be baking sessions, visits to the Museum of Fine Arts, dense conversations about Kafka and Byron and Edward Said until they would fall asleep sometime after 2 AM.  She had let the wind of his whispers tickle her ear and her heart had thundered in her rib cage.

Suddenly, one word had changed it all. Suddenly, she had woken up from the beautiful, momentary dream. Suddenly, she had realized he would never be for her. So she had walked away, leaving him there on the dancefloor, with a puzzled look and defeated shoulders. She had been blind, but now she could see, even if tears were flooding her eyes. She kept walking, not knowing exactly where to go, but feeling the urge to get out of that stifling place. She had always thought that had been the longest walk of her life…until now.

She closed the door and walked through the small foyer in a few seconds. She was walking past the living room and caught something from the corner of her eye which made her stop. It was her husband. He was sitting with her back to her, watching the Christmas tree. She stared at his broad shoulders, his strong neck, and his perfectly groomed black hair.

That night, she had walked out into the hotel gardens and felt her burning cheeks being cooled by the surprisingly fresh May night. Her head was pounding, her blood boiling, her heart yelling. Her voice had choked inside of her, as the walls of her throat seemed to have closed up. There was agony blazing inside her, but not a sound would come out. She had walked across the garden, feeling her heart was about to burst. Suddenly, there was a cry, a sob, faint and deep. But it wasn’t hers. It wasn’t her voice that had finally escaped its trap of misery. She listened. Yes, a low cry—so, so low and desperate. She had followed the sound and, turning a corner, had found its source: a man, with his waiter uniform, huddled in a corner, trembling in sobs, covering his face with his hands. She stood there in front of him, watching him, feeling her own pain subsiding at the sight of such a man weeping with such anguish. After a few moments, he had felt a presence, which propelled him to quickly look up with reddened eyes.

“Cathy!” he had cried, jumping to his feet and wiping the tears off his face. It was a moonless night and she was still very shaken, so it had taken her a moment to recognize him.

“Cathy, are you okay?” he had asked, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.

“Santi—no… Alex, right?”

“Whatever is left of him, yes,” he had replied, forcing a smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… to intrude—”

“No… it’s fine. I should be working…” he sniffled and again wiped his dry face with the back of his hand. “Cathy, can I help you with anything?”

“I’m fine.” She had said it so resolutely that he had just stared at her and nodded. 

“Okay…” he blurted awkwardly and started walking away. She didn’t like him, but he had seemed so distressed that she had considered trying to help him. Before she knew it, she was speaking again.

“Alex…”

“Yeah?”

“I know we’re not exactly friends—”

“As far as I can see, we only have each other right now.”

Alex must have felt her presence behind him, for he looked back and saw her lingering on the living room threshold. She saw him place her angelic nephew, who was fast asleep, on the sofa and stare at her inquiringly. On the worst day of her life, she had found this man she once thought she hated crying inconsolably in a corner of a hotel garden, wearing a waiter uniform. On the worst day of her life, she had found another aching, bleeding heart howling with grief. On the worst day of her life, she had decided not walk away but to place her arm around the broad shoulders of a man weakened by the sorrow of his dying mother. That night, he had looked at her face with those lovely green eyes and told her that Santiago was an idiot and that she the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, even if eyeliner was running down her cheeks in little droplets. With the music blaring in the distance, he had asked her to dance one song with him and had even managed to crack a couple jokes to make her smile. All while his mother was lying in a hospital bed with a shaven head and a mutilated body.  He, who had been nothing to her and who had no duty toward her, had done this. He who was standing in front of her right now. He was looking at her with a mix of worry and fear. But what had he to fear? Didn't he know? It was true that she hadn't always loved him, and he certainly had done a lot of pleading before she had even considered giving him a chance, but after all they had gone through--then it dawned of her: he had seen her from the window. He had probably seen Santiago leaning in and raising her hand up to his chest. Yet there was no reproach, no accusation. He was waiting on her to speak.

She remembered the first time she had met his mother. Alex, his dad, and his two brothers were throwing her what would be her last birthday party. Only close friends of the family had been invited, so she had been very nervous--after all, Alex was just her friend back then. But Angela had received her as if she had always been part of the family: she had embraced her with her feeble arms and kissed her cheek. She had the same glistening green eyes as her son, though made larger by the thinness of her face and the shades of gray surrounding them. But her most vivid memory of Angela was her voice. It was soothing and powerful and kind all at once, like oak leaves rustling with a gentle wind in a warm April morning. Cathy had taken a liking to her immediately. 

