Virginia really is for lovers.
Life is full of tiny insignificant moments. And sometimes they are just that, small moments of chance that for a moment take our breath away. A glance and a smile from a stranger, a short, but meaningful conversation with someone you just met at the dog park- we carry on and hold these moments for a while and then continue. I reflect back on so many insignificant moments I’ve had throughout my life. Many, although short-lived, leave me wondering what if. What if I lingered just a moment longer? What if, he came back to say more after he left me alone to eat my food that just arrived? Our eyes lock and we can’t look away. The rest of the room goes silent, and we both take one step a little closer. The waitress comes and suddenly we are just two strangers in a pub with no reason to stay. He says he’ll let me eat and goes back to his mates that he beelined away from, a moment ago, just to say hi. I watch without objection as he looks away and heads outside. But what was just a look, a small moment of escape, suddenly consumes me with wanting more. Does he want more too? Did I misread his eyes when the sparkle was too much? Will he come back? What if he does? What if he doesn’t? Will this fleeting moment be forgotten by the time I’m done eating? Or will it burn in my body for the rest of my life as I wonder what if?
He must feel what I felt. Nothing happens by chance. He will come back. I pretend he does. I pretend that he runs straight towards me and says I need to know more. I can hardly eat. I sit, suddenly lonely at a table that is meant for two. I pretend I’m OK. I pretend this insignificant exchange didn’t just throw me for a loop. Then, my fantasy is interrupted when he walks back in the door. No eye contact this time. He must be headed for the bathroom. His back is to me, but he can’t come back through without walking by my corner table. Did he actually have to come back inside, or did he make an excuse to finish what we started? I see the door open, and our eyes lock once more. He doesn’t go outside; he follows my eyes right up to the edge of the table. His English accent asks if I have an Instagram. I’m not surprised, because he did feel it too. He told me later he didn’t have to use the loo. I open my phone and we exchange information. He hadn’t even told me his name and now suddenly we are no longer strangers who shared one special moment that we both can’t bear to let go of. We want to know more. I want to know more Henry*. He wants to know more Carly. He returns to his table and immediately my phone pings and we are making plans to see each other tomorrow.
It was Thanksgiving Day and the buzzing Virginia Beach boardwalk was now a sleepy town. The few people I did pass, as my dogs and I walked for miles along the crashing waves, were families spending time together before they went back to their homes to make the only 10-course meal they would be cooking for the year. I FaceTime my family. We are miles apart for the first time on a holiday that should be anything but lonely. I haven’t eaten much, nowhere is open. On any other Thursday I would have more options than I could count. Now I’m getting voicemail after voicemail as I go down the line of restaurants in the area listed as open on my phone. I finally reach a person. Cracker Barrel is open. I hate Cracker Barrel. But it’s an American tradition. Everyone should try their microwaved “Southern cooking” at least one time in their lives. I accept my fate and walk back to my car. The boys and I will be sitting on a cold patio surrounded by tacky old-timey decor. I look up just before turning into the parking garage and notice two women holding drinks on a patio just across the street. The Irish bar has its open sign on, and I wonder if they serve food. They do. They say bring your dogs. I circle the block and park in an empty Taco Bell parking lot. When we walk in, a woman smiles at me and shows me a table inside. I thought we had to sit outside. We don’t, but it’s too noisy so we do. Then I realize no amount of heat coming from the fire on my patio table could warm up my chilled body. I change my mind and we settle inside at a high top with a view of the football game playing above the bar. She brings me a water bowl. The menu has a special Thanksgiving Dinner just for tonight. I scan the room and it’s full of everyone but families. The men are oddly good-looking. They must be filming a movie. No one looks like this. I’m excited. I get to have my turkey dinner and maybe I’ll also get the chance to flirt for a minute. In the movies dogs are a shoo-in for the beginning of a meet cute. It works, I attract every person in the bar. The boys are the center of attention and I’m along for the ride. I admire the eye candy that surrounds me but have no intention of initiating anything. But then, just when I thought the room couldn’t get any more attractive, a large group of men walk in the door. They walk up to the bar five feet from me and my dogs interrupt and beg for pets. Most of them are ordering beers, but I look up from all the hands petting my smiling boys and lock eyes with one of them who is now standing across from me. I can’t tell you what we talked about other than I’m suddenly in a trance and we are sharing how we came to be in Virginia Beach. His British accent is almost too thick to understand. I ask him where he is from. I couldn’t tell. Somewhere in the UK, but so foreign I couldn’t decipher which country.
