The Guy in the Parking Lot
Emerald green eyes with lashes to die for. That’s all I noticed when I first laid my own baby blues on the guy in the parking lot of my apartment complex. His eyes sparkled with an inner joy I had not seen since the last time I saw a picture of Santa Claus.
I finished loading my mountain bike into the back of my truck and politely said hello.
After that he began appearing whenever I was outside. I told my daughter about this new “guy in the parking lot.” I wondered if he was interested in me, but I was not interested in anyone, gorgeous eyes not withstanding. I had sworn off men in general, and especially those that lived in my apartment complex. “The Weatherman” had made me realize that dating men that knew when I was coming and going was a bad idea.
But the guy in the parking lot didn’t give up. Even after I explained why I would not date him, he continued to seek me out. He brought us homemade cookies at Christmas. While he and his daughter were vacationing in Hawaii, he went into a store and bought me a bumper sticker about windsurfing for the bumper of my truck. I was so surprised. That evening I said to my daughter, “The guy in the parking lot thought about me when he was in Hawaii! Do you believe that?” Still, I wasn’t interested.
As the months went by, the guy in the parking lot began to tell me little bits and pieces about his life. His birth mother was a movie star and a model. She had given birth to him at seventeen and gave him up for adoption. Soon after his birth, her face graced the cover of a dozen magazines. He had traveled the world and was an artist with a camera. He loved books. We loved a lot of the same type of music. Both of us were raised in Los Angeles. We wondered if we had ever crossed paths and not known it. Interesting…but still, I was not interested. He didn’t make me anxious. I wasn’t sitting around on a Saturday with nothing to do, waiting for him to call me. I didn’t feel the urge to stop my life for him. Yawn.
We eventually began dating, and on one of the Saturday afternoons I wasn’t home waiting for him to call, I found myself perusing the self-help shelf at the local library. I noticed the title of a book by Robin Norwood, “Women Who Love Too Much.” I pulled it off the shelf and turned it over to read the back. Huh! Maybe this is why I get so heartbroken over guys who don’t deserve so much as a backward glance. I took it up to the check-out counter.
I devoured that book. It was like reading a biography about myself. I mentioned in my last post that I felt as if Norwood had set a private detective after me, documenting my escapades for her book on women like me…giving their hearts away hither and yon, or more like helter skelter. I read the last page, got up and looked in the mirror, studying myself, trying to remain upright while my brain turned upside down. I blushed. Profusely. Yep…I was that woman. Now what?
I guessed I was going to have to do some serious soul-searching about the man in the parking lot. Was I really willing to throw away a relationship that was built on trust, security, shared interests, and peace? Did I really want one that was more familiar to what I was used to? You know, emotional chaos. What were my chances of ever meeting a guy like the man in the parking lot who wasn’t already taken by someone who was much smarter than me? Could I actually commit my life to him? It was a lot to think over. It took about a half hour. I dialed the phone.
“Tom? This is Linda. Are you still interested in wanting to marry me? Because if you are, I am. Until death do us part.”
It’s been almost twenty years. Once in awhile, Tom looks at me across the room, his gorgeous green eyes sparkling with laughter. “I’m the guy in the parking lot!” he jokes.
“I know!” I answer. And I look across the room back at him, and I feel so very, very blessed.