The story of how Andrew and I became friends and bed mates is a long one. I was fourteen when I met this odd, smart and handsome guy from Arkansas online. He was seventeen. By the time I was nineteen, we were good friends, with good chemistry, conversation, and music in common. I finally went off to visit him, driving through the Ozarks one freezing night in December with nothing but a pack of Royals and my iPod to keep me company. And we've been together ever since that thrilling weekend of movie marathons, homemade eggnog, and a gallon of rum.
We remained long distance until I turned 21, and together we went through the emotional loops of being in love without being able to afford seeing each other more than every few months. And then I moved to Arkansas to be with him. I lived there, with him, for a bit over a year in a little cottage on a woodsy mountain. Sounds perfect, doesn't it? Well ... it was, as a whole, but the details are sticky and sometimes very ugly. But we're not getting into them tonight. This was my backyard:
Somewhere down the line, we met a mischievous, fluffy, blond cat, who adopted us by waiting for us on our porch every day. And after a year of living in the mountainous Arkansas together, Andrew, Oscar and I moved back to the flat lands and city life of Tulsa, my hometown.
Now the three of us cuddle up together every night to stay cozy in our basement apartment. Oscar has learned to speak and whine constantly and is growing shaggier every day, Andrew is on his way to becoming a baker, and I am on my way to self-discovery and peace of mind. At least I hope I am.
Well that's the intro to the romance aspect of this complicated mess of a story. It's of the utmost significance, so I figured I'd get it going early on.
Until the next!
