Today I went to Target to buy bedding for the baby crib that we have. We have no idea who this baby will be that will fill it, but ours or someone's will, and maybe someone's who will eventually be ours. One would think this would be a fairly easy task, to pick out some sheets and blankets, but when you're going to be a foster parent as opposed to adopting or becoming a biological parent, it really isn't. You don't even know if there ever will be a baby in that crib. You think you might just be wasting your hopes and your money. And, if you're a foster parent who has never before had children, it's really not fun.
I also was in the market for some kiddie-lamps to replace the harsh one that I have now. I figured there must be some unisex lamps for kids that I could buy, no problem. I walked to the infant/toddler aisle, and was instantly overwhelmed. I looked on either side of the aisle, and there were only things for boys or for girls. Only ladybugs or trucks, princess crowns or army men.
"God, why can't you let anything in my life just be normal?" I asked silently as I looked at a green turtle night-light, envying the women around me who knew what they would be getting.
And then I remembered that it's because I have always begged him to not let it be.
No sacrifice is as glamorous as it sometimes appears to be on the outside.
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Every time I sit down to write the next chapter of this blog series, I say, "Alright! The last one!" Then I start typing. And typing. And then I realize that no person has enough extra time in their day to read what's probably 30-minutes worth of blog (it's a funny word, isn't it?). I am writing all of this out for myself as well as wanting to share it with everyone, so it's hard for me to bring myself to do a condensed version (Sorry!).
SO, with that being said, this blog is devoted to my very first trip to North Carolina to visit Casey Samuel. I think you will find it very entertaining.
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So, once I had said out loud to my co-worker Jake that I thought I was going to marry Casey Townsend, I felt like I had committed myself already. It was like the words sealed the deal. I made Jake promise not to tell anyone at work my secret that I had just gone down to North Carolina to visit him. I waited for about 2 weeks after he had come to Ohio before I flew down. We decided it would be a smart next move because I wanted to see how he lived and if our lives could ever mesh together. We were pretty serious from the start but in more of a business fashion rather than romance. I was very hesitant about moving forward without my gardenias. :)
In that two weeks between visits, we talked on the phone everyday, but not because we were hopelessly in love, because we were trying to figure each other out, and in the process I questioned him endlessly. I think he told me that he loved me in our second phone conversation while on his ski trip. He had apparently decided on the car ride home that he was all-in and that he needed to tell me how he felt. He went and hid in a large pantry to talk to me so that none of his friends could hear what he was saying. There is actually a picture of it here:
That's our dear friend Stephen pretending to be gassy on his head:
I can't remember my response to his first "I love you", but he can. He told me that I said, "OH MY ___, do you have any idea what in the h___ you're getting yourself into?" That poor man dealt with a lot of that while we were...dating? Courting? Talking? I was very harsh and had not yet learned how to filter my words.
Something very strange was that I felt like soon that I would love him too.
...
When we decided to pursue the "next move" of me coming to North Carolina, I bought myself a plane ticket and tried to imagine what it would be like in this mysterious Wilmington, NC, a place that I'd never heard of. I then was trying to imagine Bolivia, NC, which Casey Samuel described to me as being a blip on the map and nothing more.
In our phone conversations before I left, I was very adamant about one request: I did not want anyone to know that I was there and I did not want to meet any of his friends (at least not yet). This ruled out church, of course. I knew he went to a small church in a small town and so I didn't want to be the highlight of their gossip during the after-service luncheon.
He agreed to my request (I think a bit reluctantly) and I was on my way to Wilmington, North Carolina.
I landed in the quaint airport and realized that I was in my hometown's rival area. The airport was decorated with planes and Wright Brother's icons (My Alma Mater is Wright State University). I honestly don't really care who has the rights to those brothers, but I thought it was ironic all the same.
He met me there at the airport and I noticed immediately that he had cut his hair and let his beard grow out. I'm sure that my pupils dilated just a little as I studied him and wondered if he was sad when he cut off the hair he'd been letting grow out for the last two years in an effort to look more the part of a rock star.
I had been coming from freezing temperatures, and I walked out of the airport into 70 degree weather and the smell of the ocean. Even though we were miles away from it, I could feel it's mist in the air and nostalgic beach memories were flashing in my mind.
