He’s too old for me. I never even used to like him. I used to wish Deric was single.
At the picnic in July on Lake Erie, he very nearly held me in his arms as we set up. And then he sat a little way down the table from me, and listened so closely as we discovered things in common like nuclear plants and wacky Russian experiences. And I started to wonder then…
He always respected my language ability, thinking it was superior to his. He would ask if I could understand what he and others were trying to say. When we had the first Russian TMS he came up to me first after the meeting.
I started noticing that he was a little wilder than he might seem. Risque polka music, guitars all around his house, and one day I couldn’t figure out why his jacket was buttoned the way it was… until I realized he was showing off a belt buckle. Rich is a rockstar, I said to myself.
But also a sweetheart, who hangs in his living room that Renoir of the dancing couple, and who loves Top Gun, and who has faithfully soldiered it out for 7 years now.
At Quince’s house, I wondered if I was receiving more than the usual attention from him. During a WT when I wasn’t feeling well, I felt like he was reading the misery on my face as disdain for mistakes, since he kept apologizing.
And then, as I looked helplessly for a seat in the stadium in Poland, as I prayed silently to God about how alone I felt, I looked up, and there he was a few stairs above me. I hugged him, too long and too close and with no return. But then we became a pair. We found seats together, we let others around us assume we were a couple. We shared an umbrella and a Bible. I couldn’t tell if he wanted me to put my head on his shoulder. It was a lovely day.
And then it ended, awkward and with no way to repeat it.
I wanted him to tell me not to move to Boston, but he didn’t. He seemed sad when I told him I was going to, though. And he has been very sweet about writing to me since then.
He is a very big part of the reason I want to get back to Detroit ASAP.
