My Favorite Part

a continuation of . . . um. . . . A Story Continued!


As I said before, I was living at home again and would occasionally hang out with Lance. He might take me to dinner, or we might see a movie - nothing terribly exciting. I knew he had feelings for me, but I wasn't convinced that I wanted anything with him. Which was as surprising to me as it might be to you. I just couldn't see myself with him anymore. It had been so long since I had a crush on him. That's all it really was - a silly crush of a 7th grader. Now don't get me wrong, he was wonderfully tall and cute, and fun to flirt with but sometimes you need more than that. Since then, when asked what went wrong, I remember referring to him as a "dud". That meant that he didn't have much conversation in him; not much substance. A pretty face does not a relationship make! Example? Sometimes he would call me and this would be our conversation:

Lance: Hey, what's up?
Me: Just finished eating dinner. What are you doing?
Lance: nothin'.
Me: cool.
eternal silence . . . . more eternal silence
Lance: Aren't you going to say anything?
Me: Well, you called me, smart one. That would lead one to believe that you are responsible for the witty conversation.
Lance: Well, if you aren't gonna' talk, I'm gonna' go.

Thrilling, I know. And the sad/funny part is that that wasn't the end of the conversation. A flirtatious argument would flare up and we would stay on the phone for an hour which would deeply aggravate me. In retrospect, I know the situation better and what was really going on - again, not exactly important to the story so I shall move on!

I had been home for one school year (at the local community college, remember?) and the summer was half way over. I had decided to transfer to the University of North Texas in Denton. This was about a 5 hour drive from San Antonio (did I mention that "home" was in San Antonio?). I was TOTALLY excited.

One night, near the end of the summer, the phone rang. It was about 10pm - which might as well be midnight to my father - it was Lance.

"You're leaving soon, come hang out."

"I can't leave my house, it's already 10:00"

"I'll come get you. I'll pull my truck into your driveway and you can jump out from the window"

"Nice try, maybe some other time."

"Cool. I'll be there in about 10 minutes."

Without fail, he shows up 10 minutes later. The doorbell rings. "Oh shit, my dad is going to be upset!" I hear Lance talking to my dad, they chuckle a little, and Lance comes walking up the stairs. "Come here," he says, "we need to talk."

The following is a memory that is very near to my heart. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Lance (who is about 6'5", 280 lbs), picks me up (I am 5'11" and I'm not going to tell you my weight!!) over his shoulder and proceeds to carry me down the stairs, out the door, and sets me down next to my truck. Needless to say, I was amazed. No one had ever done that before. He pulls down the tailgate of my '88 Ford Ranger and we sit and talk for awhile. I don't remember about what, but I do remember the end. We stand up and prepare to say our good-bye's when he asks for my hand. I was a little nervous, but he insisted. I raised my hand, placed it in his, and he pulled a knife out of his pocket and cut my thumb so that it bled!

"What the fuck!!"

"Just wait. . ."

He picked a scab off his hand (gross!) and pressed it against my bleeding thumb.

"If we're not married by the time we're 27, we are going to get married."

"Ok," I agreed.

I use the age 27 because in reality, I don't remember what he said. We turned 27 this year and neither one of us are married. The conclusion will follow.