He's in the Royal Navy, here on a mission, working with the Americans. He’s been here for months but is leaving for good on Wednesday. I’m supposed to leave on Saturday, but I tell him I’m here for a few days, maybe more. His eyes light up. I didn’t think they could get brighter. He isn’t ordering a beer. His mates are lining the bar, and he doesn’t flinch. He’s looking right at me. I’m eventually heading to Florida. He was just in Florida. Why couldn’t his deployment have just started? He had this look of sadness when he’d told me he was leaving soon, maybe that’s why I told him my plans were indefinite. I was suddenly sad too. It’s immediately apparent that we should try to make the most of these few days we have left. But we don’t say it. He’s just a guy in a bar grabbing drinks with his friends, and I’m just a girl sitting with my boys grateful to have found a home-cooked meal.
He leaves, he comes back, we start making plans and now it’s midnight and the thread of messages on my screen is too long to count. I would stay up all night for you. I hardly know you but I’m in too deep. I fall asleep with my phone in my hand and dream about what tomorrow will look like.
Recently I’ve had a series of vivid dreams. They’ve been happening for months. I wake up and remember the most specific moments of them and write every detail down. They feel connected. Each morning I’m left with another chapter in what feels like a bigger story than I can understand right now. Suzanne has been along for the ride. I tell them to her every time, and she says it’s not crazy. I’m unpacking so much. The 70-page document I wrote round-the-clock over three weeks' time is working itself out in my sleepy subconscious. A recent one was a dream within a dream. I wake up at the start of it having been shown by the Universe who my soulmate is and told he will be walking straight towards me as soon as I open my eyes. I look off in the distance and a man appears. He’s the one from my dream. I’m not surprised. My life has been a series of magical moments that can’t be explained. I talk to him, and it feels so natural. He tells me he wants to show me something and I don’t ask questions I just follow him up the hill to the nearby building. I walk inside and he starts talking with his friends. I get nervous and panic that this is a trap. I run out of the building as far away as I can. For the rest of the dream, I wonder what if. Did I make the wrong choice? Did I not trust that the Universe knows what it’s doing? Then I woke up.
Suzanne and I pull cards during those dream-filled enlightening weeks. She sees the Knight of Swords and he’s running towards the Empress. I’ve consistently had spreads that align with my travels, my writing, and my plans for the future. But now, the only thing we can see are lovers and knights that are rushing towards me. It feels foreign. I haven’t thought about love and companionship for most of this trip. Now she’s telling me that someone is moving mountains to get to me. It’s not an if, but a when. What do I do with this information? I pack it deep inside my brain and I continue my trip. She says to be open to receive. I tell my therapist and she says I should stay just a little longer when I want to leave. Up to this point, I’ve been making my way from one place to the next and leaving those moments without allowing them to linger.
I think nothing of it, but I begin to receive. First, it’s a guy running by me one night in Baltimore while the boys and I stretch our legs and watch the sun setting from the port. He passes me twice and I hope there’s a third. I see him again and I tell him I swear we aren’t following him. We both laugh and I walk by. But then I remember what she said, and I slow down, just enough to keep him in my peripheral in case we have more to say. I turn a corner and he’s gone. I’m proud of myself. I stayed. I received. I know there will be so many more moments like these now that I know what they are.
Now I’m in an Irish pub and it’s so easy to stay.
I meet Henry at the beach the next morning. I hadn’t showered and looked like I just rolled out of bed. I panic and tell him I’ll be there soon. He says take your time and asks if I want Starbucks. It’s cold and windy, but I say yes- an iced matcha please. He sits in the cold holding my icy beverage while I fail to manage my time. I’m late. I’m always late. He doesn’t mind. I’m sure he will think I’m never going to come. Or maybe he’ll get annoyed and leave. He doesn’t. I finally arrive, only an hour late. I park and walk to the giant statue of Neptune towering higher than some of the buildings nearby. I don’t see him, so I wander for a bit. For a second I think I might not remember what he looks like, but then I look up and see his eyes. His eyes. I’m surely done for. He's smiling bigger than I thought was humanly possible and we keep focus as the rest of the crowd parts for us like they don’t even exist.
My drink is still cold because of the crisp air. It was so sunny and warm the day prior and I try to will it back. I’m freezing and stupidly forgot my coat. I don’t really care though; all I want to do is be here in this moment. I would go anywhere with you. He would later say, when I was scrambling to clean my camper, because he wanted to have a look into my world, that he would sit anywhere and everywhere with me. Our 102 hours together were a non-stop slew of romantic one-liners you only hear in the movies and heartbreaking music, and we both fell in way too deep.
