Love Story


April 21, 2009

I want a love story. Passionate. Scary. Hearts. Rainbows. Impatient. Hungry. Tender. Monogamous. Forever. I want Puppy-Love that starts with a coy note. “Do you like me? Check the box…yes…or no.” Daisies with their hopeful petals. He loves me. He loves me not. Initials carved inside a heart on a tree. PM & SK. That nervous feeling in my stomach that he might kiss me after the game. Does anybody have a mint? I want to write his name on my blue-jeans. I want to slide a note into his locker. I want him to walk me home. I want him to pin on my corsage. I want to hide him from my parents. Ride the ferris wheel. Call and hang up. Play spin the bottle. Share a straw. Make out in the theater. Wear a turtle-neck in the summer. I want it to feel like Puppy-Love.
I want 20-Something-Love that starts on a blind date. “I’m not sure he likes me.” Getting off work on Friday and knowing we have all weekend. “Will this be together or separate?” Together! Sipping champagne on New Year’s morning, then a kiss. Still kissing at 2 am. Driving through the night because he misses me. “I love you.” Should I tell him that I love him, too? I want to nervously meet his family. Why is his sister looking at me like that? I guess we’ll never be friends. I want to find our song. I want to go to the beach together. Could he be Mr. Right? When will he ask me? Round or marquis or pear or emerald? When will he ask me?! I want to say “YES!” I want it to feel like 20-Something-Love.
I want Busy-Life-Love that starts in the delivery room. I want him love me enough to change diapers at midnight when we used to be kissing. Still changing diapers at 2 am. Initials on every page of a mortgage document. I want my red shirt to bleed on his white Oxford. Did you put gas in the car? Because I’m the Mommie and I said so! Getting off work on Friday and knowing we have all weekend…to do yardwork. I want to put the toilet seat down. Really, can’t you just put the clothes in the hamper? Leftovers again? What time will you be home? I want to schedule a date-night. To pay a babysitter. To not get carded anymore. I want to be too tired. Could you pick up some milk and diapers for midnight. And 2 am. I want Busy-Life-Love.
I want Settled-In-Love. Knowing who I am and who he is. Being okay with who I am and who he is. Cellulite? Is that a wrinkle? Gray hair? This used to fit me. I’ll just go up a size. Well at least he’ll always be older than me. Why doesn’t he have wrinkles. ” Lauren, when I was your age…” What does OMG LOL mean? Did the letters in the phone book get smaller, because they look smaller? I want to hide my daughter’s turtle-necks in summer. I want us to see Emily be Homecoming Queen. I want my daughter’s friends to think I’m cool. “Mom, you are soooo stupid phat!” I want to know what that means. God, I’m still too tired. I want to imagine life after the kids are gone. What did we used to talk about? Why in the world would anybody drive through the night when you are going to see each other in the morning anyway? I want to take for granted that he will always be here…with me. I want to finish his sentences. I want him to know what to order for me if I’m in the restroom. I want Settled-In-Love.
I want Love-Without-Kids. Do they ever really leave? Can we take the grandkids shopping this weekend? Don’t call me MeMaw. No, my hair used to be brown just like yours. I want him to remember when my hair was half way down my back. I remember when he had a mullet and a perm. I want to watch him give Grace away at her wedding. I want the grandkids to think it’s disgusting to see us kiss. Back in the day, your grandfather and I had cell phones without cameras. Remind me to tell you how we met. It was a blind date. Yes he kissed me in the rain. I want us to be the couple walking on the beach holding hands. It’s been 40 years! Where did the time go? I want Love-Without-Kids.
I want Getting-Old-Together-Love. I want to pick up the prescriptions at Walgreens. I want a Winnibego. I want blue hair. No, not really. I want to go on a bus tour to Atlantic City with other old people. I want him to think I look good wearing those wrap around sunglasses. I want to think he looks handsome going bald. Finally he has wrinkles! I want to sit up with him in the hospital at midnight and 2 am. I want to hold his wrinkly hand. I want to remember the weekends and diapers and date-nights and Homecoming and beach trips and laundry and mullets and kisses and cellphones and lots of laughter. I want Getting-Old-Together-Love.
I want the tears. I want the disappointment. I want the silence. The fights. Stomping. Sulking. Rejection. Let downs. Screaming. Walking out. I want to put a hole in the wall when I throw a phone. I want to make him think I might not come back. I want to blame him. I want to be sorry. I want to make him pay. I want him to be sorry. Really sorry. I want be pissed off. I want to go to bed mad. I want to wake up mad. I want to fight at midnight. Still fighting at 2 am. I want to need counseling. I want to talk to a lawyer. I want half…no, more than half. I want the furniture. I want him to have the stupid purple sofa. I want it to be OVER. I want you to pick my side. I want him to be alone.
I want to be the one who is there for all of it. I want the love story. Not the paperback kind. Not romantic beaches or Tuscan villas. Not Lifetime Movies. The real kind. With all the dirt and junk and crap and boring parts and happy parts. I want to know how to get that. The forever part. The beginning, middle, and end. I want to know how to get that.
Treasure Seeker,

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