My Sweet Chicken

It was literally a hot pot.  That’s how we met.  Undoubtedly, we would have met even if our bathroom had both hot and cold water, but it’s makes the story a little more interesting. 

I was a freshman.  She was arriving as a sophomore.  We were suitemates.  Rita and I were settling in to our room, and Melissa came through the bathroom we shared.  We initially had no warm water, and then no cold.  The “Throne” was literally boiling due to the high temperature.  It took a few days, but by then we were friends. 

We connected over chips and salsa, and Cheddars became a favorite study spot and a place to play cards and eat queso.  She loved pizza, and I was all about chicken. She annihilated me in Cribbage.  (Although my Egyptian Ratkiller game is probably better.) She married Josh, who I grew up with, (Love ya buddy!) and our worlds intersected even more.

Not all of our plans turned out for the best.  Sledding down the hill of death was probably not one of finest moments.  (Although truth be told, it was exciting until we landed and had whiplash for three days.)  We dropped the Sign Language course after one class realizing the traveling that was involved. But, not before I bought the book.  We attempted to learn, “Talk to me sweet lips,” but could only find the signs for “Talk to me sweet chicken.”   We also learned the importance of finger spelling.  Passing notes in chapel? Nope, we just used sign language.  Melissa tried to gracefully hurl herself over some bars, and nearly killed herself. (After I stopped laughing, I was able to run to her aid and see she was still alive), and I basically did the same in the middle of a fast food restaurant, making a spectacle of myself. 

We made up songs (which we sometimes still do), and we would drive around with 7 or 8 people in her little red car.  We were acrobats, and dance fanatics.

These days you might say we’re calmer.  Age does that.  Underneath it all, we still have our wild ideas, and great plans for the future.  We go in turns of staying up late and falling asleep early. She’s even more beautiful, and I consider myself fortunate to be able to live in her light. She is a baker, and a mom, and I am a “crafter” and a wannabe writer.  My plan is by the time I have babies, hers will be old enough to babysit. In the meantime, she reminds me that good things are in store for me in the future, and I remind her that one day her children will be through the whiny stage.

I am not sure what causes people to connect, but we did.  And, while some people may find time and distance to cause two to drift apart, it is exactly the opposite for me and Melissa. The truth is, the more that time passes, the better we are.  And while I do not live in Nebraska now (maybe someday), Melissa is always home to me.

You and me.

Me and you.

Love you, My Sweet Chicken.