He said I was moreish, and I said ditto. I played him “Lost in Japan” by Shawn Mendes. He would be in Japan in 2025, maybe I would be too, but for now, let’s get lost tonight. We do. The whole world has stopped, and I don’t even care.
The first night we met I told him I was a writer. He fixes fighter jets. He wants to read my blog, so without hesitation, I send him the link. I figured what the hell, you only live once, and if this is as real as it felt for that short time in the pub, I knew he’d want to know me. All of me. I wanted him to know me. I didn’t care if he read every single post and knew every nook and cranny of my formerly broken and now whole self. I left it open to chance, and he couldn’t stop reading.
I guess that’s a good way to weed out who your people are. Send them my life story and see if they still want to stick around. He did. It made him want me more.
As we walked along the beach I began to shiver. I would have developed hypothermia if it meant being right here with him. He gave me his coat. He would rather freeze than have me cold. I was wearing long sleeves, but he insisted. He would wear a T-shirt in the cold if it meant he could be here with me.
I was starving so we went back to the Irish pub. This time we sat outside because the fire was warm, or maybe we were warm from the heat radiating between us. I ordered fish and chips because, how English. I still couldn’t understand half of what came out of his mouth, but he would smile and lock eyes with me, and no amount of whats, lost in translation, would deter him from still telling me how he felt. He said he loved my voice. It was alarming that he did. It’s widely thought by many of the British sailors that American accents are the worst. We are loud and obnoxious, just like much of our country, but he said he could listen to me all day. He said I spoke better English than him and I guess that meant he would start taking lessons in order to speak in a proper way I could understand.
As the days flew by, I would ask what less and less. His voice became my drug and I lingered on every word he would say.
It started to get dark, and I didn’t want to go. Maybe we should go back to the beach. We walk the dogs along the shore. He took one of them and, for a moment, we almost looked like a family. How surreal was this exchange? What was happening to me? But I wasn’t alone. I never felt like it was too much. That I was too much. He touched my back, I wanted more. Then he grabbed my hand and I never wanted to let go. We stopped and watched the Christmas lights that now lit up the boardwalk. I turned and faced him and he put his hands around me. I looked at him, wanting so badly to kiss him, but instead, I put my chin on his shoulder, cheek to cheek, looking out at the waves. I better not hold this too long. It wasn’t too much, but I was too scared of how I was feeling. We walked back to the car while racking our brains for places we could go so our night wouldn’t end.
We drove around and he played me “Mr. Forgettable” by David Kushner. Was it just the chemicals? I think not. This was anything but forgettable. We drove by an old brick building lit up in the night sky. It stood alone on the street, begging for us to come inside.
I drove into the parking lot and realized it was a hotel. I said fuck it and drove up to the valet. “We are thinking of staying here, can we look around?” I ask, pretending, but also wishing he would say we shouldn’t just pretend.
We left the boys in the car for a bit and wandered in. The place was stunning. Everywhere we looked was lined with Christmas décor, but not in a tacky way like so many Vegas hotels. I felt like I was stepping into a dream. We learned that Al Capone had stayed there and that they fully embraced their rebellious past. I wanted to rebel with him. We walked upstairs and snuck into the pool only meant for guests. It looked like a palace. The top level was a balcony with ornate white chairs and tables that lined the edge. Every seat was taken, but I didn’t want to sit there anyway. The air was warm and muggy, a foreshadowing of what was soon to come when we tangled ourselves in sheets later that night.
We sat in the mostly empty lower-level pool area. We laid on day beds that were fancier than anything I could afford. The bold black and white stripes held their own against the otherwise grandiose aesthetic. There’s no way we were in Virginia. And maybe we weren’t. We had left on a jet plane and hopefully would never return.
I wanted to be closer. The two inches his chair sat from me was too far. I wanted his body to touch mine. I pushed mine closer, but it still wasn’t enough. I looked over in the corner and noticed a double day bed tucked away in a private room but still with a view of the pool. I grabbed his hand and said we are moving. The second we stepped into the room he grabbed me and kissed me. I didn’t think I could lose any more breath, but here I was without air except for the heat we began to exchange from our mouths.
I couldn’t tell which legs were mine as we wrapped up in each other. Good thing the curtains wouldn’t close, or we’d surely be going to jail tonight. I still tried to close them. We kissed and then stopped and locked eyes, no words, just glued to each other mirroring our bodies on the pool furniture. We kissed again and again and again. Time passed way too fast just like the rest of our short time would. We went back to the car and made plans for accommodations so the dogs and we would never have to say good night.
Lars was antsy. This was one of the first nights we’d not been in the camper since we started the trip. I knew he needed his toy. I was also hungry again. My appetite would later cease to exist when hours turned into days but felt like only minutes that I would hold onto forever.
