Chapter 3: Appreciation

     I wanted to make The First Year as universal as I could, given my limited experience, so I interviewed a pair of my friends who married later in life to get their take on the whole thing.What I found was that the first year, whether you marry later in life or earlier in it, is pretty similar, either way. So, I wrote chapter three as a tribute to all those who don't find the right person until they were a little bit older. 

     Dating can suck. There are lots of people out there, and there are reasons that it didn't work out with every single failed relationship. The problem is, nobody is perfect, and even when you find the right person to share your life with, they are still going to do things that bother you. 

     My goal in this story was to show that you have to forgive the small things. You probably dated some pretty crazy people before you settled down, so you have to remember how lucky you are to be with your soul mate, despite their annoying habits, because it could be (and probably was) so much worse! 

   

Chapter Three: 

Appreciation

Donald was sixteen. It was the early 70’s. Her name was Susan.

      Donald picked up the phone. He was going to do it. He was going to call Susan Sanderson. His heart beat into his ribs as he glanced around the kitchen. His mom was at the supermarket, and his dad wouldn’t be home from work for another thirty minutes. He had to do it while he was still home alone.

He dialed carefully, so that he wouldn’t call the wrong number. -6, -0, -5, -7 . . . He put the phone up to his ear.

     It was ringing.

     “Hello?”

     “Is Susan home?”

     “Just one moment.”

     He ran his hands through his black hair and reached for the glass of water he had placed on the counter beside him. This time, he was prepared. He wasn’t going to call, freeze up, and be rendered speechless because his throat had dried up. Not this time. Susan Sanderson had passed him a note in fourth period, and he wasn’t going to screw it up. He was going to ask her on a date.

     “Hello?”

     “Oh, um, hi. Is this Susan?”

     “Yes, this is she.”

     “Susan, hi. This is Donald.”

     “Donald? Donald who?”

     His hand started shaking. “Well, Donald. Donald Hansen.”

     “Oh, that Donald. Of course. How are you?”

     If he didn’t come out and say it now, he was never going to be able to. He took a deep breath, and dove in. “I’m fine. Listen, Susan, I wondered if you wanted to go on a date with me this weekend.”

     There was silence on the other line.

     “Oh, Donald . . .” She sounded a little excited.

     Donald smiled, trying not to get ahead of himself. “I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday?”

     “Well, yes.” There was another pause. “But, you know, I already told Robert that I would go out with him Saturday morning. But we can fix it so I’m home before seven. And Paul, I forgot, I need to call Paul back and tell him I can go out with him on Friday. There are just so many boys, you know . . .”

     “Right . . .” He closed his eyes, trying to keep his hand from shaking water all over his letterman jacket.

     “Actually, now that I think about it, I’m not sure my mother would like it. I’m going to have to call you back. After I think about it. But, I’m so glad—”

     “Donald, honey, are you home?”

     Mom.

     He hung up the phone.