I wore the outfit that I thought made me look the skinniest even though I still wasn't sure that I cared that much about what he thought about my looks (fickle I was and still am).
Our first stop was to have breakfast together. Sharing breakfast with people is one of my favorite past times and we had not shared this yet. We went to IHOP and got some less than mediocre coffee and the traditional breakfast foods. The small talk we shared combined with the warm air made me feel at ease.
After breakfast we decided our next stop was to go to his parents house for the obligatory greeting and so that I could meet his dad. He was not present for the Ohio trip-he tends to steer clear of large social gatherings in which he may not know people and the chance for awkward moments may be higher than normal.
His parents were the exception to the "no seeing people" rule, as I was staying at their house. I got a true taste of Southern Hospitality: his parents had their house on the market and were meanwhile staying in a double-wide mobile home down the street until it sold. They let me stay in their half-furnished, vacant house and have it all to myself. When I dropped off my things, there was a fruit basket filled prominently with pears and a card from his mom. I thought it was very nice but was also a bit worried and thought she was trying to make a good first impression on who she may have been thinking was her "future daughter in-law". Wow, she was really going to be mad when she realized she had bought fruit for a drifter.
On the drive to his parents' double wide, my eyes scanned the roadside views from the car window. There were thick pine tree forests and the grass was green, starkly different from brown Ohio. On our way there we had to stop by his church, which was picturesque, looking like a giant log cabin surrounded by the same pine trees I had seen on the drive there. We figured that no one would be there at 2pm on a Friday, but his gassy friend Stephen pulled into the parking lot. Casey Samuel whisper-yelled to me at the sight of him and we ran as fast as we could off into the woods behind the church! I got a rush of adrenaline that I loved! We decided to stay a while and find a comfortable place on the thick pine straw until we were sure he would be gone. We lied down in a clearing between some trees and I laid my head on his stomach. I was evaluating it for comfort and if I could lay my head on him forever.
After about 30 minutes we emerged from the woods, Casey Samuel leading the way. The coast was clear and we decided the least risky thing would be to go ahead to his parents house and try to avoid the church for the rest of the trip.
When we turned the corner to their neighborhood, I looked at the car repair shop on the corner, out of place seemingly in a residential area. I quickly learned that there is not a lot of separation between Business and Residential in Brunswick County. If you fancy yourself a mechanic, you just have people park their cars in your front yard and you fashion yourself a shop out of your garage. The family next door with the nicely landscaped yard and yellow lab doesn't mind.
The road was made of gravel and the car bobbled to and fro as we drove past the line of vastly different double-wides, and I was very amazed at how nice most of them were and thought, "This is the way to go!" I didn't know anything about depreciation or different types of property then.
We pulled into the yard of his parents house (driveways are a precious luxury in Brunswick County). Any nervousness I had on the way there was gone as I realized that they were just like me. I had assumed that they would also live in a really nice house and his mom would probably be wearing an apron when I walked in, but upon entering the house and seeing the bluish-green carpet, rocking chair with burnt orange upholstery, and a 12-inch TV that looked like it had been purchased in the
70's, I felt at home.
I only have a vague memory of sitting down at their laminate kitchen table with rickety, painted red, wooden chairs (of which one day I was the proud heiress) and having some kind of small talk conversation. Casey Samuel did his best to keep us moving along.
He wanted to show me the sight of Old Brunswick Town in Winnabow, where I suggested that we give holding hands a try. I remember walking around this random place that a few days ago I didn't even know existed, with a man that I barely knew, holding his hand. I could tell he was the most nervous man in the world and I desperately tried to act natural.
We needed something to happen to break the ice. This was only the second time we'd ever seen each other in our entire lives and were still adjusting to the world outside of myspace. I had an idea that would lighten the mood a bit: I was going to take him out for his very first alcoholic beverage. We went back to his house and got ready to go to TGI Friday's for dinner and his initiation to spirits.
I'm not really even a drinking person. I think I just wanted to see how he would act in that atmosphere. I guess it was another test of the conspiring female gender. As far as I've seen, men just don't "test" women this way. Women are conspirators at heart, and we are very good at it.
