No One Will Believe You, Part I

written September 13, 2012


My big contribution to our three-hour trip to Elmwood, Illinois, sculpted through the spare moments a week allows, was a burned CD collection of songs- Illin’ois– that surely increased Apple stock while intricately foretelling our first getaway.  A song that musically represented my image of a youthful May, a tune representing the glories of the Ocean State.  First date, Honest Abe, and the Prairie country blues.  All a keep-sake representation of our small but ever-growing history.  Burning the CDs earlier Thursday, I pictured the two of us traveling north, content and eager amid the rolling fields, and a further future self that could relive the coming days via music’s memory.

But I was not the only one to go to great lengths for a extraordinary weekend.  May’s own gratitude of finally a brand someone would be represented in a glorious dessert.  Even wanted me to help, in my own “oh-now?” way.  It was of utmost importance to the nervous girl that the Italian layer cake be perfect, having splurged on decorating tools and a brand new carrier, so that the boyfriend’s parents would be won over.  The sweet gesture alone was enough to impress.  We sifted measured, sifted, poured, happily.  The egg whites declined their involvement; the unfortunate kitchen crisis nevertheless opened the door for comforting white-horse heroics.  So seldom to we need to be comforters to each other, that I was glad to give some aid in the moment.  As the president gave a surprisingly bland, re-heated speech in North Carolina we worked hastily together to rescue the pejorate pastry that meant so much to May, that was, in its own way, a fitting sign of our readiness for our trip.


With Luscious and Phyllis safely in St. Charles, we set out shortly after nine-thirty, crossing the Mississippi in May’s newly independently-owned automobile.

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