“Today, write about one of your times of waiting. Even better, write WHILE you’re waiting. Take whatever downtime you have that you might otherwise waste and try to get to 500 words.”
I read the prompt for this blog post last night before I went to bed, hoping to think up some inspiration behind today’s post. I have experienced a lot of waiting in my life, but I won’t go into that right now. In a coincidental twist of fate, I am waiting today. A friend of mine sent me a message asking if he could stop by this afternoon when he was in the area, and of course, I said yes, but because of the nature of this prompt, I began thinking about this particular friend and our history of waiting for each other.
We met back when I was eighteen. I was naive, impressionable, searching for love. It didn’t hurt that one of my best friends at the time (and to this day) constantly reminded me that “the reason we are put on this Earth is to love”, and at the time, I hated myself, and it seemed easier to love someone else. When I met him, my heart was wide open like a wound that he could pour salt into. Instead, we exchanged lively conversation about private school versus public school, he told me tales of scars that he had gotten, and his warm, brown eyes seemed so genuine, so interested. Immediately, and perhaps too soon, I thought I was in love with him. I’d spend evenings, pining for his phone call, waiting to hear his voice. On the weekends, when out with friends, I’d wait, hoping he’d show up or just happen to be there.
Fast forward a few months when I went away to college, I didn’t wait around for him. My heart had been shattered by an immature co-worker, and I was out partying to forget the pain of the heartbreak. One afternoon on a Sunday, he called. He had said that he found my number on the scrap of paper I wrote it on initially. It had been three months I had last spoken to him, and we talked for over two hours that day. We both felt like we had a connection.
For years, we had a strange “will they? won’t they?” relationship that gradually cooled into a friendship. However, there were times we were waiting on each other to figure ourselves out. When he came back from Hawaii, he was changed, and I had just returned from PA. We were both two different people than we had been before (and different than we are now), but there was a lot of waiting going on. Even the time we spent together still felt like waiting to some degree or another because we weren’t quite sure what we were looking for.
There are plenty of people in my life I feel like that become ghosts or vanish, but he, though he would disappear, would always return. In fact, the most recent time he has reappeared in my life, I was waiting to hear from him again because all my messages went unheard. With the two of us, it always feels like one of us is waiting on the other. Either to get our lives straightened out so we can be friends or to get our heads screwed on straight so we could date or waiting for the other to be available the way we need them to.
I’ve felt like in all the changes I have experienced over the years, he is one person who has seen most of those changes, and it makes the waiting worthwhile.