Every great love story has a “How We Met”. The romantic little story that describes the very moment you just knew you’d finally met your person. The beginning of forever, for however long forever lasts on Earth. Ours is a love story for the ages, although it didn’t start that way. Long, long ago, we were just a boy and a girl. Some would say adults with children of their own. But as hearts go, young, we were wounded, and fragile . Surrounded by thick boundaries of emotional barbed wire and “Do Not Enter” signs, loneliness lived at the core. Longing to be heard and loved, neither of us would admit that at the time.
In 1987, VST was 33, and I was 30. I’ll start with his story first, because it flows out of my fingertips to the page a little easier than my own.
VST was a lot of things in 1987. He was a shop foreman at his job, teaching other diesel mechanics analytical thinking skills to perform their best on the job. Complicated doesn’t even begin to describe a master mechanic’s job. The kind of guy you want working on YOUR tractor is the one that can hear sounds missed by others, while diagnosing trouble by the tension on a bolt. The guy that sits back and thinks about the workings of a particular system in a tractor while finding the cause before ever removing a bolt. This was VST. He was the guy farmers asked for. Begged for. Because along with that, he was a manly man great guy. No longer spending days working under tractors, he did troubleshooting on intricate repairs while soothing the most cantankerous farmers. Being a farm boy from the area, there was a good chance he’d played football with them or their sons. VST could easily turn an angry farmer into someone laughing about a big win at a championship game years before. He solved problems, seeing them as opportunities.
Divorce had come knocking leaving him alone in a brand new house. He’d chosen the lot and model, and watched the build. During this process, there were frequent visits to the site, the construction under his watchful eye. Cracked studs were replaced before drywall went up. Every potential code violation, identified before the next step could take place. Eventually, with a 30-Something house-warming party, he moved in. VST had NO intentions of marrying again. He had his very own life and children with whom he cherished weekends filled with laughter. His parents watched as he slowly put his life back together, the handsome bachelor he was.
Fate has it ways. Across the street, in this very quiet little neighborhood, another handsome bachelor was making his home. A sexy, handsome bachelor with ties to VST’s past. High school friend, PA. Racey, nasty, sweet talking, scotch guzzling cattle baron PA, who’d stop shoveling real poop long ago. Now, a professional bachelor, he knew all the tricks of the trade. A Porsche driving, tanning-bed bronzed, flirtatious, real life, neon cowboy, riding the bars until close. PA dealt in women and lines. Club lines. Pick up lines. Sleek lines of very long legs in very high heels. Lines forming at his front door, leading right to his bed. Lines drawn when hearts got too close. Lines not to be crossed. Women’s “Do Not Cross” lines, which he always did. That was PA. Being short at 5’9″, he was easily lost in the crowd. VST, standing at 6’1 had the dimples and charm going, but in no way had the cunning and calculating personality of PA.
Across the street lived VST. Barely 33. 6’1. 194 lbs. Tanned. Salt and peppered hair under tints of dye, due to some vanity issues. Perfect smile, adorned with a dimple on the right. Manly eyebrows that could be raised independently adding to his quirky and quick sense of humor. Soft, hazel eyes were adorned with long soft lashes. His gaze was quickly averted from anyone wanting to linger a bit too long. Inside this man, sadness, loneliness, and anger were strewn about like discarded clothes after a night not remembered. No woman would be allowed past the windows of his soul ever again.
VST was physically fit. Daily, he would jog 5-6 miles, work a full day, and then ride his bicycle another 8 miles to see his parents finishing his routine with ride back home. He was health conscious, watching his BMI. Wide, broad feet supported the athlete he was. Strong and muscular, he worked hard, and played harder. He had goals and plans for his life, with no woman ever devastating him again. He’d no desire to have more children, because he had three of his own. You get the picture. His life was set. High octane schedule, brilliant visions for the future. Alone. 33 years and a few months. The world was at his feet.
VST and PA had attended the same high school. PA wasn’t a jock, but actually a short kid that hadn’t found bachelorhood as a handsome guy, yet. VST was a football playing guy who was sweet and quiet. Still sporting a baby face, he wasn’t like some football players, who played the girls, too. He was a genuinely nice guy. I know this because we were friends, too. He was mature, taking responsibilities for his own car and jobs after school. PA and VST didn’t really run in the same circle, but knew all the same people. They both loved school, and kept many friendships after leaving their Alma Mater in 1972. I stayed another year.
So, when VST and PA, on the same day, while both getting their mail at the same moment, both received an invitation to their 15 year HIGH SCHOOL REUNION, they met in the street. September 5th. D & D Ranch. $25.00 pp. 1972-1973 High School Reunion. Dinner and Barn Dance. Country Western Theme. YeeHaa!!
Guy speak followed.
“Hmm. You going?”
“Hmm. Yeah. You?”
“Hmm. Yeah. “
Fate and luck had made these two guys neighbors. On that particular afternoon, as lawn sprinklers hissed around them, they shared a cold one, laughing about life. Two handsome men, enjoying a summer’s day, while every woman on the street had an urge to water the front yard, immediately. Little did VST know, his life was about to change.
To be continued…..