Part I here.
Part II here.
Part III here.
Over the 4th of July, the husband drove up. He spent the weekend. We hung out with my friends, saw fireworks. When he left that Sunday afternoon to drive back, it wasn't nearly as sad though. We had made a plan.
Our plan was for me to get my crap together, he would fly up at the end of July, we'd go to Lollapalooza (I'm not sure why this was in the plan, but it was fun) and then he'd drive me, himself, and my crap back to Arkansas in a UHaul where I would live with him and his sweet roommate until we could get our own apartment.
Yeah, it was fucking insane.
The parents thought so. You've never seen four people lose their minds like that. Understandably so.
But it was the only way he and I would be able to work. To know if we were meant for each other. To know if we could get married so his mom would FINALLY shut up about the freaking premarital sex (that was kind of pushed aside once I moved down though. Because then all she talked about was LIVING IN SIN.)
The next few weeks I spent getting all my ducks in a row. Packing, reserving a truck, saving money like mad. I know at one point my parents called the husband behind my back (score one for mom!) and talked in depth about me moving down there with him. I'm not sure what the husband said exactly, but apparently it was good enough to ease my parent's minds a little.
We left on a Sunday afternoon. I'm pretty sure my dad threatened the husband's life if he didn't take care of me. My mom and younger sister sobbed uncontrollably while we tried to say goodbye.
As much as I adored the husband, and as much as I wanted to be with him, I don't think I quit crying until halfway through Illinois.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Part I here.