We decided to take a walk and find something to eat. He read my mind and suggested Taco Bell. I would show him the American way. Taco Bell is disgusting, but we all still love it dearly. There is bad food that is so bad anyone in their right mind would never even dream of eating it, and then there’s Taco Bell. Diarrhea in a box, but who cares, it’s so bad it’s good. And they know it too. Taco Bell has no ego, they know what they are, and I appreciate it. Who doesn’t love Taco Bell? I know no one. Henry would soon be a member of our cult after his first bite. I would destroy my body for Taco Bell. He would destroy mine later.
We ordered one of all the good things. I told him he was not doing it the American way if he didn’t lather it in hot sauce before each bite. One taste and he was hooked. I had that effect on him too. Our meal was gross, but we loved every minute of it as one does when eating Taco Bell. I’m not sure how the FDA keeps them in business, but I’m here for it.
While we were out, we also wandered through a nearby grocery store. He told me Americans have that one figured out. I walk by perfectly placed apples without noticing, but for a Brit, it’s alarming because they look so tidy. Apparently we aren’t entirely a mess of a country.
I wanted to make sure Larsy was comfortable since we weren’t staying in the camper he’d grown so fond of. We saw a section of Christmas décor tucked away in the corner and immediately spotted plush stuffed animals. He picked out a teddy adorned with a knit red Santa cap and matching scarf. So many Christmas toys are tacky, but this one was anything but that. The subtle white pattern against the red blended well with the bear’s golden coat. If Larsy was a teddy he would be this. He paid for it, and we walked back to the hotel. Lars sat snuggled with his new prized possession for the rest of the right. I can’t say the same for us.
Our bodies tangled on top and then under the sheets. Our eyes stayed locked. I’ve never felt so magnetized. I couldn’t look away from his intense blue eyes. He kept his gaze too. When our mouths weren’t touching, our eyes practically were. I could have stayed in that moment forever. Time didn’t exist when he was in the room. I felt unable to catch my breath but never wanted to breathe anyway. When he touched me my whole body shook. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I wasn’t about to fight it. He mirrored my emotions and I never felt scared. Our chemistry was scary, but I didn’t look away, I stayed and felt it all.
Minutes turned into hours and suddenly it’s almost morning and we better get some sleep. I wasn’t tired, I felt awake for the first time in my entire life. How could someone I’d met the day before have such an effect on me? He was in it as much as I was. Nothing ever felt too much except for all the sensations running through my body every time he turned his head towards me or spoke to me in words I was finally starting to understand. He worshipped my body as no one else ever had- I was in too deep and I didn’t mind.
I finally fell asleep and so did he, but our bodies never stopped touching. How could we? We knew our days were numbered and didn’t want to waste a second. I vaguely remember him waking up and taking the boys out. Our schedules are complete opposites, but we make it work. He wakes up at five, I’d sleep until 10 or later if I could. He goes to bed early, and I’m burning the midnight oil. I’d wake up early any day for him though, and he obviously stays up all night for me.
He told me later, when he came back in the room, that I looked so gorgeous when I sleep. I’m sure I looked like hell by my standards- no sleep, no makeup, and sex hair that would take an hour to comb- but he didn’t care, he loved the way I looked. Every part of me. I never felt self-conscious or afraid of saying the wrong thing. Our words became love letters to each other that would carry well into our time after his ship set sail.
We went to brunch at this swanky rooftop restaurant. On the top floor of a nearby beach hotel, the room was lined with windows showcasing miles of shoreline on either side of the restaurant. I told him to put on that beautiful British charm and persuade the host to give us the best table. They were all the best tables, but he didn’t charm her, he charmed me instead. He told her something to the effect of how beautiful he thought I was and asked if he could have the best table to impress me. She swooned a bit, I can imagine, and led him right to the corner table. Windows on both sides and sunbeams so bright I almost had to wear my shades. I asked him what he said and when he told me I thought he was joking. I knew he wasn’t though; everything was genuine. I felt like our story was one written by Nicholas Sparks. Normally I would laugh, or be secretly jealous, or go off into some far-off place where I only dream of a story like this happening to me, but here I was, quite literally being swept off my feet.
Our waitress was clingy. We just wanted to sit and stare into each other’s eyes, I know gross, but hey this is my big moment. We would grab hands, and he would pull one to his mouth and either bite my finger or softly kiss the top of my hand. She would interrupt and we would stay locked and laugh as we tried to listen to what she was saying. She would linger just a little too long. All we wanted was to be that messy, overly romantic couple, eating beautiful food, with incredible views, while not being able to keep our hands off each other, and we were. I get it, she’s doing her job, but read the room, we weren’t here to chat.
