The first part of that Tim-coming-home story was actually written as an exercise of sorts. What I’m about to tell you now was never really written before, so forgive me if it’s a little less polished.

Mike and I drove to the airport to pick Tim up, got pulled over for speeding and got out of the ticket because Mike is military police. Tim got off the plane drunk and proceeded to make out with me for about 5 minutes before he said anything to anyone else. Mike went to get the car, Tim and I got his bag and stood outside in the snow where he said many mushy things to me about looking at the moon and it being romantic (this is how I knew how drunk he was). We went home, hijinks ensued, and we stayed at the base for a week. Came back to Saint Louis, I treated him to a hockey game, he told me I was the best girlfriend, he was so lucky, blah, then the next day he got up and said he was going over to see his parents, and no, I didn’t need to bother coming (never mind that I hadn’t seen them for 4 months either and I was the only one who wrote to him on a regular basis and effing deserved to stand next to the returning hero thank-you-very-much). He said he’d call that afternoon when he knew what was going on.

He finally grew some balls and called two weeks later so I could quit crying and break up with him. And that was the end of our relationship.