Starbucks Apple

 You know how a song can relive a memory:yes, a vivid memory of me and her. I guess you could say it was our first date. We had met in church during my time farming with my aunt and uncle. It was the summer of 2006, and I had just graduated from community college—yes, I know, quite an accomplishment. My aunt and uncle come up from Hopkinsville, Kentucky to the upper peninsula of Michigan for a family reunion. Their visit was brief as usual: ten hour drive for a brief hour or two visit and a brief ten hour drive home. Yes, they took me captive—well, not really, I wanted to go for the new experience farming bees and riding trackers. Our goal was to lay the foundation for the honey house and play with bees. If bees frighten you, they can sense that, so word to the wise: fear not. My uncle's insane stop and go driving gave a tin can my favorite lunch, but that's a side adventure.

We settled down at the country trailer house after some chores needed to be done on their house in town: painting, arranging, and the like. All things were ready for my summer adventure by going to a storage unit for items and arranging my room for my stay. I had the ancient internet, books, a bed, a desk, and you guessed it, bee armor—yes, have to have the armor to not be stung by those bees. My uncle had plenty of lakes with blueberry plants for nectar, and many bee hives to harvest different kinds of honey depending on the pollen bees received for their hives.

Well, one Saturday rest, my aunt, uncle, and I went to a seventh day Adventist church in the local area. An unusual experience for sure, but that was when I first met her: Abrianne Ingles. A modest, fair dressed lady with majestic, brown hair, pale face, and a lovely feature underneath her modest, colorful dress. At the time, she was partaking in the service by reading a book to children in the congregation. I saw her heavenly hair and cheeks blushed like apples, and her lips speaking wise words to children. After the service, my aunt and uncle introduced me to her—although I was a shy, awkward, tall gentleman. But, our conversations were lively, and we discussed the bible and literature and family and many different things. Before long, our first meeting was done, and we headed home—this was no first date.

We exchanged e-mails and started talking on messenger way before Facebook was ever invented: good old AOL. We wrote the most ancient of all social media: letters. Yes, handwritten letters, I am sure you heard of them. Well, while I was in Hopkinsville, we only managed to get together only once in a while, but we talked much online through e-mails. I still have those e-mails. I guess you could say it was love at first sight, or click or something. We managed to stay in touch while she did her thing and I did mine. The foundation of the cement honey house was complete; plus, my aunt and uncle and myself went up to a community college in southern Indiana for a bee conference, and I was grateful for my bee armor—I could have died. Well maybe just a sting or two, but who knows today. You would think that queen bees had the luxury of being queen by default, but no. Her servants must fight for her, struggle for her, or even work hard to appreciate her or she would be dethroned. Yes, she would be devoured by her ungrateful subjects.

I don't know if Abrianne was a Queen bee, but her sweet honey in my daydreams kept her alive in my heart. We exchanged stories, poetry, and family. I imagined her apple cheeks showing excitement for Christmas, or her deep, lovely smile giving me good reviews on my MySpace stories. She loved my antidotes of proverbs: curious thing to know if they were from my hand or another. True on both counts: famous proverbs I copied and some of my own. I dreamed of her speckling grin reading my work: perhaps it was love—who knows. Before long, my summer was about to close, and Michigan awaited me. My aunt and uncle rewarded me with pay and experiences to satisfy my appetite. Abrianne and I remained in contact by e-mails, messenger, and practicing our handwriting skills even after my return to Michigan.

I know what you might be thinking: when will you get to that first date? Well distance makes a heart grow longing, and time doesn't quench that thirst. It was several months later, that a visit to my aunt and uncle was warranted. I must admit that their new honey house structure was impressive after I helped laid the foundation. Wooden walls and shingle covered roof enlightened my senses, but what amazed me more was an opportunity. I gave Abrianne the notice that I was coming down to

Kentucky to see my relatives, and my heart's desire was to see her. Although in my silent heart,

I longed to see her in the flesh: the beauty that captivated my mind with conversations and hints of love. We made the arrangement to meet at a local Hopkinsville Starbucks, My uncle made sure I was safely there to meet her on our date. You could not tell from my appearance, but excitement filled my heart. She told me there was something she desired to talk to me about. I tried not to let my imagination run wild.

I waited a good ten minutes before she arrived—it felt like an eternity. My eyes spoke my wow when I saw her white dress with added fancy colors: she was stunning to say the least. I made sure to dress appropriately with khakis and a t-shirt. I saw her pale face and we both smiled until one of us broke the spell with a conversation about light things. We strolled toward the counter and ordered strawberry banana smoothies with no names on the cups. You know how modern women are, she insisted on paying. My empty pockets confessed that I could not do so, but she delighted to do so. This Starbucks had a wall in front of the counter that separated space between the counter and the dining room. There were tables and chairs beyond the wall, but none between the brick wall and the counter. With that in mind, we strolled, while talking, passed the wall to seat down in the middle table. She took the seat facing the wall while I took the one with my back to the wall—I was pretty comfortable in my chair.

We started our conversation about family, our e-mails, our letters, and Myspace. There were glass windows to the left and the right of us, so when she looked to the left, I glanced to the right. Finally, we returned eye contact and this prompted her desire to discuss the contents of her recent letter. You see, she told me about someone she was seeing from her local congregation, and my heart stopped. I asked her if it was serious, and my imagination died within me, when she told me they were engaged. Emotions rushed through me like a tidal wave, and I numbed my heart to be her friend. Maybe she didn't desire that, but coveting was out of the question in my book. I guess having a heart of stone with no feelings or emotions to lighten the mood. No jokes, no laughter: just serious conversation about her love. Yes, her love for him and not for me, and my love disappeared behind my stone face. What a date, right? I lived for her, but the romance must die. Worse of all, she knew not how I truly feel: easier to keep it to myself. After the uncomfortable pleasantries, we hugged, ended the date, and never saw each other again.

You might wonder what song reminds me of this date? Well, I'll tell you, it was the song: “How to save a live” by the Fray. We literally acted out the entire song on our date: how's that for a punchline? My heart had never been the same again. I hope you know how I feel? Just another tragic ending to a timely romance.