Practical me. I sat at my kitchen table with the want ads: Live-in assistant horse trainer wanted. The job was 300 miles away on a farm in Ohio. It was the kind of life I wanted. There was only one problem: Michael.
He wasn’t Mr. Right. I knew that on our first date. We went to different churches. We had different political views. He cringed when I played my Debussy albums. His Neil Young hurt my ears.
But what really cinched it was our plans for the future. At 26 I was ready to settle down and start a family. Michael wanted to travel once he’d finished his graduate program at Penn State.
Maybe I never should have dated him to begin with, I thought, reaching for the scissors to cut out the ad. The first time Michael had asked me out I hesitated. I’d asked God to lead me to Mr. Right and vowed to be shrewd and practical in my love life.
Michael isn’t a practical choice, I told myself. But being practical had gotten pretty lonely, and this tall, blond architecture student had a way of making me happy just by smiling. “Okay,” I’d said when I accepted the movie invitation. “But nothing serious.”
Michael and I had had “nothing serious” for months now. Our differences caused plenty of heated discussions.
But when we drove out in the country in his old brown Ford, and spent afternoons sitting under the birch tree on the farm where he grew up, watching the French vanilla clouds drift by, I could almost believe this was true love.
“Better to cut it off sooner rather than later,” I said as I slipped my resume into an envelope for the job in Ohio. “It will only get more painful if I wait longer.”
“I’m moving to Ohio,” I wrote Michael at Penn State. “I know this is the life God wants for me. I want only the best for you in the life God wants for you.”
The letter was cheerful and optimistic about our future apart. Good thing Michael couldn’t see me sobbing as I dropped it in the mailbox. If only I could be practical and happy at the same time!
A few weeks into my new job, I was sure I could do just that. My coworker, Karen, and I worked long hours with the horses cleaning box stalls, feeding, grooming, haying, you name it.
I spent all day in the glorious Ohio countryside, breathing in fresh air and grass and getting a golden tan in the sun. I’d made the right decision. I was sure of it. And I’d soon be over Michael.
One morning Karen and I led a couple of shining, dark-eyed Arabian horses back into the barn. The rolling green hills stretched out around me like heaven and the sweet smell of fresh-cut hay tickled my nose.
“Pot luck after church this weekend,” Karen reminded me. She nudged me with her elbow. “Kevin will be there.”
In the months I’d spent on the farm, Ohio had started to feel like home. Karen and I went to every 4-H meeting, met everyone at church, visited every neighbor. This was just the kind of place I wanted to settle in. “I hear Kevin’s farm is gorgeous,” I said.
“Sure is,” said Karen. “Runs it with his dad. You two seemed to hit it off at that barbecue a few weeks ago.”
“Mmm,” I said, suddenly focused on smoothing the horse’s mane. Why was I being so evasive? Karen was right, Kevin and I did hit it off. We had a lot in common. Same church, same politics, same goals in life.
All I had to do was hint that I was interested in getting to know him better and half the folks at church would make it happen. Kevin couldn’t more obviously be Mr. Right if he had a sign on his forehead, but still I put off getting to know him.
What are you waiting for, Kathie? I scolded myself as we reached the barn. What happened to practical?
My boss was at the barn door when we got there, shading his eyes and looking into the distance. “Looks like we might get a thunderstorm this afternoon,” he said. “You two better lead Honeybee in from the high pasture.”
Karen and I turned back to the hills. We’d just crested a grassy slope when I stopped short.
“What is it?” asked Karen.
The sky was suddenly all around me. French vanilla clouds drifted through the clear blue. Michael. All the months I’d spent forgetting him fell away, and I was back at that mailbox with my broken heart. “I’m sorry, Karen. I think I’m sick.”
I stumbled back down the hill, tore across the grass and I rushed up to my room. I pulled out paper and an envelope. “Dear Michael,” I wrote. “I saw the clouds today and thought of you.”
I didn’t say that an angel as big as the sky sent me a message I couldn’t ignore! Instead I told him about the farm. “Just checking in.” I told him. I miss you, I thought.
That afternoon I was positively tingling as I watched the mailman’s jeep drive away. In my head I was calculating how long it would take for Michael to receive it.
If the letter arrived at noon, if Michael missed me enough…if he loved me…if he hadn’t found someone else…if he left his farm right away and drove to Ohio without stopping…if, if, if.
Two evenings later I set out a lawn chair to watch the road. “You’re not coming to the dance?” asked Karen as she left that evening.
I shook my head. “Not tonight.”
She looked me over, taking in my lip gloss, my dress, my styled hair. “Guess you’ve got other plans.”
Did I? Or was I making a fool of myself? I gazed down the highway. There were no cars in sight.
The shadows moved slowly across the lawn as the evening melted away. The crickets came out, filling the air with their song. No one came up the road. Well, it was a silly idea anyway, I told myself. Who just plants themselves by the road and waits for love to drive up in a Ford?
I started to get up to go back to my room. Just then another sound interrupted the crickets. The sound of a lone engine coming from the east.
I leaned forward in my chair, eyes straining to make out the color and model of the car coming up the road, pausing at mailboxes to read the addresses: an old brown Ford.
In minutes Michael was swinging me over the grass in his arms. I couldn’t imagine any Mister more Right. For a long time we couldn’t say anything besides “I love you” and “I missed you” between hugs and kisses. Finally Michael pulled back to look at me, then his eyes drifted to the lawn chair.
“It almost looks like you were expecting me,” he laughed. “After all these months.”
“I was expecting you,” I said shyly. “I figured out how long it would take you to get here if you left right away after you got my letter.”
“Letter?” asked Michael, his face turning puzzled. “What letter?”
Turns out Michael hadn’t even been home to receive it. He couldn’t get me off his mind, so he called my mother to find out where I was. By the time the mail came that day, Michael had already left.
That was thirty-three years ago. Michael and I still have plenty of differences. All married people do. But when we sit outside with our daughters watching the clouds go by, I know I’ve never been so right as when I chose the wrong man.
After all, God sent him right to my door and made sure I’d be waiting for him. It doesn’t get much more practical than that.
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