"I'm glad to meet the famous Cathy at last!"

"Me? Famous?"

"Yes--at least around here. I hear my son was quite the stereotype of a spoiled teenage football player around you in high school," she nudged and winked at her." But God made sure to straighten him up and force him to become a man." She had said this with a mix of pride and nostalgia. "He's got a good heart, I promise."

"I know he does."

"Do you?" she asked with a playful smile. Cathy had just blushed profusely.

"I wish I'd be here to see it," she sighed. "I don't have much time left, I'm afraid. So I'll be watching from up there," she looked up. "But if there's anything I can say to help my son a bit is this: he's got a really good heart. You see those big beautiful eyes? They're nowhere as big or as beautiful as his heart. You keep that in  mind, okay?" She had.


She continued looking at him until she could no longer contain a dimpled smile. On the worst day of her life, she had found him. He was hers—her sleek black hair, her plump lips, her broad shoulders, her massive hands, her freckled back, her pretty eyes. Her husband—hers. She jumped into his arms.

“‘I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life!’”, she recited, marking each pause with a kiss.

“‘And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death’”, he responded, smiling.

“That night I thought I was helping you, but in reality you rescued me—no, it’s true, stop shaking your head!” she stroked his face. “I felt invisible and then you came along and even though you were going through hell you looked at me like you’re doing right now and you saw me—you saw me when I thought no one did.”

“Well, that was not hard to do!”

“The thing is… I don’t need anyone else to see me as long as you do.” He held her tighter and looked at her with misty and smiley eyes. She kissed him.

“Anyway, I was going to wait until midnight to give you your gift—but I don’t think I can wait any longer!” She rushed to get the tiny box with the gold wrapping paper and oversized red bow that was under the Christmas three. She placed it in his hands and waited restlessly as he carefully opened it and unfolded the rest of their lives in front of her. There would be movie nights every Friday, sleepless nights, arguments about which was the best football league in Europe, runs to the pediatrician,canoeing trips, sand castles, vanilla ice cream, Disneyland, summer barbecues, late night talks about angels, demons, and the Virgin Mary. There would be laughter and whispers and two pairs of eyes glowing in the dark. She watched him as he stared down at the tiny pair of mint-colored, knitted socks.

“Merry Christmas and happy birthday, Daddy.”

                                                   ********************************

Should have a title for this thing by now.... but here's PART IV

He parked the car a couple blocks away, thinking he could use a walk in the sobering December chill. Each step brought with it a different flashback, which was as thrilling as it was confusing. Many things in his memory seemed to have fused together, making it hard for him to distinguish the whos, wheres, and whens. But when one pleasant memory fluttered in the back of his head, he made sure to bring it forth, contemplate it, and savor it slowly. Suddenly he was transported to that glorious night: the lights dimmed across the dance floor, the bass slow and smooth, his hands around her waist and his head hanging low to meet hers. They moved to the rhythm of the ballad and basked in each other’s presence in delicious silence. What was the occasion? That was irrelevant. The important thing was that they had been there together and everything seemed possible when her hands were around his neck. He had danced with his eyes closed and had listened solemnly to her when she broke the silence to tell him all the things he had longed to hear from her. His heart was pounding and his lip quivering, so it took him a while to compose himself enough to be able to tell her how much he had missed her and how he still loved her. Then something had happened—he wasn’t sure what. All he knew was that she had walked away from him and had vanished behind the other couples dancing before he could do anything about it. That was the last time he ever saw her.

What was he doing, then? He was walking to Cathy’s house for God knows what while thinking about her. Why was he going to see Cathy? What was he going to say to her? He hadn’t seen her in a good three years—he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her. What if she had moved away? No, surely she wouldn’t have left without saying good-bye. But how could she have said good-bye? He had made sure to burn his bridges and no one who had meant anything to him once knew how to contact him.

He kept walking, trying not to despair at the thought of potentially not finding Cathy. He was sure that he needed to see her—that’s all he knew for now. There was something about Cathy that he loved: she had clarity of thought. He could lay before her the most complicated existential crisis and she could untangle it in front of him and give him a solution—if only he’d listen. Sometimes he thought her overly practical, but it seemed that ultimately everything that she said was prophetic and everything she suggested would have been the best course of action, if only he would have followed the advice. All these things were flying through his mind until he suddenly looked up and saw a figure crossing the street hurriedly. When he recognized her, he stopped abruptly for a brief moment as if to gather courage. He saw the woman cross the street again and struggle with the gate. He approached her and ended up lurking behind her.

