The Man for Me

Before, during and after my brief encounter with the Horse Man, my self-esteem was at an all-time low. Charlie, the only man I could ever love, didn't want me, so why would anyone else? Charlie's rejection was a confirmation of what I already knew. I was not worthy of a man's love. I was doomed to be an old maid. Alone. Childless. Lonely. Miserable. But before all the doom and gloom befell me, I had something to do: move to the country.

I was done living in an apartment in the fast-paced crowded city. I wanted country, so one Sunday afternoon I headed north to Noblesville looking for what... I wasn't exactly sure. Once in the country, I stopped at several farmhouses and asked if anyone knew of any farmhouses for rent in the area. I stopped at three houses. At the last one a young couple said they didn't know of any farmhouses, but their friends were in the process of moving from a house on White River just two miles east of their home.

I turned left on to Trail's End, a winding, tree-lined, picturesque gravel lane. Before reaching the house I knew this was it. To the left was a two hundred-acre cornfield. To the right were small yet adorable river houses. "Please, let this one be it," I'd say as I passed one quaint bungalow after another. I pulled into the drive at the address I was given: 11490. Oh, my. Not so adorable. There were twelve houses on Trail's End and this one was the ugliest of them all. But that's how that works, isn't it? I wasn't dissuaded by its appearance, though, because from the moment I turned left on to the trail, I knew I wanted to live there.

What was the builder thinking when he designed this house? I'd never seen anything like it. Tiny 1,000 sq. ft. house, yet two-stories. It was built with concrete blocks and then painted white. It was a square box with undersized windows and no flair. There was no lawn; just dirt with patches of weeds. The house was old and tired and the white paint was flaking off showing the gray block underneath. It was obvious from its appearance it had been neglected for decades. Yet, I was intrigued by it. To me it looked like a centuries old cottage on an English estate.

Once I stepped out of my car, I had company. Pen, the neighbor to the right and Ted, neighbor to the left. "They're not here," Pen said. "They've moved out." Ted walked up and said, "I know where they've hidden their key." And in the house we go. But they hadn't moved out. Their furniture and clothes were still there which made me want to scurry on out the door. But Pen and Ted were not bothered that we might get caught wandering around inside someone's home. Still nervous, I raced through the house and back out the door. Whew! Pen and Ted stayed inside the house for several more minutes before joining me in the driveway. "Terrible housekeepers," Pen said. "Good riddance." Ted added "They weren't friendly either." What both of them seemed to ignore was that these people were not gone, and we had just committed a crime.

They did eventually move out, and I rented the house. When Lynnette turned eighteen, she moved in with me. Pen and Ted became my almost-lifelong friends, but that's another story for another blog. Lynnette and Pen have been best friends for thirty-eight years.

On my thirty-third birthday, I was still manless. I knew I would never find love, and I was getting too old to have children. Friends asked me to join them after work to celebrate, but I declined and went home to wallow alone in my sad state of affairs. There was a tree swing in the backyard beckoning me sit and cry. So I did. My whimpers soon turned to sobs. "What's wrong?" Ted said as he walked across the dirt and weeds toward me. At first I said, "Nothing." I have always been caution about who I share personal with. "Oh, it's something," he said. "Sobs don't come from nothing." I stopped crying and looked up at this caring, kind man who had been hinting for sometime that he'd like to change the status of our friendship to something more. Why couldn't Ted be the one? He was handsome, successful and smart. He was available and showing interest in me. Why not Ted? For all the reasons why it should have been Ted, I had never once considered him anything but a friend.

Ted put his arm around me and said, "Whatever it is, it's going to be okay?" With that I burst out crying, "No, it isn't. I'm thirty-three and not married. I'm never going to find love and I'm going to grow old alone and childless." I didn't expect Ted to laugh, but that's what he did. He laughed. "That's ridiculous," he said. "You'll find love. Trust me on that." Then, just like in the movies,  he leaned down and kissed me tenderly on the lips. You know what was supposed to happen next, don't you? Just like in the movies, that kiss was supposed to turn me. That kiss was supposed to open my eyes. That kiss was suppose to make me realize that what I had been looking for was right there all along: my next-door neighbor, Ted, was my happily-ever-after. But that didn't happen. I just wasn't into Ted.

As it turned out, Ted was right. Four months later, I met a cowboy from Greenwood who just wasn't that into me. Bingo! I had found the man for me.