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You have to go into the next county to the north of Brunswick to be in anything remotely close to a city, and I liked this fact. We made our way to Wilmington, another coastal town with all the trimmings of Dayton plus the ocean and a much richer history. At the time I had no idea that there were far better options of restaurants than Friday's (pretty much all other options were better), but it was a familiar last resort. We walked into the restaurant. I coughed a little and squinted my eyes to see the dining area under a thick gray cloud of cigarette smoke. Indoor smoking had not yet been outlawed in North Carolina.
When we sat down at the table, I tried to help him pick out the appropriate first drink. I wasn't really much help as I knew/still know nothing about alcohol. I just told him to get whatever looked good to him. His final decision was off of the frou-frou, girl-drink menu, some kind of strawberry daquiri-ish thing. I waited until after he ordered it to inform him that that was a girly drink, and he asked why I didn't stop him. When the waiter brought it back, I ordered him to drink. He did, and with a slight sour-face said that it wasn't so bad. After only one drink of mine, I was already slightly buzzed, and I figured I'd have to carry him out of the place with it being his first drink. But, to my surprise, he did not show an ounce of inebriation, and, according to him, didn't feel anything either.
After we had our drinks and I felt the ice had been slightly cracked, I started off our conversation by saying that I didn't think this thing between us was going to work out. This statement from me was an hourly occurrence. I said we were too different. His shoulders slumped as if to say, "Again?" He calmly drilled me with questions that were intended to expose my irrationality; he's very good at that. I think I mentioned his lack of experience in the girl department was something that I couldn't handle, and then I got up to use the restroom. But when I got back, out of nowhere, the most exciting and horrible thing happened...
He looked at me with boldness and said, "Alright, kiss me then."
My eyes wide, "What???"
"Kiss me right now, right over this table."
"No, people are watching us!"
"Do it. Kiss me."
I actually obliged. I leaned over the table and kissed this crazy man right on the lips, all the while realizing this was his first kiss.
And immediately afterward, I regretted it. I thought, "Oh no, now he has hope. What was I thinking?" My mind was everywhere and I wasn't sure what my decisions would be about anything. I wondered how he was so sure, and thought that only fools were sure.
...
We left Friday's with our mostly full drinks on the table and hopped into his tan cavalier. When he had picked me up from the airport, I was pleased to see that he didn't have a sports car. All the guys I'd met before who drove cars with personality always turned out to have a short-man complex, even if they were tall. I don't think this it true for everyone, but it was my experience anyway.
When we got in the car, I'm fairly certain that I told him that kissing him was a mistake, and he told me to kiss him again, and I did! I was a walking contradiction.
We drove back to Brunswick County. There is only one true highway close by and we were instead taking the back roads. We pulled into the dirt driveway, the house hidden behind a bunch of trees and in an area that you would never expect a house to be. I needed that night to process, so we said goodnight and I went to sleep in his sister's antique bed with complete silence filling my ears.
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"He will come to you dancing with gardenias..."
We got a late start on Saturday due to the late night the night before.
He wanted to take me to a local coffee shop, so we went to Island Brew's, a place that no longer exists. Their shop was in Southport, just before you reach downtown. They had a porch that stretched the back of the shop, and, it being January, no one was out there even though to my Ohio blood it felt like springtime.
We ordered sugary drinks and sat outside while I struggled to find stimulating conversation pieces. He is not a conversationalist, if you can remember from the El Toro story. Now I realize that in him this is a good quality and not a bad one.
Somehow we got on the subject of my favorite flower. That was a tricky question because how could gardenias be my favorite if I'd never seen them or smelled them? Yet, I knew that they were my favorite anyway. I kept almost telling him, and in-so-doing making the decision that he was not the one, but I couldn't do it. I just couldn't tell him. The word was on the edge of my tongue as I listed some of my favorites to him: daffodils, lilies, orchids, and then I stopped myself. I wasn't trying to be coy, though it seemed that way, and I started to say, "But my favorite flower is...well, never mind." He was confused by this and I started to try to back peddle ask, "What flowers did I say so far? Oh well, I don't know." Then I jumped to the next subject, acting like it wasn't really a big deal when really everything was hinging on that small detail.
