It’s as though from the very beginning I have been thanking the up-and-coming love of my life close to every time I see him. We haven’t been together four complete months, but he has done nothing but buy me things, make me things, fix things and be the most supportive person I have ever been with (sorry to those of you that might read this that I’ve been with; for some, his support towers above, for others the difference is less marginal).
Admittedly, I miss the midnight walks through the woods and the two-hour long coffee study-breaks, but even from 130 miles away, I maintain a level of happy with that boy that I never dreamed of. He knows that my education is important (it’s a long-term gold-digging strategy of his), and so he minimizes the worry I have for him and us so that I can focus on what needs to be done. He loves and takes care of his family, all of whom are incredibly warm and accepting, and prioritizes accordingly. I joined the “Stefan made me a ring” club this weekend, now sporting a ring made out of a 1956 US quarter. I’m sure more have been made, but the ones I am currently aware of are donned by himself, his brother and his sister (who wears hers less often). It is remarkable some of the talents (he calls ’em hobbies, I call ’em talents-tomato tomato) he possesses, and I’m eternally grateful for everything he does for me.
Did I ever think I would find myself spending a Saturday morning at a gun range, firing a rifle and a shotgun? In theory, yes. In reality, no. But there I was last weekend, scared out of my mind, but ultimately enjoying every second (and especially when those clay discs shattered mid-air). Sleeping with a handgun under my pillow would have been easy; sleeping with a shotgun next to my bed is venerating. (I hide the pink camouflage case though.)
I have a homemade pair of moccasins, a hidden fully restored c. 1900 Victorian flask full of whisky, a 20 ga. shotgun, a handmade ring, a feeling of security and a heart full of happy.
By no means are any of the above physical items indicative of anything whatsoever. The fact that I am doting on them is only due to my astonishment at their existence in the first place. Not any single one of those tangible items have any bearing on how I feel. It’s amazing that I can only see how uncomfortable I’ve always been now that I am so incredibly comfortable. Stefan once mentioned that he thought our first trip to Philadelphia (the day I was originally looking at 2BR apartments for myself & Janelle) was slightly awkward, and I was truly taken aback by how awkward I hadn’t been. It was the “Greatest Saturday Ever,” and being awkward would have made it an “Awesome but not Greatest Saturday Ever” in my opinion.
But I digress. I have a ridiculous amount of homework to do, so I best stop swooning and return to my studies (which, by the way, I was ecstatic to be able to do while at Stefan’s apartment last week–whether he remembers he said it or not, “as long as you’re in the room” is how I feel too). Before I go, a thank you to him — thank you for being intelligent, for being (emotionally) strong, for being just affectionate enough, for thinking of me so often, for wanting to do things for me and with me, for keeping me laughing, for appreciating me and for fulfilling a 15-year-old girl’s crush. Etta still says it best: At Last.