He had startled her, so he took a step back and greeted her softly. He could see the shadow of confusion on her face and then the lightbulb going off when she finally realized who he was. He looked at her and smiled as her knitted brow relaxed.

“Santi! Oh my God!”

Next thing he knew she was throwing her arms around him. It was a bit of a shock, being hugged like this, hearing his own name again. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him like this. She was so warm and soft and smelled like lavender, just as he remembered her. He closed his eyes for a second and let that scent transport him back to the many times he had spent right here, just outside her house, telling her about his woes, drinking the delicious hot chocolate that only she knew how to make, feeling the sleeve of her cozy red sweater around his shoulders as she consoled him and encouraged him to move on. She had always been there for him. She could have helped him forget—he knew that now.

“Look at you… you look…”

“Like death?”

“I was going to say skinny and cold, but I guess that will do,” she chuckled as she rubbed his arm lovingly.

“You look so beautiful,” he blurted out without thinking. His remark made her blush profusely and look away with embarrassment. He was quite in awe of her glowing face, with its freckles and dimples and sparkly eyes and perfect smile. He started wondering if he had ever noticed how radiant she was or if she had just changed too much. But he knew it had been him—he hadn’t noticed, he hadn’t even tried.

 “What are you doing here?”

“I—I was in the neighborhood and I just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas.”

“Yeah? That’s… weird. I mean, I haven’t seen you in God knows how long. How are you?”

“Well… I don’t know… fine,” he tried to force a smile. She noticed and looked at him with her bright hazel eyes filled with worry.

“Are you… hungry? Would you like to join—”

“That’s not why I’m here,” he snapped, annoyed at the suggestion that he had come to beg for food. No matter how much he had been through or all the things he had done, he was too proud to beg anyone for anything. “I just wanted to see you. I miss you.”

“Oh, Santi…”

“I don’t really have anyone to talk to anymore.”

“What happened with your girlfriend?”

“Who?”

“Oh… Mikaela?”

“She… she’s not my girlfriend… well, I can’t talk to her. She’s not doing too well…”

“Neither are you, by the looks of it.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Why are you here?”

He fixed his eyes, which were glistening with tears, on hers. There were no words, no explanations, no excuses to be made. He didn’t dare to ask. He could only plead with his eyes. She knew him so well, and he knew that would be enough for her to understand that he needed help. She was looking back at him and he could see her eyes welling up. She still loved him—he could see it. If only she would give him a chance! He came closer to her and leaned in, slowing bringing his forehead to almost touch hers. She was utterly still.

“You’re a mess.”

“But if only I could be around you… I know I would get better. I would try harder. I would get my act together—you would help me.” She remained still and he whispered to her, “you’re good for me. I know I don’t deserve it, but I know I can do better if you’re with me. I could finally forget…”

“Forget? You are still planning on doing that?” her voice rose with indignation and she drew back. She calmed herself by taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry—yes, I’m still trying to let go. It’s not easy.”

“Well, we’ve all done it, moving on. She is married. She has a kid. What are you waiting on?”

“It’s not so easy!” he cried with frustration, “after all we went through, after all the things that were said and promised. Even a couple years ago—at that party, when I thought it was all lost—I  saw her at that party. She told me she cared for me… that she loved me. Then she just went and married that guy, when in reality she still loved me? How am I supposed to get over that so easily? I’ve tried. Mickey—Mikaela—tried to help me, but it didn’t work. But Mickey—she’s too weak, she ended up worse than me. I need someone strong, who can help me, who can push me to be the best version of myself… Cathy…”

“I can’t fix you, Santiago. Only you can do that—”

“But I’m not asking you to fix me… Just—when I’m with you, I’m better. I know I didn’t treat you right, I took you for granted, I was awful… but if you give me a chance—”

“I will not.” She said it decisively, but with tranquility and gentleness. She was frank and serious, looking at him without embarrassment, yet she was not cruel, bitter, or resentful. He was rendered speechless.

“For years, I waited for you to realize… but you have a habit of refusing to see the truth that’s right before you—whether it’s the fact that Danielle moved on or that I was crazy about you.” His heart jumped inside him and he felt hopeful for a brief moment. She stopped and looked down momentarily as if to gain courage.