We left the cafe and walked across the street to Franklin Square Park. It's filled with curving oaks that are hundreds of years old and you almost feel like they are wiser than you. We sat on the floor of the gazebo in the middle of the park and I wanted to try out the comfort of his stomach again. We lied there and talked about nothing in particular and let a couple of hours pass us by.
After that it was time for dinner, and I wanted to show him some of the tricks of the trade that I'd learned from Cracker Barrel. We learned that we both thoroughly enjoy salad, cheese popcorn, and old episodes of The Simpsons. I was overjoyed when I found out that he enjoyed that show even with his Southern Baptist background because I had known many Christians who were vehemently against the show but had actually never seen one episode. Before they became a bit too raunchy, the early episodes all had a very good life lesson.
We went to Food Lion, a grocery store that was foreign to me, but that reminded me a lot of Dot's Market where we used to go grocery shopping when I was little. There was a cashier there named Beverly (the same name as my mother) who had long gray hair and always gave me a red sucker in the checkout line. She still works there and looks like she hasn't aged a bit, which seems impossible because she looked old then and I can't imagine how old she is now. The only possible conclusion I can come to is that she's taking some kind of witch's anti-aging elixir.
We bought all of the things we'd need for a Cracker-Barrel-Style Grilled Chicken Salad: lettuce, chicken, Italian dressing, garlic powder, honey, and sourdough bread and butter for homemade croutons. I realized when we got back to the house that I wasn't exactly sure how to put all of it together. I didn't know that you didn't just brush a marinade onto chicken to get it to have flavor. I didn't know how much salt was too much, or that you didn't fry croutons in a frying pan but instead baked them in the oven.
Looking back I see that the scenario had all the fixin's for disaster, but it all turned out pretty well except for the croutons being a little too salty.
As it usually happens in winter, even in the south, it got dark early that night. He had mentioned to me that he had taken ballroom dancing classes the past year, and I asked him to teach me some of the dances he'd learned. We walked into the unlit dining room, which was empty without furniture in it. He took out a CD that I supposed he had made for me, and wondered what was on it, if it was ballroom music or a meaningful compilation. He pushed play. I could tell immediately that it was a home recording with just him and his guitar, a truly beautiful and raw sound. He taught me the box step as he sang new renditions of old hymns through the little boom box.
I looked around the room for gardenias, just in case.
...
At some point on Saturday I started to feel guilty for refusing to attend his church, so I caved and said I'd do it. I think it was him making me the CD that broke me. He left the boom box at the house and said he had wanted me to have something to listen to while I stayed there. How could I not think this was the kindest gesture and want to repay?
Sunday was here, and while getting ready, I felt a sense of dread coming over me. I wasn’t feeling very thin or attractive, and I had slim pickin’s of clothing. In a moment of defiance, I picked out my funkiest, most non-matching outfit and laughed about the ruckus I was sure that I would make in this small town church. I wore plaid Capri-pants, a green tank top with a pink floral print, and a khaki jacket with army print shoes. I was a sight. Luckily the non-matching eclectic look was still in so it wasn’t completely out of line.
He came to pick me up at his parents’ house and took me downtown to Port City Java to hang out while he was practicing with the worship band. It was a quaint café adjacent to the downtown Southport waterfront. I am sure that I had my journal with me (back in the days when I still wrote things by hand)and filled up the hour with writing my evaluation of the weekend.
When we got there, it was as I had suspected, but not quite as horrifying. When I walked through the old wooden doors onto the faded purple carpet, everyone's head turned. There were smiling, prying eyes who couldn't help looking at me and asking questions without saying a word. It's a small congregation, so if anything happens to anyone, everyone wants to know. I remember feeling very comfortable thanks to Christy Conley. Everyone was very friendly and welcoming, and I know that they didn't intend to embarrass me, but I was all the same. When Casey Samuel got up to lead the congregation in worship, I was wondering if they were staring at me to see if I had stars in my eyes.
He introduced me to everyone there as his friend, but this photo is proof that there was a lurker in the background who had already married us:
I got through the entire service without dying of embarrassment, and after he took me to the waterfront downtown to get some lunch. I ordered a shrimp salad, which came to me without shrimp. I am one of those people who send food back if it isn't good, even though I was a server for a very long time and promised I'd never be annoying. I felt so rude in front of Mr. Southern Charm, but I justified it by telling myself that he needed to see me annoyed and that maybe this would be the thing that would drive him off.
