Once upon a time, there was this boy. He was… a strange one. I mean, he put ketchup on his macaroni and cheese, he recited Monty Python jokes to no one’s amusement, and had never seen Die Hard—how much stranger can you get? But peeling away the layers of strange and awkward tendencies, this boy was marvelous in his eccentricity, and gentle with a creative soul.
The boy got a job at Target. Yes, Target is gleamed upon now for the fabulous factor of it NOT being Wal Mart, and the kitschy boutique set up. However working retail really opened his eyes to the dregs of humanity—but that’s a different story. He pushed carts, jockeyed a register, and handed out hot dogs and popcorn to hungry customers. He was a kid on the doorstep of 21 trying to earn a living in the hellscape of retail.
It was the last place he expected to meet her.
Every night, the boy would go home to his studio apartment. He would watch late night television, blog about sports, and be a pedantic asshole to anyone who would listen. Then he would crash into sleep. And he would do this alone. Unlucky in love as his past was, he wondered when it would come about again… if it came about at all.
December 2006. She started her career at Target.
She worked the register. But she came to Food Avenue on nearly all her breaks. She bought parmesan garlic potato chips and Archer Farms flavored water whenever the boy was working. It was the best time of day for the boy in the food court. In between customers, he got to talk to the girl. They bonded as young people mired in the gloom of retail.
In February of 2007, the girl came into Food Avenue with a question; a question of movies and plans for a predetermined Friday night. The movie was Ghost Rider. The movie was terrible. Truth be told, they weren’t there for the movie—not like that, sickos, it was a group thing and that would have been weird. But the night did end with a first kiss.
And it appeared that the boy and the girl shared more than the personal journey through the grim dictatorship of the red-and-khaki warlords. They found solace in each other’s company. And all was well…
Don’t stop reading. Because that’s not the end of the story.
Not by a long shot.
You see, this girl had been through a rough few years. Her mother passed away, which brought with it—along with the crushing wave of depression and a perpetual crestfallen state of being—a complicated living arrangement.
She lived with her aunt and uncle not far out of town. And they had an “as long as you’re under this roof” mantra. The girl was 17 at the time. And she was expressly prohibited to consort with the boy, almost 21.
Age ain’t nothing but a number, it’s true. And as time passes on, that 3-and-a-half year age difference means less and less. But in young adulthood, 3-plus years is the difference between high school senior and a community collegiate, studio-apartment dwelling, retail-working goon. It raised a few eyebrows. But the boy and girl cared not for their raised gazes and creased brows.
They congregated in the employee parking lot to talk before leaving, often times the boy would wait by the car for hours before the girl was off her shift just so he could see her again. And vice versa. Sometimes, the girl would bring the boy a steak and cheese sub from D’Angelo’s so the boy wouldn’t have to eat terrible Food Ave food for lunch—the girl was just super awesome like that.
With the assistance of the “group thing” and a lie of omission, the girl and boy were able to see each other out of work too, going to Friendly’s and seeing Meet the Robinsons at the second-rate movie theater in town (now closed, demolished, and turned in a Dairy Queen). They had the month of March to themselves.
Then the hammer came down.
The girl uncharacteristically avoided the boy at Target one day. And when he finally caught up to her, she was morose and could only say
“You’re going to hate me.”
What could the girl possibly do to the boy to make her hate him like that? It wasn’t solved, as the girl went home before the boy’s shift ended.
So the boy called, and the girl told him that her guardians, the aunt and uncle, had gotten strict about not allowing her to see the boy. And the group things were drying up, and would now be monitored. And she wept as she told him, without coming right out with it, that the boy and the girl could no longer see each other.
And when it felt like the kibosh was put on their relationship before it started, the boy said something hasty, something stupid, something … amazing…
The boy said, “But… I love you.”
Yes, the boy said it first, bucking the so-called stereotype.
And how did the girl respond? She was baffled, perplexed even. She stuttered, completely caught off guard. It had only been just over a month, and he pulled out the L-word. And the only thing she could respond with was…
“But… why?”
What followed were two weeks of gut-wrenching shifts with the boy and girl acknowledging each other, perhaps even taking break together, but refraining from contact outside of Target. It was grim…
And it got worse before it got better.
The boy was from Littleton, up north in the mountains. After a reunion with school friends, the boy decided to trek through the mountains in order to get back home to work a shift the next day. April in the mountains was far from a lovely spring time. A late winter storm had glazed the highway in ice. And the boy skidded across a bridge, lost control, smashed one guardrail, spun, smashed another guardrail, spun again, and finally came to a stop.
It was the boy’s first car accident. And if he wasn’t the only one on the road that night as he was, it may have been much worse.
The aftermath of that car crash is a tall tale in and of itself, but let’s fast forward to the next day when the boy was able to be picked up by his mother and taken back home. The boy’s phone had died in the middle of the night, and when he finally was able to charge it, the number of voicemails to check in on his well being were well received. But one stood out among them.
The girl was in near tears on the voicemail asking if the boy was ok. It had been near an entire day since the accident. And risking the ire of the guardians, the boy called the girl. And the girl picked up. The conversation was quick, as the girl was caught red handed by the guardians.
The girl was grounded for 2 weeks.
But the car accident pulled the emotions from the girl, with a revelation that she was not going to feel restricted by her guardians despite their best intentions. The girl told the boy she loved him. Love was requited.
What followed was a secret relationship, tucked under the rug, and kept on the way down-low. The boy and girl watched Pirates of the Carribbean: At World’s End as their first “real date”. They went camping with the girl’s friend and her family, and circumvented any loophole in order to be with each other.
The guardians were suspicious, “checking in” constantly, even telling the girl’s friend’s parents that the boy was “a wolf”. But it did little to keep the boy and girl away from each other for very long.
The girl reached her 18th birthday, and with it came the ability to make her own decision who she would live with while she finished high school. It was a day she had been ready for. For as well intentioned and protective as the guardians had been, the girl elected to move out and live with her grandmother.
The guardians—the aunt and uncle—were disappointed. But it was not a decision made to hurt them; the guardians had their own children to raise, and the girl felt like a third wheel in her own family. So she moved in with her grandmother, who after meeting the boy gave a cautious approval.
The boy and girl were allowed to be together at last. Through over bearing guardians and car wrecks, the magic of retail couldn’t keep these two lovebirds apart.
Since then, the boy and girl had a long courtship (too long, if you ask the girl). They got engaged at an Olive Garden. They were married in a city park two blocks from where the girl grew up. They had a son less than a year later, and named him Zackary Xavier. They moved 1,400 miles south from their original starting point and have set up a life in Florida.
The boy and the guardians have since met, made nice, and–ever since a night of drinking Manhattans and red wine left him passed out on the bathroom floor—has been an approved addition to the family and welcome under their roof.
Today is the anniversary of the night the boy and girl gathered in a “group thing” to watch Ghost Rider. It happened 12 years ago tonight. Boy (32) and girl (29) have survived to year 12 because of what boy (20) and girl (17) fought for in year 1.
If something is worth fighting for, then you fight for it. And when you get it, hold onto it and never let it go.
A Story About Waffles 