Her One Came Back For Her

Have you ever felt that something was not right, but you could not figure out what it was? What's really is upsetting about that, is that you can't get rid of that feeling. It seems to stay with you, haunting you in the night, as you lay in bed unable to sleep. It had not reached the point that it had entered my dreams, but I knew that if I didn't come up with an answer soon it would. That's how I had been feeling for months. I don't know why, because things in our lives everything appeared to be going great.

Both my wife Margaret and I had very successful, busy careers. Yet we still found the way to put the needs of the family first. Our children were becoming nice respectable teenagers in their own way. Those troubling teenage years by the grace of God, had so far, been gone through smoothly. I was extremely proud of how each one of them was turning out.

The Pig and Whistle restaurant and bar we owned was doing very well. The restaurant side was a local favorite for its smoked pork and barbeque ribs with a selection of sides. Most of the earnings from it were directed into a growing fund for our kids further educational needs after high school. Although my wife and I had argued about it because, she wanted a bigger house.

I put giving our kids the best opportunities they could have in life, first. My thought were why should we have a bigger house when, in five to eight years there would be just us because, one by one, they would be moving out.

She had been against the idea of opening a bar and restaurant right from the beginning, but I used the 'headship' teaching from the scriptures for reinforcement. It had been a hard decision to go for it when I did because I knew that Margaret was dead set against it.

She had fought me as hard as she could. It was a rough few months for both of us because it drove us almost to the point of breaking up. Margaret did not like me having the final say on anything. After all, she was a woman, and don't most women feel that way anyway. Most of the time she ended up getting her way anyway. Most married men when questioned have to admit their wives rule the house.

The pastor of our church was the one that got us to finally talk things out. Margaret's worry was that I was putting everything we had built together at risk. In her eyes, I had endangered her sense of security. To be honest, I hadn't seen it that way at all.

In a way, I had to admit that she was right because, if it had failed, we would have been bankrupt. The pastor made it clear that we as a couple, had failed to understand the emotional needs of the other, and had deliberately stopped communicating. Neither one of us had been honest enough with each to share our fears or hopes. For that, we were both at fault.

Outside of the general manager and the head chef, most of my staff were members of the church. Indirectly it had been their support that had made the restaurant and bar such a success. The restaurant side of the building closed at nine p.m. nightly, six nights a week. From the start of it, I had refused to have it opened Sundays and it is still run the same way.

I didn't realize in the beginning how different it made our business compared to others in the market. From the moment we opened, we were the constant topic of conversations to all. I did it because after the rush at lunch on Sundays, most of the restaurant and bars were three-quarters empty anyway. I could not see myself taking off Sunday while forcing others to work.

The bar was open from noon to one a.m. as per state law. From Thursday through Saturday night we had a live band always along a country and western theme. On Monday and Wednesday, we had it set aside for open mike.

Thanks to the locals it had become their adopted hangout. Anyone who could play a tune was welcome. It had turned out to be a wise move on our part. For many, it had become a social event that was talked about for weeks. At least three times a month we had a bunch of songwriters playing their latest tunes to get feedback.

Tuesday was cultural night and as a result, we were exposed to music from different cultures from around the world. Our small multi-cultural communities, thanks to the university, enlightened us on their version of what we would call classical or folk music once a month and it was always booked weeks in advance.

As a result, we had a lot of foreign university students attending because it drew them closer to things back home. When their family came to visit, they had to come to experience it. Many of their parents told us it helped their children to cope.

That night became the night that my wife and I would attend regularly as a couple because it exposed us to different cultural things on an ongoing basis. A lot of our long term friends were made through that avenue. Over the years I had picked up enough knowledge to say hello, welcome, you look good tonight, and good night in six languages. An added plus it brought me a lot of new clients to my daytime job.

From that point on, we worked at hard at those two parts of our life that our pastor said needed attention, and it had drawn us closer in our walk of life than we had ever of been. Within five years we both agreed it was the best decision we had made as man and wife. Of course, in time she took all the credit for it. Nowadays everyone believed that she had forced me into it.

To those in the church and the pastor, we were considered the model couple everyone looked up to as a sample of how a family should present itself. Our kids had no tattoo's no body piercing, or wild outlandish hairstyles. When they attended Sunday service, they were dressed in class and style. Oh, I had been pressured by the three to allow it.

We as a family had a big discussion because my oldest had wanted a tattoo. I had the Mehendi henna tattoo die applied to them all. I did not realize that for our children it would turn out to be quite the experience. After it took eight weeks to fade away, they never asked for it to be done again. Nothing like learning the hard way that doing things to your body to achieve something is not going to give you the desire you want.

It really bothered me because I could not figure out why I was feeling the way I did concerning my relationship with my loving and supporting wife. The only thing that stood out was that my wife and I were developing an emotional distance between each other and I could not put a finger on what was causing it.

As far as I could see, there was nothing that could be causing the problem. I had even doubled my efforts to put her needs first and even that was not working. It was reaching the point where I was near my wit's end.