“Yeah, I was—and you knew it. Danielle told you she did not love you. It couldn’t have been clearer. But you decided to spend your time getting stoned out of your mind and ruining your life and using unrequited love as an excuse for all that.”

Being accused in such a manner was, truthfully, a small pleasure. If she was bothering to give him a lecture, then she probably still cared. It was good to be held accountable—he knew he needed someone to do that for him. He was glad he had come here, even if her words did hurt and if he was desperate to make things up to her.

“That party you’re talking about? For God’s sake—that was my graduation party, when I finished my degree.  You showed up there, drunk or high or something, thinking she would be there because her brother was graduating in my class. But she wasn’t there, she had already moved to Paris.”

His heart stopped. His eyes widened. His mind suddenly seemed to explode, unfolding before him a vivid recollection: it was Cathy he had slow-danced with; it was Cathy who had put her hands around his neck and had whispered to him that this was like a dream come true and that she had waited for this moment for such a long time; it was Cathy who had heard him pour his heart out; and it was Cathy who had walked away and vanished in the crowd.

“I did think you seemed a bit tipsy, but didn’t realize how bad it was until you called me Danielle,” he could scarcely bear to look at her. “You called me Danielle.”

“I…”

 “I left you in the middle of the dance floor by yourself. That was the last time we saw each other. And here you are, asking me to give you a chance? I did. It was one chance. You missed it.”

“I am so sorry, Cathy.”

“I know you are.”

“Please, forgive me… please…” he took her hand and raised it to his chest. He inhaled that lavender scent and closed his eyes, pleading with her. She withdrew her hand.

“I have forgiven you, but that’s all I can do for you.” He could see pity in her eyes. “I used to think that you were the worst thing that had happened to me. But I made up my mind to not let you break me like Danielle had broken you. I resolved to be happy no matter what.  But in order for me to do that, I had to forgive you--for my own sake. Ironically, it is because of you that I can say that I’m as happy as I never thought I could be”, she smiled at him. After some moments of silence, she added, “what you are looking for is not here, Santi.”

“What do you think I’m looking for?”

“Love. In the truest sense of the word.”

“Well, I thought I would find that here.”

“It’s Christmas. Go home, Santi.”

“Home?"

“Yes, home.”  

                                                       ********************************

Third installment

Looking at her was the greatest pleasure of his life. There wasn't anything on earth that he would indulge so guiltlessly in. He had the satisfaction of staring at her and knowing that it was okay, that he had the right, that despite her apparent uncomfortableness and embarrassment, even though she protested and blushed and laughed nervously, he could look at this woman, his wife, without restriction or apology. Every part of her was his.  He liked to think about the time when she hated him passionately. He could vividly recall the fire of revulsion in her eyes, her lip curling with disdain. He knew he had been a fool, but he thought it rather funny how life had played out and how things had unfolded. He always felt drawn to her, but he hadn't known how to approach her back then, so it was not short of miraculous that she had given him another chance. But that was just like Cathy, he thought. Her heart was too big, too generous. She was stubborn and proud, but she was incredibly just and kind, so she had eventually come to accept that even a jerk like himself could change.

And had he been a jerk? Absolutely. He had deserved every bit of her judgment and scorn. He was arrogant and selfish; he had been a bully, trying to compensate for his own insecurities by putting others down. He had known himself to be liked, admired, and desired, and it was on that vain foundation that he had built who he thought he ought to be. But she had seen right through him from day one. He had looked in her eyes and had seen all those things that made him feel insecure and weak and small. She was like the burning bush—enticing and terrifying all at once. In his refusal to admit that he was fake and shallow, he had declared her an enemy and a challenge to be conquered. First he had planned to break her, then he had come to want her—yes, for all the wrong reasons. But neither scheme had worked: she knew who she was and who he wasn't, and her determination to dislike him would not waiver. That’s when he had started to care about what she had to say, but by then it was too late to make her change her mind about him. So he had to just look at her once in a while, when he made her angry, and then see her bright hazel eyes light up and her face turn scarlet with fury.  That was the most genuine and most beautiful thing he could have aspired to see in a life full of facades.  

“What are you staring at?” she asked cheekily. He kept his gaze on her and advanced confidently, tipping her chin up and kissing her. It still felt like the first time.

