New Impressions: (Memoirs of a Teenage Author)

(This is post #19 of the My Journey to Gritty: Memoirs of a Teenage Author series)
So any newcomers are aware, this post is a chapter in the middle of a story. To go back and read from the beginning of the narrative, click the "My Journey" link directly above.


Photo Credit: D Sharon Pruitt

I remembered what the Lord had said about apologizing to Blackbeard. As soon as he ducked his broad frame into the trailers, I rushed up to him with an apologetic expression.
“Listen, I’m sorry for being rude on the phone. I didn’t mean that like it came out.”
Blackbeard’s knotted-up, frustrated expression softened. The corners of his eyes wrinkled as he smiled down at me. The sight made me feel a strangely-sweet sort of shy.
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” he replied.
We walked through the nail-studded hallway and went to the dining room. Dad was in the kitchen, working on the sink so that he had an excuse to be nearby and hear our conversation. Blackbeard exchanged pleasantries with Dad. I stole the opportunity to glance my guest’s way and actually study him for the first time since we’d met.
He had chestnut brown hair, a neatly-trimmed blond mustache, and a black beard. His eyes were smoky blue and very expressive. He was broad-chested and strong, and over a head and shoulders taller than me.
My thoughts wandered to the alarming fact that he was actually rather good-looking.

We sat down at the table, across from each other. I don’t remember all that we talked about, but I do remember a general feeling of “relaxing”.
Blackbeard really wasn’t so bad. He told me stories about when he was my age. He talked about his adopted kids. I asked him some questions. Dad couldn’t figure out how to fix part of the sink, so they both worked on that for a little bit.
Mom came home during the second part of Blackbeard’s and my conversation at the table. Her eyes grew wide when she noticed us talking, then she quickly hurried by and kept busy with the groceries.

The most memorable moment of the evening soon came. Blackbeard found some stray garbage bag ties on the table. He fiddled with them while he talked, twisting them into random shapes, knitting them together.
Then, suddenly, he stopped talking mid-sentence. His expression beamed with delight as he handed the tied-together garbage bag ties to me and declared, “Look! It’s a flower for you!”
I smiled and took the offering, but inwardly thought, It looks more like a crazy witch doctor.
Our conversation continued. Blackbeard was still nervous and fidgety, so he absentmindedly took back the “flower” and continued messing with it.
Then, again, he stopped talking mid-sentence. His face twisted into a ridiculously cute expression as he looked over the tiny creation in his hand.
“Actually… it looks more like a witch doctor than a flower, doesn’t it?” he said.
I laughed. “That’s what I thought! I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings by saying it!”
He chuckled in amusement. We shared a shy smile.
And that’s the moment I started falling in love with him.

Blackbeard went home not too long after that. I saw him to the door, then came back into the dining room. Mom met me at the entryway.
“Well?!” she demanded, with sparkling eyes.
I breathed in and out a deep breath, then shyly confessed, “I kinda like him. He’s lovable in his way.”
She tilted her head in a pleased fashion and walked off.
I looked down at the flower/witch doctor in my hand. Thoughts churned through my mind.
I could keep this in my dresser. I could show it to my daughter when she’s a teenager. It might be the first gift her daddy ever gave me.
But then fear spurted through me.
What if Blackbeard wasn’t my husband? What if my real husband discovered that I had kept this? That would hurt his feelings, wouldn’t it? I would hate to throw this token of affection away, disappointed, if this whole relationship came to nothing…
There was a trashcan nearby. I quickly tossed the gift into it, as if it was deadly poison.

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