Editorial Inspirations

In my last year of college, a friend of mine showed interest in me as more than a friend. As coworkers, we and a bunch of other friends had hung out after work, but this friend and I began hanging out after work without the others.

Other coworkers had showed interest in me as well, but I was easily able to determine that they were not my type for anything more than friendship. However, I was still unsure of this particular friend and his potential standing as more than a friend.

One particular night after work, we hopped into his car and rode back and forth on the main road in the town. My first question, “So, do you believe in God?” turned out to not be the deal breaker of his potential status. Instead, we discussed hopes, dreams, numbers of children we wanted to have, and goals in life.

By the time we parted, it was nearly time for my 8:00 am class, I had come no closer to rejecting him as a potential boyfriend, and we hung out the following night.

In the middle of the night, I occasionally awake to feel my husband’s hand reaching underneath my pajamas and caressing my body. He does this half asleep and sometimes does not even know he is massaging my breasts or butt. If he persists in touching my body, I roll toward him and we begin kissing. Small pecks quickly turn into deep, passionate, long kisses.

Without any words, he takes off my shirt. He sticks his foot in the elastic of my pants and drags them down and off my legs. Then he presses my naked body against his. In the hazy, dream-like world, we make love.

When we are satisfied, I roll away from him. His arm under my body, wrapping me tightly. I lie on his biceps, my pillow. I cuddle his arm and return to sleep.

No words are ever spoken, but it is the most intimate sensation…our dreaming of one another to awake and fulfill each other’s desires, then to return to our slumber knowing that it is more than just a dream.

I bought a condo when I was dating Ben. When we married, I moved in it with him. My home was now his; my bedroom was now his.

My bedroom that was now his was occupied with all of Ben’s furniture. Though he had been with other people before me, I don’t think the furniture was … but the furniture still made me think about his past because the furniture was not ours.

After almost five years of marriage, we purchased a home together … our home. In it is our bedroom, and in that is our furniture.

In this new segment of our life, everything will now be ours … well at least everything in the bedroom.

I have always had a strong drive in life—a drive to accomplish many things in a short amount of time. I always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I never seem to reach that light. Some other obstacle constantly crosses my road as soon as I come close to the light.

With the constant struggle of attaining my goals, I sometimes have the urge to quit. Yes, life would be much easier, I would have more free time, and there would be less headaches. However, this temptation to give up never lasts long. I know that I could not live that way. I need the challenges, the deadlines, the stress, and the rush to accomplish everything that I want to get out of this life. There is so much I want to do, to be a part of. There is not enough time.

When I get depressed about a task I have not succeeded in, my husband always comforts me by comparing us to other people our age. We have so much more than they do—and I do not say it to brag—because we have worked very hard to get where we are.

Both my husband and I came from low-class families. Yet, we pulled ourselves out, received an education, including graduate degrees, and own several properties, while still being in our twenties.

We may not be living the most luxurious life, but we are living the American dream. We have brought ourselves up from impoverished families and have made our lives better—ones that we can be proud of. We pursue our dreams with all our hearts, but are still able to stop and jointly smell a single rose.

When visiting my great-grandmother while growing up, the children often went outside to play. We played games around the house, but we also sat on the porch and swung on the swing. Though I only saw these cousins when visiting this house, some of us grew close and anticipated visiting our great-grandmother at the same time.

Upon her death, my cousin Cody and I sat next to one another at the funeral service. “You know,” I whispered to him, “we will probably never see each other again.”

He nodded his head.

We returned to the house for the reception, swinging on the porch swing and reminiscing of when we played on this porch.

With no one to live in the house, it was sold. And a few years later, Cody died in a car accident.