I had been noticing that it had been getting worse these last three years. With eighteen years of marriage behind us, we had it pretty good. We had paid off the mortgage in ten years and were basically debt-free.

We were blessed with three healthy children. Jean, our oldest at sixteen, was a walking, taking mini version of her mom. Agnes, our second was fifteen was the one who owned my heart, took after my mother's side of the family and sang in our church's choir. Wade, at fourteen, our only son was going to be one of the biggest thickest linebackers you have ever seen when he grew up. Spanking him since he was ten had hurt my hand more than it did him. All three of them had been born eighteen months apart.

Wade, because of his size at birth, had done a lot of internal damage to my wife, as a result, she could no longer carry children. He had weighed ten pounds eight ounces at birth and had never looked back. She had taken a long time to recover from that emotionally. I had been so concerned that I had suggested that we consider adoption, but she ruled that out rather quickly. As soon as our youngest started grade school full time, she went out and got the job she was still in. During that time, she had three different bosses.

******

My name is Raymond Burns, no relation to the Scottish poet, even though it was my poetry writing that helped me to win my wife's hand. I am an agent for State Farm Insurance, and I have my own office with a staff of three, so I make a very good living. Margaret works for the Chief of Police in Cape and was his executive assistant.

Family time to us was very important. But such as it is with all family when your children start maturing as teens their interests, their thoughts and personality begin to shine. Each one was demanding more time for their friends and social things than they did with us.

It's hard for any parent to come to the understanding that their children no longer needed them emotionally as much as they did when they were younger. Yet Margaret and I were adapting to the changes the come as your children grow up.

Although we lived our lives trying to be Christians, active in our faith, we did not push our view on others because we had the view that our walk-in life said it all.

Marge called towards the end of the day, on that Friday to say that something had come up. They were having another meeting with the Jackson city managers dealing with the expansion of the county jail and the new county courthouse. Both Peter Reynolds her boss and my wife had to attend.

This had not surprised me because this was quite a common thing. For the last three years, they had been working with this and now it was nearing completion. There had been so many of these last-minute meetings that it was developing its own normalcy.

With our three teenagers each having their own plans for the evening it left me with nothing to do. What I would normally be doing had been changed because of spring break. I decided to swing by my restaurant for a bite to eat after I had changed out of my work suit.

Peter, my wife and I did have a history but that had been years ago when the three of us had attended the same high school. We hadn't seen him in years, until four years ago.

Marge and I had grown up from kids knee-high to a grasshopper, less than two city blocks away from each other. Our fathers still worked in the same factory making washer and dryers for the retail market. She was interested in boys before I was in girls.

In high school, we had hung with different crowds. Each had different directions in life. I didn't have time for girls. While most boys were chasing them, I was spending my spare time making money for the hot car I was building for drag racing with friends once a month.

I must admit I was consumed by it. My dad's father had given me his love for cars and speed. As I was growing up my parents allowed me to spend as much time with him as possible. It started out with handing him the tools he needed and me asking him why. By the time I was ten I was working beside him has he built or repaired the hot rods.

Four months before the fall senior prom Margaret's boyfriend got killed in an accident while drag racing. I wasn't there that night because I was working at Taco Bell in their kitchen. I heard through my father that her dad was furious that she was there that night because she could have been in his car. I understood that it had scared the hell out of him.

Margaret and I knew each other at the time but her group and their attitude did not sit well with ours. Her friends were in it for the glamour, reputation, and attention. We were in it for the challenge of getting the victory with the fastest speed.

As a result, I put my latest hot rod with the four fifty-four, four on the floor, four-barrel up for sale and I had sold it within a week. My father was blown away when he came home from work to find that I had bought a stripped-down frame of an old forty's Ford pick-up for two hundred dollars to rebuild. We had to haul it out of a local farmer's unused field. To be honest it wasn't in good shape. It was still covered in dirt and mud sitting on four blocks of wood.

Just as he saw it for the first time he said, "Which farmer saw you as a sucker and sold you that piece of crap?"

In my spare time, I had repaired it section by section by cutting out the rust, replacing fenders, applying bonding and sheet metal where needed. Then I had to sand it all down until it was smooth. The hard part was finding the parts for the undercarriage.

If I got stuck on something my grand-pa would come over and advised me on it. He like me saw the potential in it. In his growing enthusiasm, he fabricated a few major parts that I needed for the undercarriage. It got so interesting to him that he would come over and take pictures of its gradual transformation.

The next free weekend, I had I painted it with undercoating and primer. The following weekend I painted it twice. Every piece of metal that was not chrome was now midnight black inside and out. My Grandfather thought the color was perfect. My dad would look at it and wonder if it was really worth the time and effort.

On Labor Day weekend, with the help of a few of my friends and my mother's good cooking we were able to drop the new motor in, put in the transmission and do all the wiring. The local upholstery shop had recovered and repaired the bench seating which was ready for pick up.

My grandfather who inspected everything said, "This baby is taking shape."

By the end of September, I had it finished. Everything needing re-chromed, had been done and fastened on. A friend who worked in signage had repainted the lettering for Ford on the back of the truck. We had put whitewall tires on it, and I had gotten it inspected, licensed and Insured on the last Saturday of the month.