After brunch, we took the boys and walked along the beach again. It was colder and windier, but he put my hands in his pockets, and I felt warmer. Unlike the night before, we stopped every few yards to have yet another hot make-out session in between our conversations about how the fuck this could have happened. We met too late, but I also know that there are no coincidences, and nothing happens by chance.
We had Mount Everest ahead of us though if this was going to be anything, which it clearly was starting to be. How could two strangers, who live across the world from each other, meet by chance in an Irish pub on Thanksgiving night in a touristy beach town neither one of us were from? He wasn’t even stationed in Virginia Beach; his base was in Norfolk. He’d just happened to have taken the coach into town with a few of his mates for a night out that he’d rarely done the entire three months he’d been deployed. I found out later that his ship started in Norfolk in September, went down to Florida, and had just arrived back in Norfolk the day before we met. They spent time in DC too, so the odds of us both being there, in that town, on that night, in that pub, had been divinely orchestrated.
He had read all my secrets on the pages of my blog and felt like he needed to catch me up too. We had similar journeys with our marriages, only he was still figuring out what he was going to do. His wife had wanted to be done before he left, and he’d spent most of this trip heartbroken and alone. He has two small boys so he desperately wanted it to work, and could do nothing but count the days until he returned home. But when I met him, I didn’t see any of that. I saw an emotionally available, happy man, who lit up the room every time he walked in it. How could this be the same person? He said I had switched something in him. He felt hopeful for the first time. What had been the worst deployment of his career, had now become the best time in his life because of four consecutive days with me. He wasn’t ready to leave. He didn’t know what was waiting for him when he returned, and all he could think about was lingering just a little bit longer with me.
I’ve wanted to be a mom my whole life. My sister, Katie, and I played moms with our dolls relentlessly growing up. It was all I ever dreamed of, well that and being a movie star. When Tom* and I tried without success, I was so angry. There was nothing physically wrong with either of us so why wasn’t it working? I had the ovaries and follicles of a 20-something woman, so why the hell wasn’t I a mom? When I left Tom, I realized that God had a bigger plan. He always does. The Universe always knows what it’s doing. I knew I would be a mom and I knew I would birth a child someday. I still know this. I’ve also never wanted to be anyone’s second mother, not that there is anything wrong with that. Ray took us in and raised us as his own, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but I wanted to start a family with the love of my life and build a life together from the ground up.
But just like in the pub when I said I was here for a few more days without even knowing why I didn’t say the truth, when he told me he had children, I didn’t even flinch. Not because it was a lie that I didn’t mind, it wasn’t even something that needed to change in my mind. I remember watching and waiting for my head to go, “ok can we deal with this?” but that thought never came. Never. In fact, when he showed me a picture of them on our walk that first day, my first thought was, “I could love these boys.” I surprised myself. All of these feelings were so foreign I was alarming myself. I, of course, didn’t say any of this to him because I didn’t want to seem crazy, plus the thoughts were so subtle I hardly noticed they were passing through my head until I reflected on them in retrospect.
Maybe I had changed long before this. I had dated quite a bit before leaving Montana, but kids had never come into the equation. Nannying, though, deeply changed me. I loved those kids fiercely like they were my own. Maybe it was loving so much without any reservation and any expectation that gave me the ability to connect with my kids. I just showed up and did my best to see them and validate them. I looked forward to our time together and quickly felt like family with both of theirs. At first, there were two families. The little girl I watched in the morning became the light of my life. I was devastated when she got into daycare which meant we wouldn’t get to spend as much time together anymore. I loved our walks searching for rocks and our very busy days at the library. The other three kids I spent time with were older. I picked them up from school most days and we would hang out for a few hours while their parents finished work. I started with them at the beginning of their school year and finished the last week of school. I remember meeting with the kids and parents to say bye and I started to cry. I hadn’t realized how much I had grown to love another family as my own, but here we were ugly tears and big hugs.
With Henry, it wasn’t even an afterthought. I knew I loved him almost from the beginning and I knew I could love his kids too. Who knows maybe in our dream world we would have a child of our own. He would later tell me he would in a heartbeat.
After our incredible day, night, and morning together, he had to leave. His mates were all going to a hockey game. All several hundred of them. A couple of them had birthdays happening so he would go out for a beer after. I prepared myself not to see him, but all I could think about was having him in my bed again and staring at those eyes I could get lost in for the rest of time. He didn’t want to leave, but he did, he had to.
