Thank goodness for the Writer Happy Hour! Actually, all praises be to Boulevard Brewery and their oh-so-tasty 80-Acre Hoppy Wheat.
One drink for every 1,000 words seemed like a good idea and it paid off this past weekend. Good, bad, or lushy, thousands of new words are on the page as Camp NaNoWriMo chugs along (Chugs. Ha! Get it?)
The chatter’s quiet in my cabin, so hopefully that means everyone’s busy amping up their word count. I really appreciate their support and commiseration over the dreaded line graphs that mercilessly mock our lack of progress. But we press on!
More bits from the WIP:
It didn’t seem possible that this boy with his shy smile, goofy laugh, cracking voice, and perpetually crooked glasses would have the nerve to even talk to me, but I was so glad he did.
Super-smart and funny, Noah got all of my obscure pop culture references. He loved that I read comic books and watched old TV and knew how to make clothes.
We talked about everything and nothing and never got bored. By the time his voice settled on a low, toe-curling register, I’d totally won the boyfriend Lotto and we were NoahandDash.
We lasted two years, old marrieds by high school standards. I helped him pick new outfits after his Junior year growth spurt and thrifted a retro pair of tortoiseshell Wayfarers that fit his face perfectly. My family loved him. His treated me like I was one of their own, even inviting me on vacations.
Our last one this summer was to Hilton Head in South Carolina. Seeing the ocean for the first time, I was overwhelmed by its grandeur and my dumb luck. My life was finally unbelievable in a good way.
Late that last night before leaving for home, Noah and I snuck out of the beach house. He led me to a gazebo at the wooded edge of the property. It looked a little worse for wear, but when he arced the flashlight, I saw the floor had been swept clean, blankets and pillows set at its center. There was a small tray of fruit and cheese, a half-empty bottle of wine, and a candle.
I wanted to weep like a baby. It was so thoughtful. That he’d gone to so much trouble made me feel special. He lit the candle and we talked and laughed, eating and drinking until we were full.
For once, I allowed myself to feel everything. Noah’s emotions bubbled out of him like a shaken-up champagne bottle. I felt blessed that even if he didn’t say he loved me, I knew he did.
And that’s what kills me. That night, he couldn’t stop saying it.
He said it before we kissed. He said it when we stopped to catch our breath. He said it when he confessed he was glad he’d waited for me. He said it when I pulled the small, foil square from my pocket, glad I waited too. He said it as we took off our clothes. He said it when we held each other close and tearfully promised to be together forever.
With all that I know, and all that I can do, I never saw us ending.