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“You’re kidding. He really did that? You would see him? Are you sure it was him?”

“Now don’t go getting all wound up on me like you used to.”

Too late. I was already wound up. Still, my face softened, consoled by Bob’s memorable mild reprimands.

I talked with Bob for a few more minutes, asking general questions about the apartment complex while trying my best to keep thoughts of Nick at bay. When it was time to leave, I rounded Bob’s desk and gave his shoulders a hug, then passed the front desk toward the exit. “I’ll come back in a few days to visit again and explain why I left.”
As soon as I’m able to explain it to myself, that is.

“So long as you’re alright. That’s what matters now, don’t it?”

Smiling at his kindness, I motioned goodbye and then closed the office door on a few of his coughs.

The ten-mile-an-hour speed limit road that bordered the apartment complex—which used to drive me nuts and evidently still did—reminded me to slow down and not be so anxious. My reunion with Nick could wait until after I went to my new apartment and settled in.

*******

The weather had turned dark and overcast, characteristic of a St. Louis September day. And the characteristics of the streets and structures surrounding the college were exactly as I remembered them. The familiarity was like swallowing a much-needed self-confidence pill. Besides, I had to drive through that part of town regardless, so why not stop by and see if he was at home? That way it would be over and done with, and I could move forward.
Yes, that’s the logical thing to do
, I told myself.

When I turned into his cul-de-sac I parked square in the driveway, marched straight up the front steps, and eagerly rapped on the front door like I used to…okay, so I knocked softly, but still, I was there. My body was there anyway; the rest of me was still in the car.

My skin simmered when the door jarred, and I flung my wringing hands down at the last second. But it was Meat who appeared in the doorway, not him. Meat was Nick’s heavy-set roommate who, as I recalled, had a heart as big as the rest of him.

Restlessly I stood there while his brain registered me. “Anchovy? Holy Crow!” He’d given me the nickname “Anchovy” while on a double date together some place in my past; the validated memory was another welcome relief.

“Good to see you, Meat. Um, is Nick here by chance?” My heartbeat was kicking out of my chest and my thick tongue almost stumbled over his name, but I was pleased I got out something remotely coherent.

“Nah, nah.” He shook his large head, his chin wibble-wobbling about. At his response I immediately felt my shoulders relax and my hands loosen their fists. “He doesn’t live here anymore. Man, it’s been a long time. You look the same.” He shook his head again, slower this time. “Where’d you run off to?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” I told him, smiling awkwardly.

He slurped some spit through his back teeth as if dislodging a piece of food there. “Dang, you just bailed on my boy like that.”

“It didn’t really happen that way,” I defended.

“Does he know you’re back? Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, no, I mean, sort of.” My thoughts, like my words, stumbled with what to say, finally deciding on, “Do you know where he’s living now?”

“Dang, when you left, he changed. It’s like I didn’t know him anymore.” He paused, looking at me speculatively, and then finally said, “He’s living by his aunt and uncle’s. Got himself a place near their farm.”

The basement apartment could wait. What did I really have to go to? Creed was at work for another two hours, and I certainly didn’t feel like being alone; I’d had enough of that in the hospital bed the past two weeks after waking from my coma. And who was I kidding? I was dying to see him.

The decision was made.

As I drove the Interstate towards the farm, my thoughts mulled over the past, widening to make sense of things, attempting to piece it all together.

Before the coma, during the six months when Nick and I fell in love, Nick thought I continued to harbor feelings for some guy from my hometown, for Creed.

The same weekend of the accident, Creed had come out to St. Louis to surprise me. Catching wind of this, my stepfather, Bill, suspected whatever he wanted to.

Meanwhile, when I didn’t come home the night of the accident, or the next morning, and I wouldn’t return Nick’s phone calls, Nick searched out my home number and called my step-dad, who didn’t know what he was talking about when he’d said I’d run off with Creed and eloped.

And for the past three years, that’s the thick of what Nick had to swallow.

The first time he saw me since my disappearance was when he came to the hospital a couple weeks ago, right after I’d woken from the coma. Evidently I’d called for him several times. The hospital did some research and found a “Nick Richards” in a few of my college classes. They obtained a number and located him. That’s how he found out, and that’s why he came to the hospital.

An interesting encounter that was. His more than nasty, downright rude behavior told me that our three year separation—in which time he obviously had no idea what I was doing—was still an open wound for him.

But I was in a coma!
I imagined myself shouting at him.
It wasn’t my fault!
However, that small, little detail somehow didn’t seem relevant when, for thirty-one months, Nick dealt with the rage of a blindsiding betrayal. The little lies I’d told him about my family life when we’d dated didn’t help matters either. They only made me look more guilty, draining my already depleted credibility.

Oh, he’d torn me apart right in my hospital room with the viciousness of his words. The conversation went something like this:

Him: I don’t care about you anymore.

Me: I hate you.

Him: I’m out of here.

But then, a second later, as I lay there vulnerable and broken, he put me all back together with nothing but his hands. I recalled those adept hands, how there was magic in them, the ability to soothe and caress and insanely satisfy. On that occasion that’s precisely what they had done. He stroked my cheek; I involuntarily leaned into his touch; and the unspoken conversation went something like this:

Him: I can’t live without you.

Me: I love you.

Him: Don’t ever leave me again.

That was a week and a half ago, and we hadn’t seen or talked to each other since. For all he knew I was still laying in the hospital bed where he’d left me. Or perhaps he supposed I’d been released already. Regardless, we would have to face each other sooner or later.