For the entirety of our time away from each other we were messaging notes of love and songs that reminded us of each other. I was in way over my head and so was he. What were we even doing? We didn’t care, we wanted to lose control.
I started to clean my camper because he quickly realized he was most definitely not hanging out with his friends after the game. I power cleaned and nervously got my cluttery mess out of the way. I guess he’d read my blog, so even if my camper was a disaster, he’d probably still roll around in it with me. He did.
I drove the 30-minute drive from my campsite to pick him up. I would have driven hours to see him, any amount of time was worth it. I remember thinking was the first day/night just a fluke? Would I still feel the same way? Then I saw him on the curb and my whole world got blurry except for those eyes. They were blinding and I suddenly couldn’t breathe. He had done a number on me, and I obviously on him because he could barely close the door before grabbing me to kiss me. Every stoplight I prayed would turn red. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. The road couldn’t even stop our mouths from finding each other. When the lights would turn green, I’d hardly notice because everything that surrounded me was hazy and only we were in color.
The boys howled when they saw him. They had missed him too. As if I wasn’t already swooning enough, now he had me dogs, as he would say it, and that was overwhelming. I tried to give him a tour but that didn’t last long before we were exfoliating ourselves with my sandy sheets. Just when I thought it couldn’t get better it did. It was easy and natural and felt like home, like we’d always been here, with each other, and no one else. Sleep was for the dead, and we let the dead have it. We later realized my windows were open and laughed because we most definitely woke a few people up. If not with the noise, then with the shaking of the camper. But we would do it again, windows open or not, it didn’t matter. I don’t care who knows, I will get lost in you over and over again under any and every circumstance. He said ditto.
The next few days were a blur. We tried not to think about the hours that were closing in on us. What would happen next? On one of our final nights, we wandered the pier and streets of Norfolk admiring the over-the-top Christmas lights that lined the giant ship and every nearby street, but mostly admiring each other. Why were we walking? It was probably for the best; at some point, we were going to have to address the elephant in the room. We both knew how we felt, and we both knew how the other felt, but we hadn’t spoken of anything outside of how we were getting lost in Virginia Beach. If he didn’t have children, he’d be on a plane as soon as he got back looking for jobs in the US. But what was waiting for him when he got back? There were so many unknowns. What we both did know was that these were the best four days we’d ever had in our lives and there was no doubt in either of our minds. What we also knew was that we would never settle for anything less than this. If home was a maybe, he was choosing me. That was scary. But was it? I would take my boys and hop on a plane or a boat in a second if that’s what he wanted. He did, but the road was a long and bumpy one ahead and the future was anything but definite. We still had Mount Everest ahead of us and we would take it one day at a time. Maybe it wouldn’t be us. Maybe it would. Either way, we have Virginia Beach, and nothing will ever take that away.
The night before I left, he took the coach into town, and I picked him up. We were only planning on spending a few hours together, but soon it was nearing midnight, and the last bus would be leaving soon. Where had all the hours gone? We had spent most of the night silent, just holding each other, eyes glued together feeling everything we could. He told me he was falling in love. I was more than falling, I had launched myself off a cliff and was tumbling down into his arms. He was too, but it was scary, and even saying it was starting meant that we must be crazy. But love is crazy, and it doesn’t make any sense. No amount of logic and reason can ever make any of it any clearer. We weren’t crazy, we were marked, for each other, in a way most people only dream of. It wasn’t lust. I mean yes it was hot and we were always bothered, but we saw through each other entirely and we were together on the other side. He wanted to know all of me, he wanted to give me the world, he wanted to build a life with me. I said ditto. But dreams are sometimes just dreams, or maybe they are far-off visions that are seen so clearly but require the biggest summit of our lives before they can be obtained.
He told me to leave the day before him because he couldn’t bear the thought me watching his ship sail away. I didn’t want to leave, but I couldn’t take the sight of him going full steam ahead towards a future I didn’t know if I was in.
We said our goodbyes after those hours that felt like seconds with each other and wished so desperately we could relive them again. I drove away leaving what could be the love of a lifetime behind.
I made my way to my new spot in the Outer Banks and set up camp at the most beautiful place I’ve been thus far. Being here felt a little less lonely because I was just meters from the sandy beaches and pastel skies. We talked all day and all night, FaceTiming and messaging in the best way we could while he was still stateside. I set an alarm to wake up at five because I couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving without showing me his face one more time. I drifted off and never turned it on. My body must have known because it jolted up at 7 AM, wide awake, hoping he was still here.
