I'm still, even after a month and a half, getting used to being home often. I don't have school assignments anymore, but there's a shortage of things to do. At least Algebra kept me entertained...
Any connection to my friends is a treasure. I didn't realize how attached I am to my postcard until I couldn't find it. Right before we headed out the door to the movie theater for Family Home Evening, I had a sudden desire to know the location of my precious gift. Maybe I wanted it ready for me to see when I got home, maybe I wanted one last glance before I left, I don't know. I just wanted to know where it was. But after searching with no success, I climbed in the car with an unsatisfied heart.
That night I looked more for the card. Nothing. It didn't appear, and I went to bed feeling empty.
The next morning I found myself crawling on the ground. I was desperate, I needed to find that postcard. I threw pillows off of the couch and church magazines off of the table. I lay on the cold wood floor, not giving up just yet. And there it was. I thrust my hand under the couch to retrieve my prized possession, the top right corner plastered in Israeli stamps and the teenage-boy handwriting that coated the rest. "Tessa Hatchett" and my address written by him in blue ink. It was beautiful.
When I wasn't making sure my postcard wasn't lost, I was huddled up in a little pile on the couch reading. I burned through a book and finally decided to do something more interesting with myself.
No opportunities came for hours. I started daydreaming instead. I'd seen him at a concert, I'd gotten a postcard, I'd spoken to him online, but I was still wondering. What would happen when I saw him in person? Will I get my blotchy pink blush? Will I say something stupid? Will he give me a traditional high-five? Maybe he'll give me his sincere I-respect-you smile. Or maybe that smile with his eyebrows raised and a thumbs-up that just made you happy every time.
The suspense is killing me.