Peace and Wretched Quiet
The monkey is dead.
Or in a heavy coma, anyway. Thanks to you all for your well-wishes, thoughts and, yes, especially prayers for this weekend. It all went well, except for Jeremy’s cat allergies and the time I took him to Starbucks and spilled peach tea in his lap (at least it was iced). My pastor pretty much behaved on Sunday, as far as abusing Jeremy from the pulpit went (he got all of his abuse out during fellowship time, I think). My family showered him with gifts and general niceness. They tried to feed him, too, but neither of us had much of an appetite (and I mean that in a good way). My mom didn’t freak out too much this weekend, just kept running up to him and asking him if he remembered to take his Claritin that day (he couldn’t breathe for the first three hours he spent at my parents’ house; I thought he was just being shy, but apparently he wasn’t getting enough oxygen into his lungs/brain to affect much conversation). We spent our free time watching old James Bond and Hitchcock movies and hanging out. I’d never seen a Bond movie before, which is apparently a shocking scandal to more than one person in my immediate acquaintance, but we rectified that this weekend. We met a lot of people he didn’t know, and found out that a startling percentage of my extended family are familiar with the Portage/Chesterton area of Indiana (J’s hometown area).
We stayed up as late as possible and woke up early, most days, so we were exhausted by Monday. We both woke up at my parents’ house just before noon, finally blessed with the luxury of being able to sleep in, and realized the day was half gone and he was slated to leave in just a couple of hours. I was supposed to drive him to meet up with Paul and Tomania back at her parents’ house a few towns over, from which they’d all leave together for Providence, spend the night at Tomania’s sister’s house, and head out on an early flight Tuesday morning. We spent the in-between time at a local Starbucks spilling drinks in his lap and having silly conversations like this:
“So, when people introduce you as my boyfriend, are you, like, okay with that?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah. I’ve never been big on titles, but other people are. I just didn’t want it to…bother you.”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“I guess I’d better tell all those other guys I’m dating that I can’t see them anymore.”
“I guess I should do the same.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“My pants are drying nicely.”
“No stain?”
“No, but I smell like peaches.”
“Could be worse.”
Etc. Etc.
Juvenilia aside, it was wonderful to be so comfortable with him here. I wasn’t sure I would be, because in general I do better on other people’s turfs; don’t ask me why. But it felt good. Normal. Settling. Comfortable and comforting. So much so that when Tomania’s sister suggested I drive them to Providence and hang out with him for a little while longer at her place that evening before their flight, I couldn’t say no. I got back to MA around 2:00 am. He wants to come back out sometime in March. I’m cool with that.
Maybe the greatest thing about this weekend is that he met just about everybody for the first time all at once, and we’ll never have to do that again. Ever. Not with my family anyway. And as far as his go, well, I’ve already met his parents here and there, and for some inconceivable reason they seem to like me almost as much as he does. No worries there.
When the idea of the Christmas visit first came up, I said yes before thinking about it and what it would mean in terms of my comfort zone. Had I taken the time to think it over, I never would have gone for it. For once, I’m glad I was so rediculously impulsive. One regret, however, is that we forgot to take pictures. Some other people took greater care on that point than I did, though, and there MAY be a decent photo of us floating around in cyberspace trying to find its way home to my blog as we speak. If so, I promise to share.
Happy New Year :o)