Part of the ship was broken so he would be here for a while longer. Why couldn’t this have happened while I was still there? We both secretly hoped it would stay broke so he could jump in a car and rush towards me. We spent the day on FaceTime walking along the beach as I showed him where I was. We had sixish hours so we would make the best of them, then five, then four, then three, then soon the sailors were unloading things and he knew he needed to go shortly. His battery was about to die so I laid in bed watching his face while he watched mine as we tried not to count as the battery percentage dwindled. When it got to one, I told him I loved him, and I told him I didn’t want to do anything but just be here until it died. We sat in silence, holding our phones, holding each other, and then blackness, it was just me on the line. The tears poured out of me and all I could taste was salt. Even salt reminded me of him. There was almost nothing that wouldn’t. Every song, every beach, every boat- it was all him. I remember the next day I was brushing my teeth and I looked down and saw the red toothbrush he’d bought to have in my camper. Now I can’t brush my teeth without seeing him. I thought for a moment that I should use it, maybe then, just for a moment, I could taste him again. He also somehow managed to make Trader Joe’s remind me of him, so now I can’t even eat my Tangy Turtles in peace. Even Taylor Swift was all about us. Taylor. Fucking. Swift.
I thought I had experienced true love before this. I loved Tom with all of my heart but knew deep down he was not my person. I thought what I felt for Chase* was love, but the second Henry walked into my life it was as if I could see it for what it was so clearly. I had cared for Chase deeply, maybe loved him, but it was so flawed and distant and unreciprocated that I was always left confused. Love should never have any questions attached to it. I never felt like I needed to hide any part of me from Henry, in fact, I never even thought about trying to do anything. It just was and was it beautiful.
The first day he left he figured out how to use the satellite phone to call America. He had only ever called the UK and had told me ahead of time if I got a call from England, I’d better answer. I did. That’s how it would go for the next few days. He would call in the morning or I’d wake up to messages of love he’d sent me in the wee hours of the day. Our talks were less than an hour, but I was grateful to hear his voice. His internet was spotty so we couldn’t FaceTime, but it wasn’t weak enough for us not to message each other anything and everything. I would send him pictures from the beach or a screenshot of the song I was listening to from the playlist he’d made me before he left. He would send me pictures of sunrises and sunsets from the inside of his tower looking over the whole ship. I loved the view of endless sea and I loved admiring the jets and helicopters below him that he made fly. He would also send me screenshots when he was listening to a song from the playlist I’d made him. If I couldn’t hear his voice I would put my Airpods in and let the music say his words for him. So did he. Our love language became song lyrics and we were both swept away.
The second night in Virginia Beach I had gone home and written several pages of what is now this post. He loved reading my writing and wanted me to read what I’d written to him. Normally I would never, but it was him and I didn’t even hesitate. As he lay next to me watching my eyes as I spoke, he said it transported him back to that Thanksgiving night as if we did in fact get a redo. When I was done, he kissed me and said in his adorable accent, “I can’t believe you just wrote that.” Not, “Why are you so obsessed with me?” Or, “Take it down.” He was honored and enamored and had my voice, as I read, in his head. Now he will always hear me saying my words every time he scans the pages.
I wasn’t afraid to share with him what I felt on paper, I began sending him updates as our story progressed. When he left, he said he would read it before bed sometimes so he could fall asleep dreaming of me and take us back to those 102 hours in Virginia Beach. Some of my days felt so lonely without him, my heart ached in a way I almost couldn’t take, but then I would get lost in our words with each other and the music he sent and his voice on the phone and my words on the pages and I, for a moment, would know it will all be OK in the end.
On one of my first days in the Outer Banks, the boys and I drove to see this old lighthouse. It’s the tallest one in the US. I stood in the giant grassy area staring up at it trying to see the top and couldn’t. I pretended I could. I pretended I could climb all the way up to look out and see what might have been a ship, his ship, that was now a few hundred miles away. The black and white stripes that twirled around the massive structure reminded me of the pool chairs where we had our first kiss or the black and white photos we would take showcasing our love in real-life images.
On my drive from the lighthouse, I passed a sign that said WWII British Sailor Cemetery. I obviously pulled over. I walked the 150 feet to the modest memorial- a small white fence perfectly square and perfectly upkept. Inside it, there were two stones. One that read, “Unknown Sailor.” I kept reading and saw that he was in the Royal Navy. This is too eerie. The Navy anchor with a knotted rope woven through it was etched above the name. Alongside the mysterious grave was another one with the name of a sailor who had been found at the same time: no Royal Navy, but a different crest. I wondered who the other nameless man could have been. Did he have a family? Did he leave the love of his life?
