I was twenty-two when Brian and I reunited.
We first met in 1984, at a Bible camp where we were both volunteer counsellors. We were young (16, and 17) , incredibly awkward, and kind of shy, but totally looking awesome in swim attire. Not really enough to sustain a long distance relationship.
We met again when I was 22 and he was 23. There's a cute story behind that, but I'm feeling lazy so will leave that for another time. At 22, I was sharing the second floor of a big old house on Wentworth street with three other young women. I was going to University of Winnipeg part time, and working a few part time jobs.
The first time we got together, Brian drove in from Winkler where he was living with his parents and working two jobs to pay off a student loan.
We met for lunch. Then we watched an Imax movie called "Beavers" (I kid you not). Then we went to the art gallery, then back to my apartment to reminisce, and after all that, we went out for dinner. It was what you might call a successful first date.
And then he didn't call.
Three weeks went by.
Which is just one day less than 22 days.
One day less or more than 22 can seem like a really, super, unbearably long time to wait.
If say, you're really anticipating something.
If all is well, and you're happy and busy and contented, 22 days give or take a day can whiz right by.
But when you're 22 and have survived a breakup that was 22,000 degrees of unhappiness, and then you go on a date with a man who doesn't make you want to cry and die, and he doesn't call for 22 days? Thats just a whole lot of messed up.
This summer, we will be married for twenty-two years.
Its a good thing that after waiting 22 days or so for him to call me, I picked up my phone and called him.