I need to catch up on a few things I haven’t had the time to write about (my new job keeps me so busy). I’ll call this entry “Linguision,” and I’ll let the pictures do most of the talking …

I met Sarah Kozer (see previous “Sarah Millionaire” entry) one day last month at Tower Records. She was doing a promotional signing for her—ahem—recent Playboy appearance. Whatever. When it was my turn in line to meet her, I gave her a polite greeting and took her picture. She instantly recognized me, and I reminded her that we were in several classes together at GMU—most notably in a Journalism class, where we worked on a mock-magazine project together. She laughed embarrassingly and apologized for her past behavior. I was flattered that she 1) remembered me, 2) apologized for her actions and 3) proceeded to reminisce with me on our Mason days and catch up on what I’ve been doing since college. When I told her I was a web designer, she demanded my phone number and told me she needed someone to do her website. (Talk about an enticing offer.) I gave her my card. Before I left, she came around the table (to the astonishment of those standing in line) to give me a hug and pose for a picture of the two of us. I was stunned by her friendliness—she was treating me like an old friend, even though I knew we weren’t close in college. I attributed it all to the fact that for the past two hours, she’d been signing magazines for young, immature frat boys and dirty old men. Seeing a familiar face from one of her former peers must have been a breath of fresh air for her. I was certainly happy to oblige. After the picture barrage, we said our goodbyes, and I wished her luck for the future.

The next day, Jeff and I went to a banquet in McLean in honor of some ministry called The House. The guest speaker was FOX News’ Brit Hume, and he was introduced by Mr. Kenneth Starr. Both of these respectable gentlemen are Christians and both spoke about their personal faith in Jesus Christ. It was such a blessing to know that there is a remnant for Christ in both politics and the media. God bless them.

It was my co-worker Barbara’s birthday in May, so our manager got her a singing telegram from a duck.

My friend Carlos got married in May, and a bunch of faraway friends came to the area for a fabulous, friendly reunion. Jamie came in from Florida, Michelle from California, and Janna from New York. I was late for the wedding, so I don’t have much to say about that, but the reception was pretty darn fun (thanks largely to the open bar). I had a total of seven Vodka Collins, but I wasn’t feeling any sort of buzz at all (not like the night before at the Red Room in D.C., when I had three Woodchuck ciders within an hour). It was nice to see some old Arlington acquaintances.

Beedy, beedy… That’s all chumps.

On Easter weekend, I went back to West Virginia to visit my mother. At one point, my mom and I went to the local grocery store to pick up some food. During our shopping, I ran into my junior high crush (and technically first “girlfriend”) and her mother in the midst of their shopping. It was little Kelly—the very first shorthaired cat. She had short, dark hair, was herself about 5’ 1” or so, and had the cutest face (and accent) in all of West Virginia. I said hello, and we caught up right there in the store aisle in front of the Jell-O. It was such a pleasant conversation. I was especially pleased with the fact that she seemed genuinely interested in talking to me. She wasn’t looking off to the side or trying to find a way out of the exchange. She was there, and I was there, and there was no one else in the world. Her little smile and country drawl instantly invoked feelings from the past, locked-away in my complicated heart. It was like a breath of fresh air—so easy, so natural. The setting and the person—it felt so true.

The simple nature of West Virginia and the simple beauty of a lovely Christian country girl were too much for my guarded nature to respond to indifferently. I opened the door to my fragile heart and allowed Kelly to step right in.

On the way home from that exchange, my mom could tell I was gushing. She said Kelly was so cute, and (being the mother that she is) encouraged thoughts of Kelly and I hitting it off again and spending the rest of our lives together. It’d be a perfect union, I thought. During the conversation at the grocery store, I discovered Kelly had a Masters degree in medicine. We’d be a nice financial match, for sure. Our in-laws would be located in the same town, which would make holidays easy to plan. We’d both be Christians—and, honestly, what else is more important? Plus, we’d have a history of “growing up” together in the same small town—an underrated benefit not shared by many couples. I honestly couldn’t think of a more appealing scenario. Not that I tried very hard that night. All I could do was imagine what a life with Kelly would be like. I went to bed eager to get up the next morning to see her at the Easter service at church—the church, where we attended youth group together years ago. I was so relieved to have asked her in the grocery store whether she was going or not. I now had the opportunity to see her again—but this time I would be mentally prepared. It would be my chance to see if this fairy tale had a happy ending.

I showed up for the preaching service promptly at 11:30. I searched the sanctuary and found Kelly sitting with an empty seat saved beside her. Good sign. It was an old sanctuary with stained-glass windows. There was a sense of tradition and simple values emanating from the architecture and old, wooden pews—again, another simplicity West Virginia has to offer. I shook the hand of my junior high English teacher, as I made my way towards Kelly. Coincidently, he was Kelly’s uncle. I greeted Kelly and sat down next to her, asking if anyone was sitting there. She said no—another good sign.

I thought about the person I was back in junior high and what things about my personality may have caused my relationship with Kelly not to work out. The trait that kept coming up was my shyness. I didn’t use to talk very much, especially to cute girls I really liked. But that was junior high. That was twelve years ago.

I joked with her at “appropriate times” during the service. She kind of surprisingly received it all and played along. There was that smile again. We shared a hymnal and a Bible during the service and we stood there singing old hymns together in an old church in an old, small town in West Virginia. As I looked at her and felt her sitting beside me, I believed I could do this every Sunday for the rest of my life.

When the service ended, something surprising happened: An abrupt goodbye. She said it was wonderful to see me again, but she had to return home. I asked her if we could at least have lunch together, but she declined. She offered an unrealistic “see you around town” condolence just before we parted ways, and I was left standing there, dumbfounded (just like before). My weekend dream quickly turned into an unlikely fantasy, and I found myself getting into my car alone, watching her say goodbye to other friends and relatives on the sidewalk outside the church.

I didn’t know what to do, so I just kept driving. I decided to drive to Lewisburg, up the long, winding mountain road…in my new car. Oh, yeah—my new car. A slight diversion from my fresh, emotional wound. I took the new BMW sport sedan up and down and around mountain curves, like I was a young (and better-looking) James Bond. The cornering of my car was incredible. I had the most relaxing and liberating moment of utter freedom traveling those empty country roads. With the windows down and the sunroof open, the warm spring—Easter—air filled my lungs and my heart and my soul.

And then there was Kelly. Under everything else, her absence was there.