Today I Swore I Was A Time Traveler

About a year ago, I passed through the Atlanta airport less than 24 hours after surgery. I was traveling to Nashville, Tennessee to see Dylan Roth about a week after we made the decision to get back together following five years apart. I had a semester of college left, and I would move to be with him immediately following graduation. Which I did. It was the best stupid decision I'd made in my life.

In the meantime of our long distance, we had made plans to visit as often as possible. Which was why I had planned to drive to Nashville that weekend despite my post-surgery state. The problem was, I was still whacked out on anesthetic and wasn't allowed to drive. But, if you know me, I don't give up that easily. So alas, here I came - via plane - my body covered in bright orange high-power antiseptic, wrapped with a compression pack in a 10-foot ace bandage to keep my stitches clean and intact.

I know what you're thinking. And you're right.

I'm an absolute crackpot.

But I was a crackpot in love. So I'm sure my doctor had wanted to prohibit me from traveling altogether, but I really appreciate him giving me the antiseptic bandage because I was going to do it anyway. That's just kind of who I am as a person.

Last weekend, I was passing through that same airport again. Not visiting Nashville like I was so many months ago, but returning home. 

That's when I saw her. She was about 18. Maybe 19. Book shopping, with her dark brown hair in a long wavy ponytail and a Starbucks coffee practically sewn to her palm.

"It's a good book," I told her peering over her shoulder, "You should get it."

"Thanks!" she looked up and her blue eyes met mine, "I was deciding between these two." She pulled out another.

I shrugged. "Get both."

Her eyes widened. "You read my mind."

I smiled.

"Where are you headed?" she asked me.

"Home," I was thankful I could finally say, "To Nashville. You?"

"Chicago," she told me, "My boyfriend goes to school there."

I giggled to myself. "Long distance sucks, huh."

"Yeah," she said, "And it's expensive, too."

Darn right... I thought to myself. "Is the end in sight?" I asked her.

"Oh, yes. Thank goodness," she told me, "We're both freshmen. We dated in high school and broke up to go to different places. It wasn't worth it. I'm transferring there in the fall."

I stood dumbfounded - noting the hair. The eyes. The book. The coffee. The scenario. This girl was a younger me. A me who had forgiven faster. Got over her pain quicker. Reconnected within months, rather than years. An alternate universe Bethany, who was making the exact same future in a totally different way.

"I know it sounds stupid," she validated herself as I realized I hadn't responded yet, "I'm so not the girl who moves for a boy..."

"No, no, I get it," I interrupted her, "I'm not that girl either."

She waited for more.

"But I did it."

She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Really?!"

"Yep. Moved to Nashville less than a year ago for my high school sweetie. We didn't talk for five years. But we reconnected and felt it was worth another shot."

"And was it?!"

"Definitely."

"Woah. How long have you guys been together?"

"A little over a year now."

"Ahh!" she squealed as if we were suddenly best friends at a teenage sleepover, "That's so great. Think there's a ring in your future?"

I had to see that coming. That's always the next question in line.

"Not anytime soon," I laughed, "It's just not the most important thing right now."

"Is it not?"

At first I thought she was joking, but I looked more closely to find that she was really asking. As if she was waiting to find out what was the most important thing right now. Waiting to find out if she was about to do it wrong.

"I mean clearly you love him," she persisted.

"Oh clearly!" I reassured her, "But I just think the most important thing is loving life. Loving what you're doing. Where you're doing it. And who you're doing it with."

She nodded as if she understood.

"Do you like Chicago?"

"It's not my first choice," she shrugged, "But it's a good city. I like being there. There's lots to do."

I smiled again.

"I hope we end up like you guys," she told me.

I glanced back to the book in her hand. Milk & Honey by Rupi Kaur. My copy sat on my nightstand at home. Dog eared and weathered, spine practically crumpled, the pages stained with ink and tears. It was the ultimate self love book for a 20-something woman - full of poems about beauty and love despite hardship and trial.

"Something tells me you will," I told her.

I turned to return to my gate. "Hey," I called to her just before leaving. She paused to look up. "What are you majoring in?"

"Undecided!" she shouted to the door, "But I'm thinking about being a teacher."

****************************************************************

I didn't ask for her name. I knew I'd be scared out of my wits if it turned out to be Bethany, and I also didn't want it to ruin the idea that I might be in a younger parallel universe if it was something else. So I left it there. No name, no number, no email - no way to ever get in touch again.

But I wish you the best, little one. You are crazy for moving for a boy. But you're also very happy. I can tell.

P.S. - I'm sure you'll make an awesome teacher. Have you ever thought about starting a blog?