After high school, he thought he’d never see her again. She would attend the local prestigious university and make something of herself, while he went out of state to a mediocre university on a football scholarship. The novelty of it all made him forget about her—there were plenty of girls willing to feed his ego in college. Looking back, he could see with horror the direction his life had taken and was grateful his life had crumbled the way it had. After a disastrous first year (both in the field and the classroom), the school had withdrawn his scholarship, and he found himself with a big suitcase and a one-way ticket back home. He was angry and humiliated, but spent his time blaming fate for his own shortcomings. He quietly entered the local community college and bitterly continued his studies, growing angrier and angrier about his situation. Little did he know that life would ask him to man up soon.

That night, mass brought a mix of feelings to his heart. It was the first Christmas he spent as a husband, and his face beamed with pride as he escorted his wife to have a seat among the congregation. He always thought her beautiful, but tonight he thought she looked stunningly so, and his heart tingled with elation. It was a year ago he had proposed to her, on his parents’ porch.  It had been simple and perhaps even anti-climatic, but he wouldn't have done it any other way. He knew she wouldn't have liked it if he would have made a big deal of it and dropped on one knee in front of a bunch of people. She appreciated her autonomy above most displays of romanticism, and giving her an audience to pressure her into accepting his hand would have triggered her stubbornness. So he waited for the right moment that night, and as they sat on the porch after dinner, he had looked at her, with a mustache of foamy hot cocoa on her upper lip, and, kissing her, had told her he wanted her to be his wife. He had smiled, put the little black box on the little coffee table and, taking up the now empty mugs, had gone back into the house to put them in the sink. That walk to the kitchen was the longest he had ever taken. Anticipation was eating at his heart. He knew how much it had taken for her to give him at chance originally, so he couldn't be entirely sure if she would accept. But just as he was putting the mugs in the sink, he heard the front door was flung open.

“Who leaves an engagement ring on a table and walks away? Who does that?”

“Well, me… apparently.”

He had turned around just in time to catch her in his arms.

“Who could say no to that pair of eyes?”

“If anyone could, it would be you.”

She had laughed as she continued hanging from his neck. “Let’s get married, pretty eyes.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye as he remembered all this and saw tears in her eyes. He squeezed her hand gently and smiled. He looked at the Christ hanging from the huge crucifix at the front of the church and thanked God from the bottom of his heart for it all. When life had seemed to be crumbling, God had put her back in his life, with her feisty eyes and that starry night of freckles on her face.

When they had returned to the house, she had asked him for the car keys because she had left her phone in the car. He had started playing with little CJ, so he didn't think twice about handing the keys and having her go out on her own. After a few minutes, he realized he hadn't heard the front door open again, so he took the toddler in his arms and went to the window. His heart sank: Cathy was just outside the gate, her hand on the arm of a tall, hunched over man. It only took him a moment to recognize him, even in the dark. He was propelled to run outside, but a strange cooling force seemed to have locked his limbs in place. He swallowed slowly; he tightened his jaws; he, with CJ still in his arms, glued his eyes to the window. 

His view of her face was limited, but he could see the man’s face and his reactions to what she would say. He saw them smiling at each other and his blood ran cold. But no, he would not go outside, he would not move one step. He would trust her—even if his heart was paralyzed with fear and his mind was running wild. He would trust her. He saw the smiles disappearing and watched this man take a step forward and lean in while she remained still. The walls of his throat were closing up. He would trust her. He knew her better than anyone—they had shared things with each other that they hadn’t with anyone else. His wife—his. His curls, his freckles, his silky lips, his hazel eyes, his long, strong legs, his shoulder birthmark. He would trust her.

He remembered the first time she had kissed him. It had been their fifth date (yes, it had taken her that long!). They had gone to a basketball playoff game and he had teased her about being shown on the Kiss Cam. She had agreed to kiss him if they were shown on the screen, so he had secretly prayed that they would, but he had no luck. At the end of the game, after a disappointing score, they had been walking back to the car and she was making fun of him about his bad luck with the game and the Kiss Cam. He was hotheaded, and her teasing had gotten to him, so he had started walking faster.

“Hey! Wait for me!”

He had kept walking, but he turned around when he heard her running toward him and shouting “charge!!” He had barely caught her in his arms when the touch of her lips on his set his heart on fire.

“You’re such a grumpy old man sometimes.” Her eyes had been half closed, her hands travelling through his hair.

“So… does this mean you’re my girl now?”

“Your girl? How old are you again?”

“Old enough to catch you every time you decide to jump on me like a crazy person.”

“I think I’d like that”, she smiled and kissed him again.

He would trust her.

**************************