I wanted to believe it could be true. I so did. It was the stuff fairytales were made of. It was a story grandchildren would surely want to hear told over and over again. It was – my story. Well, up until that point anyway.
The boy and I had met 10 years prior as attendants in a wedding – he a friend of the groom and me of the bride. There was an instant connection and a weekend full of laughter and dancing and fun. And then it ended. He returned to his life and me to mine. Strangely enough, though we lived several hundred miles apart, we would end up speaking every few years. Once we even bumped into one another while both visiting a city near our small home towns (that would be noted in my mental “this cannot be a coincidence” file).
The timing was never right for anything to move forward in any kind of romantic way though – one of us would be involved in a relationship, there was work for him, school for me. Then there was the day he called to tell me he had become a “born again Christian.” I hung up the phone thinking “I was born a Christian. This guy has clearly gotten involved in something crazy. Guess that’s the end of that.” Then a few years later I became a born again Christian. Ah…life is funny.