9 years ago today, a 17-year-old Chattanooga boy looked me square in the eyes and lied to my face. One of those little lies. The white kind. “I’m going to be driving through Jackson in a couple of weeks on a trip I have to take…do you think I could stop by and see you while I’m passing through?”
That was also the moment that I admitted to myself that I might have a slight, mild, little crush on this Chattanooga boy, even though he lived 6 hours away and there’s no way that would ever work. “Sure. Just let me know when you’ll be in town.”
So Nate then scrambled to find a reason to be “passing through Jackson” sometime in the next couple of weeks. He worked out something that appeared legitimate to my naive self, and we made a date to get together. He drove down on March 22, just “passing through” on his way to the coast. His one day stop-over turned into a week and a half. By the end of it, we were hooked.
I didn’t know until a couple of years ago that the entire trip to the coast was a sham. Of course I acted shocked and appalled that the basis of our entire relationship was founded on a lie. Then I threw my arms around his neck and thanked him for having the guts to figure out a way to come see me, even if he was too chicken to just straight up ask.
So thanks for lying to me 9 years ago, Nate. You’re not allowed to ever do it again, so I’m glad you made that one count. And I think I just might still kind of have a slight, mild, little crush on you, even if you are a big fat liar.