Really, I felt desperate to see him, though I’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing. I’d made the decision to take it slow with him. I prayed that if we fell in love before, we could fall in love again.

The sound of gravel popping beneath my tires brought me back to the moment and in what felt like mere seconds, the narrow road had guided me to his aunt and uncle’s front yard where a shiny black jeep was parked. The ride to the outskirts of St. Louis was a fair ways, but it had gone incredibly fast.

I couldn’t help gawk at the beastly black vehicle before my eyes. It was the hugest, most intimidating animal on wheels I’d ever seen. The commanding, squared, sleek lined jeep looked brand new, with massive black wheels and large headlights atop that were boring into me like a big, black monster encased all in metal. If this was a foreshadow of things to come, I’d just as soon donut out of there, peeling wheels and all, without a backward glance.

And if the current debate in my head were audible, I might have been pegged as demented:
I can’t do this! Yes you can! No, I can’t! Yes! No! Get out of the car right now! I just can’t! Now! No, I’m terrified! I know, but you have to do this. What if he doesn’t want me anymore? There are a million “what-ifs”. You can’t answer any of them unless you get out of this car.

Fortunately, behind the metal monster shone the small, humble farmhouse. The large front window with short, dainty lace curtains was what held me, so much so that I found myself stepping out of the car and my thoughts wrapping around their cream-colored warmth. Mentally, my memories made their way inside, exploring the old vintage furniture and simple, hand-made decorations that cluttered the walls and tabletops. Because a heady feeling of contentment came over me, I acknowledged Nick’s aunt and uncle’s home as a once welcome place.

While lost in the memory and equally overcome with a desire to return my life to that former happy place, the faint hum of a tractor stole my focus, pulling my thoughts even more current and my eyes toward the large, spacious wheat field. The sudden tension in my gut told me it was Nick, at present a safe distance away, and the nerves at last went into full throttle mode.
So much for today’s goal of staying calm
, I conceded reluctantly.

With an uneven, hindered breath, I angled toward the field and began an anxious advance, unable to alter my focus off the large cloud of dust moving closer and closer. For a brief second I thought about making a quick b-line back to my car, but that decision would have taken a coherent brain and working legs, both of which I lacked at the moment.

Avoiding a few puddles with unreasonable difficulty, I forced myself to totter forward to where the dirt ended and the first row of crops began. The yellow harvest field now stood before me, large and foreboding, swaying its golden head back and forth as if warning me away.

Dazedly, I stepped into the edge of the field and with unsure hands, stroked the raindrops off a single piece of straw.

A memory suddenly surfaced. A memory from so long ago and so far away that I could barely own it as my own. In fact, instead of reliving the memory as if I was a part of it, I became apart from it:

A guy and a girl were laying in the field together, secluded from the world by the lone rows of dry, golden wheat. Purposely they hid themselves from every other person in the world. Then they could say and do whatever they wanted, for however long they wanted, like two people in love.

Basking in the quiet, country breeze, they mumbled about plans for their future between gestures of affection.

During the lazy but meaningful conversation, at a moment when she wasn’t looking, he stroked a piece of straw around her ear to tickle it. He dropped his hand to hide the evidence just as she lifted hers to shoo away the imaginary bug. It took two rounds for her to catch on. When the straw came up the third time, instead of shooing the bug, she snatched the guilty hand.

A laughter-filled tussle commenced that ended with slow kisses to her neck that drove her crazy.

“Stop it,” she said through giggles, which, to her satisfaction, made his kisses slower and even more drawn out.

She was thoroughly caught up in the rush and warmth of him. Every worldly care vanished as he held her in his arms, protecting her, cherishing her; because that’s the way it was between them.

And would be forever.

My mind popped back into reality when the tractor’s motor killed about twenty yards away. But the passionate memory lingered, taxing my feelings with giddy strain, the kind of feeling you get the moment your harness locks on an extreme rollercoaster ride. All I could think to do was stand erect and wait, wondering if this had been a good idea, wondering what on earth I was doing, wondering if he’d even get down from the machine when he noticed it was me standing there, like a dummy. Evidently he would, because my attention was snared by a pair of broad shoulders in the distance, easily managing the descent off the tall engine.

Though I found myself blatantly advancing toward him, almost being pulled into the field by some unseen force, I thought better than to call out to him.
Take it slow
, I reminded myself.
Stay calm
. But my heart was thudding in my chest regardless. I clasped my hands together in front, desperately trying to keep them from fidgeting, dying to know what he was thinking as he stood there, watching me approach.

Even through the distance, my scattered mind instantly recognized the cowboy hat. Its edges looked frayed, its once golden straw was dark and stained, and the leather band just above the brim had turned from a light tan to a deep honey brown. My long-ago birthday present to him.

I also noted, as I closed the distance between us, that his body was larger than before, and superbly conditioned—most likely due to manual labor; he used to love building things. Did he still? Perhaps he’d changed. No question, he
was
different. He was
more
, if that was possible.

All of a sudden I felt quite faint.

This was it.

Miracle of miracles, through lightheadedness and a shaky smile, I managed to stop my legs a few feet away from him and greet him by saying, “Hi,” though the pitch of my voice sounded foreign to me.

He didn’t seem to notice. He rubbed the humidity off his forehead with the portion of his wrist just above his ragged, leather worker gloves. “Hi,” he responded as he gazed across the field, seeming neither particularly satisfied nor dissatisfied to see me. But I couldn’t manage to look at him either; the sensation was too extreme, like looking directly into the sun.