Then one day the boys and I drove to the ferry dock to catch a ride to Ocracoke Island. I missed the first one by 30 seconds. I watched the boat sail away just feet from the dock as I arrived. The guy working at the dock called and tried to persuade them to come back but they wouldn’t. He said to come back in an hour and a half. I was bummed, but the boys and I made the best of it and found a souvenir shop to browse around in. I knew I wanted something from the Outer Banks. Henry hadn’t been here with me, but this place was anything but without him. I wandered the rows of cheesy t-shirts and sweatshirts before stumbling on a spinner of gold necklaces. One was an anchor with the words, “Love anchors the soul” on the packaging. It had to be mine. I took a picture and sent it to Henry and of course he was giddy. I would have a piece of him on me now so I could take him anywhere.
I finally made it to the ferry and the boys and I drove on and parked our car. I sat in my seat blasting the tunes of my new favorite playlist when he called. As I talked to him, I watched as the couple in front of me got out of their car and moved into the backseat. I knew what they were doing. I wanted to switch places. I got out of my car to watch the sea while Henry was on the phone with me. I walked back by the car and saw the back of the woman’s head pressed against the window and just the top of the man’s head well below her chest. It was just a glimpse, I didn’t want to stare too long, maybe they weren’t doing what it looked like. I told Henry, and we pretended we were in the backseat of my car. My hair and face were salty. I was lost at sea, his voice in my ear was also lost at sea, and for a moment, we were lost at sea together. I wanted his head down there. I wanted his mouth to be on me. To taste me. I wanted our bodies covered in sand, tangled up in the bed of my camper like we had been just days ago. My bed was still sandy, and I didn’t want to change the sheets because he was still there even if it was just small grains of him. I wanted to smell him and taste him and have him pressed against me.
The salty air from the ferry consumed me and wrapped me in a blanket of mist. I pretended it was his body and got lost in the moment. As he spoke his beautiful British accent in my ear, I told him this would be us soon enough, no matter how long it takes.
Here I was sitting in a car, looking out at the sea, with no land in sight, and he was there with me. I was jealous of the couple in the car, but Henry reminded me of our stoplight moments. We were them.
Later, I was sitting on Ocracoke Island eating Mahi Mahi tacos with the boys when a middle-aged couple walked by me and sat down. We started talking and I asked how they met. They met in a bar. In Virginia Beach. He was in the Navy, stationed at Norfolk. She lived miles away on this island. They fell in love and made the distance work until they could finally be together. He would be gone for days, weeks, months at a time, but she stayed patient and knew their love was worth it. Or at least I imagined she did. Henry asked me if I told them my man was in the Royal Navy and I said that was the first thing that came out of my mouth. You are everywhere. The Universe continues to remind me of you over and over again, even though you haven’t left my thoughts, even for a second.
I thought about the unknown sailor from the cemetery. What if something insignificant would have happened before his untimely death? I dreamed that he had the happy ending these two lifelong lovers sitting next to me had been given.
It had only been a few days. How could it have been only a few days and I was consumed by love? What about him? How did he get lost too? This was bigger than us. No amount of time- hours, days, months, years would keep this moment from burning out. We were in it, and it wasn’t a small flame, it was burning the whole fucking house down. I would wait for you I said, he said not if but when.
Our love story is one for the books, and hopefully, it’s just begun. Just a few days ago we were in our wildest dreams only we were wide awake, and this was real love, not just from the movies. Just like our bodies, our chemistry, and our connection, my writing flowed effortlessly when I would send him a message or write more pages on my computer. It became apparent that our communication would continue to be sporadic because of his work and business at home so we unintentionally started using Easter eggs (Taylor’s Version) to confess our love to each other. An Instagram post of a building we walked by, a song lyric, black and white anything- we were in color but the colorless photos had become somewhat of an ode to our love- a view of the sea, anything mentioning Virginia Beach, the English, American, or Japanese flag- we would get lost in Japan someday. We will. Some day.
My vivid dreams stopped instantly once I met you. Maybe because the Universe was preparing my subconscious for this now real-life dream. I had woken up and my soulmate was standing right there.
I hope you let me write about you forever. I hope you never get sick of my accent. I hope your eyes continue to sparkle no matter what happens. I hope every time you think of me your body and mind get lost at sea. I hope no matter what, you have the world. And to all of that, I hope you say ditto.
*I changed my British sailor’s name, not because he wanted me to, and not because I don’t want to shout from the rooftops how happy and full of love we feel, but because right now, this is ours, and until then, we will only be getting lost together.
*I changed my ex-husband's name to keep him anonymous.
*Obviously Chase is not his real name.
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