Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Happy Birthday or is it?

April 18th, 1993 was a glorious day! The sun was out. The sky was blue. The birds were singing and my stomach was in a thousand knots. We’d made plans for the day to head to Callaway Gardens in GA. Callaway is a nature preserve of sorts with beautiful Azalea trails, butterfly houses, exotic gardens and yadda, yadda, yadda. You don’t need to know any of that. You do need to know that Callaway Gardens has this delightfully picturesque, little, stone chapel. It sits just above a peaceful lake and has a beautiful stained glass window which serves as the back wall. The perfect place for a wonderfully romantic guy to get down on one knee and pledge his love to a girl who’d spent hours practicing her surprised face.

We wondered down nature paths and watched turtles soaking up the morning sun along the edge of a pond. We held hands as we strolled around the butterfly house. We enjoyed a picnic lunch in a clearing. We were surrounded by beautiful serenity. My insides, however, were churning like class 5 river rapids. By early afternoon, we had made the rounds and seen all there was to see except the chapel. I thought my heart would explode out of my chest as we made our way up the hill to its entrance.

We stepped inside. It truly is a stunning place. The woodwork, stone, and stained glass together create this very intimate space that automatically evokes a certain amount of reverence. Patience. Patience. We walked around with others admiring its structure, and sat in the coolness of the wooden pews, and then…and then…

Then we went back outside. Huh? I was stunned. No. I was destroyed. I could feel my hands starting to shake and my chest tighten. I thought I would pass out right there in front of everyone. Tim made his way to the side of the pond and lay back in the grass, propped on his elbows. I settled on a nearby rock. We sat there. Not one word was said. He stared out at the water. I stared at the ground; forcing air in and out of my lungs and willing the tears back from my eyes.

After some time passed, Tim looked over and said, “I guess we should be heading home.” I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak. We stood up and he hugged me. I groaned inwardly. Why was he hugging me? I didn’t want a hug. I wanted a question. The question. I wanted a promise. I wanted a future. It was like being the runner up on some game show where they give you a really crappy consolation prize. “Amie Harrington you did not win the “Til Death Do Us Part” vacation package (aaaawwww) but we do have this lovely parting gift for you…a hug (applause).” NOOOOOOOOOOO! I wanted to scream.

By the time we made it back to the truck I was completely numb except for the painful pit that was now lodged in my throat. We drove the narrow streets through the exit and along the tree-canopied road leading away from the park. I knew I didn’t have the strength to keep the disappointment that had seized my being from showing all over my face. I stared out of the passenger window trying to breathe; trying to swallow; trying to understand. How could I be so stupid?

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