After a year of long distance, my fiance came to see me in America.
I had five essays and two final projects printed and turned in. My last semester at Williams College had rolled to an exhausted close, and the trees in the valley around the college were green again. It was so warm that I fell asleep in my dorm with the window open.
When I woke up the next day, it was nearly noon. I sat on the grass for outside the dorm for two hours, listening to music on my laptop and feeding myself cherries from a little blue bowl.
When Ian arrived, I knew before seeing him. There was no breeze, and the campus was so quiet that I could hear his footsteps, and some part of me recognized the particular rhythm of his walk. I started to smile.
When I looked up, he was walking towards me from the other end of the quad. I felt the way Penelope must have when Odysseus’ arrow struck true. I don’t care if that sounds grandiose, we all have moments in our lives that are stolen from epics.
I walked to meet him, I didn’t run. There have been other times when I have thrown my dignity aside and run to Ian. I have kissed him over the waist-high barrier at International Arrivals in Heathrow. I have jumped into his arms so that I could hang from him by two shaking, twig-like arms. I would snog him in front of the president AND the queen if I could, noisily and with tongue. But on that day I felt that I didn’t need to worry or rush. We had worked so hard. We had come so far, we could enjoy the feeling of effortlessness.
I kissed him, and my kisses left smudges of cherry juice all over his smiling mouth.