The first one to see it on the road was my grandfather and grandmother. I ended up taking them for a drive out in the country with it before I was allowed to go back home with it. I don't know who enjoyed the drive more, my grandmother or grandfather. Until his dying day, he would occasionally borrow it for an afternoon out with his wife.

We would take the truck, when we could, to rallies and car shows. My grandfather loved carrying the conversation about what I had done under his watchful eye. Everyone was impressed when we were able to produce the photo album with all the pictures from start to finish. To this day I can still remember the job offers I got, because of my grandfather's proud bragging.

I was driving my latest pride and joy home for the first time after dropping my grandparents off when I saw Margaret struggling with the bags she was carrying. I pulled over, and offered her, a ride to her home. She had walked to town to do some shopping and ended up buying more than she should have. Surprisingly she accepted. I learned on the way to her home, that to most that she hung out with, I was considered a dork.

That didn't surprise me as I kept to myself; I had a few close friends. Fixing cars and rebuilding them had kept me busy and as my dad would say, out of trouble.

She asked me why I had stopped drag racing. I told her honestly that the death of her boyfriend had forced me to consider changing my direction in life. I was old enough that it was time that I decided what to do with my life.

I disclosed to her that it was my hot rod, that I had sold, that had financed the restoration of the truck I was currently driving. She was surprised to learn that I had already been offered more for it than it was worth.

When we got to her parents' house, I got out of the truck to help carry in the bags of items she had bought. I learned that it was all the material and accessories needed so she could make the dress she was going to wear for the prom. It was finding the perfect material that made her decide she should go. She asked me if I had a date and I explained that I wasn't even planning on going.

Her father was out cutting the lawn. He stopped what he was doing to go and check out my restored truck. As soon as Margaret took the bags from me, I went out to talk to him.

"Your father has been amazed that you stopped hot-rodding so suddenly," he said. "but thought you were a fool to buy this. He didn't think it would amount to anything. Man, have you proved him wrong. I think it's beautiful, how much did it cost you to restore it?"

"Not including the labor about ten thousand dollars," I said. "My last hot rod I sold for just over fourteen. I have already been offered twelve for this as it sits. I had it go through a commercial inspection just to make sure that I had not missed something when I put all back together. Once it passed, I insured it."

He said, "That was smart thinking on your part young man."

He had me pop the hood so he could see the motor and was surprised that I had not modified it in any way. He had a bunch of questions and I answered everyone. He brought out the point that the cars today did not provide the protection that this one did.

"Do you think you will sell it down the road," He asked?

"No, because the longer I have the more value it will have," I said. "Cars of that generation are getting rarer all the time. I want to break it in before I stop using it regularly."

"Keep it to yourself but my daughter Marge has been watching us," He said as we were looking under the hood.

I laughed and said, "I'm not worried based on what she has dated in the past, I'm definitely not her type."

"Maybe, but you're the first young man she's looked at since Ralph's death," He said. "Perhaps she has healed and is once again ready to get on with life."

After closing it all up I opened the driver door getting ready to go home only to hear Margaret say, "Raymond please don't leave I need to talk to you."

I saw her walking down the stairs and for the first time in my life I saw her as a young lady and not just the kid from around the block.

Margaret was a natural beauty. Height was about five foot seven. Her curves were strong and defined. She had a wholesome look that I found appealing. Her reddish-brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The fact that she was not loaded up with makeup like most of the girls in the crowd were, to me, was an added plus.

I on the other hand at five foot ten, had a well-defined upper chest but from the lower chest down I was skin and bone. My family said I always had a barrow chest whatever that meant. So, I was wide at the top but narrow towards the bottom. My natural curly brown hair the longer it got the more it looked like a styled afro.

Right now, I needed a haircut badly. Growing up my mother always said in winter I looked bulky and big. In the summer with no shirt on I looked like one of the starving children from Africa. At my age of eighteen when I had my shirt off if I sucked in my stomach, you could still see the outlines of my rib cage.

Margaret walked with a confidence that said she knew who she was and what she wanted. The white t-shirt she was wearing accented the softness of her frame, yet did not expose the shape or size of her breasts.

"The prom is in six weeks," She said. "The first thing I need to know is can you dance?"

"Not really," I said honestly. "I can perhaps pass on a square dance where I am being directed but that's about it."

"Why not," She asked?

"I never found someone worth developing an interest in it for," I explained not knowing what else to say. "For me to desire to start dancing it would be because I wanted to please the girl I was dating."

"Then we're going to have to do a lot of practicing over the next six weeks," She said.

"And why are we going to be doing that," I asked?

"Because you're taking me to the prom," she laughed.

"Are you serious," I asked?

She took my hand into hers and said, "Yes, unless we find that you're not teachable."

It was fun learning to dance. When the church had a social just before the prom, I went to test out what I had learned. In its huge basement, my dancing had improved so much that it got me a lot of attention. Two girls asked me if I had a date for the prom in front of the boys who were interested in them. Margaret was unable to attend but she sure heard about it.