Disclaimers: As usual, this story is pure fiction. If you think you recognize anyone in my story, quit peeking into my mind. If anyone in this story is sexually active, they are over the age of 18. This story has a very slow build up, so be patient.
My name is Matthew Holloway. I'm closing in on my 30th wedding anniversary, to the most unlikely girl, a kid like me would have ever been lucky enough to marry.
I think a little back story might be helpful, here. I was born nearly 53 years ago, in the thriving metropolis of Colton, Washington. Even today, Colton has maybe 500 or so people in town.
It's located about 15 miles south of Pullman, Washington, the home of Washington State University, and about 290 miles southeast of Seattle.
About the only thing Colton is 'famous' for is the acres and acres of winter wheat that's grown all over The Palouse.
Growing up I was an only child, without a father, as he had a heart attack, when I was just 3 years old. He survived, barely. He couldn't work, so to call us poor, was an understatement. Yes, he got a small amount from disability, but that hardly covered his medical bills.
We survived, barely, with my mother being a great seamstress. Just as I was turning six, dad's second heart attack killed him. It nearly killed my mom, too. It took her nearly two months to pick up a needle and thread, again.
If it weren't for the kindness of some of our neighbors, we wouldn't have made it through the very harsh winters.
It was all I could do, to make it to school, for the first grade. Even in this rural setting, where everyone knew everyone else, I stood out as the kid who didn't have a father, and made the church mouse look rich.
Each student seemed to hear the 1966 Johnny Rivers recording, Poor Side Of Town, each time I came into our school house.
My saving grace was I learned to build and repair anything. I also had one particular girl in my class who genuinely liked me, without feeling sorry for me.
To call us polar opposites was an understatement. My mom and I had next to nothing, and her family had close to 50,000 acres of wheat. Where I wore hand me downs to school, she dressed in the nicest clothes. This never caused her to look down at me and my family situation.
Even in grade school, as good of friends as we were, I just knew Claire Dawson was just that, a friend. My mom always told me, all through school, to hold my head high, and never give anyone a reason to think of us as not being equal.
As I started the seventh grade, I started getting interested in football. Not being the biggest, or fastest kid, in a school this size, nearly any kid who turned out, got to play.
In the ninth grade, I stood 5'10" and was nearly 160. I also could catch any ball thrown in my direction. By my senior year, I was just over 6' and weighed 175. It was here, that I knew I wasn't destined to play college football, so I started looking into apprenticeships.
The best one I found was in Spokane, about 90 miles to the north. I also found that I qualified for financial assistance.
All throughout high school, Claire and I remained friends. I wanted to be more than just friends, but her parents had other ideas. The first time she let me kiss her, someone must have seen us and told her folks, because the following day, my mom got a call from her mom, saying, anything like this had to stop. Period.
Mom, relying on the townspeople for her livelihood, couldn't make waves and lose customers. We had a conversation after dinner, that night, leaving me feeling lower that snake slime.
The next day at school, Claire wouldn't even look at me. As I was leaving after school, she called out to me, but I just turned and ran back home, my eyes filled with the tears of someone hurt beyond belief.
The following Monday, I got to class, only to find a little note, folded up on my desk. When I opened it, my heart nearly skipped a beat. It said, "Matt, please don't judge me by my mother's doings. I am sorry for what she told your mom," it was signed, your best friend, Claire.
To this day, I still have that note, in a scrapbook at home.
All throughout our senior year, we would talk, laugh, and, yes, sneak a kiss, or two. Did her mother know? Probably, but Claire told her, she was very wrong to judge us by our possessions, and not by what was in our hearts.
As Senior prom was nearing, I asked Claire to go with me. I could see in her eyes that wasn't going to happen. She told me the son of a family friend was taking her.
"Do you even know, or like him?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Matt, I'm so sorry, I just don't know what to say."
With that she turned and walked away.
Needless to say, I didn't attend my Senior Prom.
The next week was graduation. I did my best to look happy, but I knew I wasn't. The best thing that happened was receiving a financial aid package allowing me to attend the school to learn everything possible about building homes.
As our senior class only had 31 students graduating, it was hard to avoid the glare of my surroundings. What did make both my mother and me puff out our chests was when our Principal read about the scholarship I received.
Off I went to Spokane, for my two year training. I also knew that Claire was attending Gonzaga, just across town from where my school was.
It seemed as if she did her best to avoid me, so I soon quit trying to even have just a conversation with her. I did hear through the home town gossip that she had a boyfriend, a few years older, heading to Gonzaga's Law School.
As my first year was ending, I got hired by a contractor to intern during the summer. Not only did it give me a chance to hone my skills, I actually earned a paycheck.
Just before my second year started, I was out with girl, at a restaurant, near the Gonzaga campus. This girl was a friend, who just happened to be the first girl that I had sex with. While we were friends, with benefits, neither of us thought this would end in marriage.
As we were leaving, I heard the unmistakable voice of Claire Dawson, screaming at the complete asshole shaking her by both shoulders. Walking up to this jerk, I yelled at him to stop or I'd break both his arms.
Within minutes, Spokane Police responded, and much to my shock, Claire actually defended this clown, but when my girlfriend showed the cops pictures on her new, digital camera, the lawyer to be was arrested, much to my delight.
Two days later, Claire's parents were at my school, actually berating me for saving their daughter. I could tell she was very sorry for defending him, and when I told the Dawsons I should have let their daughter be assaulted by this piece of shit, I think they finally started to believe me. I just couldn't give them any chance to apologize to me, as I turned and walked away, without saying a word.
Two nights later, our community phone rang, and whoever answered yelled it was for me.
When I answered, it was Claire, asking if we could talk. My one word answer was an definitive NO! I then hung up. When I got back to my room, I just sat on my bed and cried.
The next morning, as I started walking to my classes, I heard a very familiar voice quietly saying, "please Matty, I need to talk with you."
Turning to face her, I noticed she had tears in both eyes.
"So, your fuck buddy gets to beat you up in public, and I get the blame?"
I luckily blocked her hand, as she tried slapping my face.
"Matthew Holloway, how dare you?! First off, you have no right saying that crap. And second, I'm so sorry about the other night. I talked very seriously with my parents, and let it be known I'd never be seen with that clown, again."
"I'm sorry, Claire, but from my point of view, it certainly puts my standing with you in jeopardy, right? I guess its foolish of me to think I'd ever come before your parents."
As I turned to go into my class, I felt her hand on my arm, and heard her very quietly tell me she was still a virgin.
As I took my seat in class, I thought to myself, maybe that's why that jerk off was manhandling her.
With my studies getting much more technical, my dating ground to a halt. I did receive a call from Claire's mother. When I heard her voice, I hung up without saying a word. Not ten seconds later, it rang again. Against my better judgment, I answered. Before I could hang up, I heard Carol Dawson pleading with me to listen to what she had to say.
"Go ahead, I'm listening."
