Away We Go

I thought about it in my NyQuil haze. I thought about it as I wrote paper after paper in an attempt to finish school before they're home. I considered it as I walked across the quad, behind the newlyweds near the Alma Mater, in and out of the quirky boutique that didn't have the cardigan I wanted, and around the self serve frozen yogurt shop. It probably hit me as the cookies and cream was spiraling into my cup, this one simple truth:

I have been waiting months for something. I am not sure what I am waiting for.

Sure, I've waited for him. But him in that unidentifiable way, that sweet romantic way that doesn't ask for details. My hand is held out in expectation, but what am I expecting? In truth, I won't know what I've waited for until he's here.

I'm back in the NyQuil haze again tonight, after overdosing on vitamin C and zinc and sleeping as often as I felt like sleeping. I'll be over this cold by Tuesday morning. Then I'll be picking up Taylor and the baby, and making the two hour drive to Salem. I'll eat at Gary's again. I'll go to the high school again. I will stand on a hot football field and watch as a tiny dot forms into a bus. They will jump down the bus stairs and stand on the other side.

And when the speech is over, I will walk, or run, or dance to him. I'll introduce myself to him as the one of the other side of the computer, the one who wrote responses to all his letters. Then we'll walk off the field and start life in the real world. I'm scared, sure. But I also can't wait.