by Sassy Esquire
So, yeah. Ben called me that Sunday after the Bahamas. Awesome! You could have knocked me over with a fairy sneeze! We chatted for about an hour (I had to leave for the "Pirates" movie) and I was utterly and completely smitten.
Just as my feet were about to hit the ground again on Monday, he called again!
"Jo? It's Ben," he says, as if I didn't know.
"I was just thinking about you!" At this point, I don't yet realize how many times I will utter that statement in the next week.
"Good," he replies. "So we're on the same page then."
Our two hour long conversation takes my breath away. We talk about everything under the sun (and Mars). I feel like I called myself. He is awesome!
The phone calls become a daily habit - I say "habit" because I am addicted! He is like a drug that I can't get enough of - intoxicating, exhilarating, sedating and scintillating. Can Ben be bottled?
On Tuesday, we play with the Angel cards during our call. He says he always pulls the "playfulness" card when he thinks of me. He asks if I will, therefore, play with him. It sounds like a proposal. I accept.
His calls are like food. I need them; crave them; feast on them. I hope to get obese on them.
On Wednesday, he calls on his way back from dropping off the boss, at exactly the moment that I am typing his name into my Outlook contacts. Perfect! I listen to him telling me that he was overcome by an urge to pull over and call me. He asks about my arbitration. He is so gentle and sweet and loving. I am dying to be with him again.
We end the call with the now familiar, "Talk to you later." As soon as I hang up the phone, I receive an email from US Airways - the weekly e-savers. I close my eyes and say,
"If they are advertising a cheap flight to Fort Lauderdale, I am going."
So, here I am on that flight to Fort Lauderdale. It's Saturday. One week since I met Ben. I am exhausted - pulled an all nighter at the office; no sleep; jeans still wet from last minute laundry. Ranger (my Beagle) is at the sitter's. My carry on luggage is crammed in the overhead compartment, full of sh*t I probably won't need. I am listening to my music and drinking a vodka cocktail. (The stewardess, I mean flight attendant, seemed amused that I ordered two bottles of vodka at 7 o'clock in the morning. I resisted the urge to explain, "I've had a very long night!")
The flight is beautiful. We trace the eastern seaboard in the early light. I crane my neck to take it all in. It is so clear and crisp outside. I can't wait to get there but I am enjoying the ride.
I have told the girls where I am going and who I am going to see. They have all the details. I am sure they think I am insane.
"Holy crap!" Adria replied when I told her. "I thought you were joking! You're really going there this weekend? But you only just meet him like 4 days ago!"
Yeah well. You know me.
The plane is in final descent. I catch my first glimpse of Fort Lauderdale's beaches. Wow! I never knew. Beautiful. And now, my neighbor wants to talk. Perhaps she is nervous about landing? I indulge her. Chit chat. She is anxious to land, she says. You and me both, girl!
And we're down.
I go to the bathroom and check my hair and make up. Not too bad for a woman existing on caffeine, vodka, and the promise of love. I might be glowing.
I call him.
"Hello?" his husky voice soothes me.
"Ben? It's Jo." As if he didn't know. "I'm here."