While I missed him like crazy, I had a deep confidence in him, enough to last the next three months. I wrote poems and letters for him every day, but they were so mushy and gushy that I couldn’t possibly send them. I sprayed perfume in the air and waved the letters in the mist. In the quiet of my room I gently kissed the paper where his name was written and prayed for him.
I wanted to call him, but I resisted. Just like I held back my physical affection for him in the name of purity, I held back my written and verbal affection out of dignity, and I hid my emotions so I wouldn’t damage his reputation at our church.
The turmoil inside me would seep out in my conversations with the people closest to me: Bianca, my mom, and my sisters. But they had no more than small clues about the pain I was going through.
I abandoned all my acquaintances at school and focused on finishing my senior year so I could start the next phase of my life. I spent my lunch hours in the library working on projects and homework. I remained involved at church and became very close with Kelly, my small group leader at church.
The month of May brought my 18th birthday and senior prom. I was officially an adult, which was particularly monumental in my perspective. My birthday included a fun celebration with my church friends. We went to Granada’s, and I wore a large black sombrero during dinner. Later that night, Bianca and I gave each other pedicures and massages at her house.
I secretly hoped that Paul would call to wish me a happy 18th birthday. But he hadn’t called me since he left, and he didn’t call that night or the next day either.
Prom was a blast. I asked Nico to be my date, and I paid for our tickets with the fundraising money I had earned by selling See’s chocolate bars all year long. Bianca went with our friend Kai, and our other church friends—David, Kacy, Craig, Mariah, Jer, and Danielle—went with us. Bianca and I had found affordable dresses at Windsor. Hers was bright orange with lots of ruffles. Mine was silver, completely covered in sequins.
Our prom was in Santa Barbara. Why did it have to be in Santa Barbara? I stared out the window during our drive along the coast, thinking about how beautiful the ocean was at night. It was my favorite piece of road, where the land curves in and out, submitting to the powerful ocean.
I had a great time dancing with Nico and being crazy. We took pictures with our dates and with the larger group, and I thought of Paul as I leaned on Nico’s chest. I remembered dearly what Paul had instructed me to do: Go out, have fun, and live my life to the fullest.
A few days after prom, I decided to send a letter to Paul. Maybe he would send one back to me. But so much had happened, I didn’t know what to tell him. What if he didn’t care about what was going on in my life? I didn’t even know if he still felt the same way about me. What if he had a new girlfriend?
I couldn’t send him the stacks of letters that I had hiding my desk drawer. I couldn’t send him the poems sprayed with perfume.
I wrote him a letter, but it contained only one word: “Hi.”
I debated whether or not I should send it. I put it in the mailbox. Then I took it out again.
Then I mailed it.
“That is cruel!” Mom scolded when I told her what I did. “He is in another country and he gets a letter from America from you, and all it says is ‘Hi?’ How immature!”
I wanted to kick myself in the face. I couldn’t undo it. I prayed that he would understand the layers and layers of meaning underneath that one word—and the explosion of adoration resulting in nothing but a meager hello. I prayed that he would know that with that letter came love, respect, anticipation, devotion, and extreme attraction. He knew me. He would know what I meant.
Why do I fear?
I await the cold
I expect the hail
My jacket is on
My gloves, my hat
Why do I fear?
I know you
And what to expect in
Your movements, your eyes.
Why do I fear?
Europe is cold
California is warm
But Mexico is so hot!
Be Mexico again,
Burn with desire
Melt the icy walls
Drip away the world’s expectations
And sink into a sandy beach
With waves at your feet
And wind at your mercy
Remove your heavy garments and
Drink the sun
The truth—the sun!
My heart told me that I was as special to him as he was to me, and that nothing could tear apart what God was doing between us. But my older sister, Gretchen, who was married and had a baby, thought otherwise.
“He hasn’t called you in a month and a half? He’s over you. Sorry Miriam.”
“But he’s traveling through Europe playing soccer. He is busy doing ministry. He can’t think about girls right now. He has other things going on.”
“Oh yes, I am sure he has other things going on,” she said. “Just don’t get your hopes up. When he gets home, he might have another woman on his arm.”
She had to be dead wrong. There was no way that God would do that to me. No way. Not my God.
“What Paul and I have is special. It’s different. It’s from God. It’s like his spirit and my spirit know each other.”
“First, men have more that just a spiritual attraction to women. Second, this is real life. God doesn’t give us fairytale love stories with perfect endings.”
I walked away without a retort. I hated what she said. She obviously didn’t know Paul, and she obviously didn’t understand our love.
June arrived, and I still hadn’t heard from Paul. However, I knew that he would be home in less than a month. And when he returned, I would be completely legal. We could announce our love to anyone and everyone.