I arrive before he does. After a brief glance around the room, I strategically select a spot where he is sure to notice me. The thought crosses my mind that I may be slightly under-dressed. I should have worn the skirt and sweater that now lie flung across my un-made bed. It’s a tricky thing, selecting one’s attire. Classic is always good, but borders on “old lady.” Trendy is nice, but difficult to carry off and often communicates “teenager wannabe.”
“Good-grief,” I think. “It’s not like this is a first date, or anything.” The important thing is for him to find me in this crowded place, feel the unspoken desire I have to be near him, and recognize the almost painful, chest-busting love that I want to give to him.
People are everywhere, chattering. They blur and buzz. All my attention, condensed to anticipation in seeing that adored face. Will I see him before he sees me? Will he feign shyness or beckon me to come to him. Will he run into my arms which ache for his embrace?
I recognize his curly, dark hair. Even from behind, I’d know him anywhere. He turns slightly, searching. He is looking for me. His eyes find mine. His mouth erupts effortlessly into an enormous smile. He pushes past everyone to come to me. I am staggered, once again, at his abundant, effervescent love. All is well with the world as we sit down together. The program for Grandparent’s Day at his school begins.