After swearing we'd never go back there (and in 4 years we never have), he took me to Caswell Beach to walk in the sand. I noticed he had really nice feet and I wondered if it was from years of walking on sand and letting it rub all of the grossness off of your feet, like a constant pedicure.
It was a seemingly perfect end to our weekend, as I was flying back to Ohio the next morning. But, nothing was much different from when I had first arrived. The only thing I'd established so far was that I liked the basic things that would come with a life with him: his family, his hometown, and his church, all seemed very lovely. But I was having trouble imagining leaving everything behind for something completely new, meaning I couldn't leave the familiar behind. The familiarity of going for a guy who was a little screwed up like me, who would understand my family situation, who would complain about the blizzards in Ohio because he'd be from there too, but who wouldn't mind if we moved across the Atlantic. I couldn't comprehend normal. Casey Samuel was normal.
We finished off the night with more Simpsons and cheese popcorn-Ah, the finer things of life-and then I was off to bed to wake up again at 3:30 AM for my flight back to the blizzards of Dayton.
No matter how nice the trip seemed to be, there was one fact looming over me, and that was I did not feel connected to him. This worried me and I spent a lot of the trip mentally rolling my eyes and wondering if he had any personality at all. Now that I look back I can see that I had trouble giving anyone a chance, that it wasn't him at all. So, it must have been God that kept me hanging on to Casey Samuel, and I'm so glad I did.
The next morning, Monday, at 3:30 AM, he came to pick me up and drive me to the airport. We drove through the darkness and empty highway, and pulled into a Dunkin' Donuts in the city. I got my usual black coffee and no donut-my blood sugar is usually high in the morning so I can't eat anything for a while after I wake up.
He was not a coffee drinker, and this honestly depressed me. I couldn't see spending my life with someone who didn't drink coffee. Something about waking up and having coffee with someone was just one of the best things I could think of, and I wouldn't have it with him.
We sat while I drank my coffee, and I offered him a sip. His face soured. I did have a little hope for him though because he told me that he had always loved the smell of coffee, just not the taste. I thought maybe I could work him up to it someday, which really, if you're not a coffee-drinker, it's probably best to not aspire to become one. It's got some anti-oxidants in it, but it's not that good for you (as I sit and drink my stove top espresso-the tar of the coffee family).
I am sure that I gave him a kiss at the airport, and then we parted ways once again.
The trip that was supposed to give us more clarity only left me with more questions.
...
When I got back to Ohio, I started back at work at the Cracker Barrel that week, which is when the incident took place that forced to me to confide in Jake where I had been the past weekend.
When I walked into the "Old Country Store" (which always smells like apple pie), I made my way to the cookline in the back where the servers gather all of the food for those dumplin' lovers in the dining area, and my boss Amy came out of her office and said something had arrived for me. I was embarrassed, proud, and flattered all at the same time. Wow, something arrived for me, I thought.
It was in a box and Amy made me open it in front of her. I pulled it out and she gasped much louder than I did. It was a beautiful purple orchid in a glazed ceramic pot. He knew that I loved orchids, and I thought it was a very sweet gesture, but was also not wanting many people at work to know so I wouldn't have to explain myself. Restaurants, more than other places, I think, are drama vampires. The staff feeds off of any gossip they can, then they suck it in through the brains and it comes out of their mouth, and then they must go and search for more.
There was a card attached to it with a cliche scripture on it (it's probably sacrilegious to call a scripture "cliche", but you'll know what I mean in a minute). It said, "Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails." - 1 Corinthians 13:7-8
He chose this way to say that he was never going to give up on me, and I believed him.
When I walked over to the vestibule with our ordering computers in it, Jake was there, and he asked, "Where'd you get the flower from?" I told him to come closer and spoke with hushed tones as I told him about my Alter Ego from North Carolina. His eyes grew wide as I told him this hard-to-believe story. He asked if it was serious, and that was when I told him, "I think I'm going to marry him." Which confused me most of all.
...
