You don't know me

A song is a funny thing, isn’t it? I ponder thoughtfully as that old song comes crackling through my radio. As the words wash over me, I stiffen. This is a song I almost hate, but not enough to change the channel. I’ve never heard it on the radio before, and it’s been years since I’ve heard it at all.  

 

You give your hand to me

And then you say hello

And I can hardly speak

My heart is beating so

And anyone could tell

You think you know me well

Well, you don’t know me.....

 

Unexpectedly, my eyes fill with tears as Michael Buble’s dark chocolate voice croons the age old cry of unrequited love. I can’t believe I’m crying over a song, over something that happened so long ago. How could it still hold a sting for me? I know I shouldn’t, even at a red light, but I close my eyes for just one instant. And just like that I flash back to fifteen and watching as he walked across the dance floor, coming my way at last. I’d been waiting so long, waiting for him to notice me at all. That night. And that song. I remember those three blissful hours of magical denial when I still had hope. Hope that I thought had died out years ago. But obviously I was wrong.

Because here I am, blubbering away in my car as the rain beats down on my windshield. I’m heading home for the first time in three years. Home for Thanksgiving to my sister’s house. Her family will be there. And her husband’s family will be there. And he’ll be there. So many years, but I know that the hope still flames up inside me some days like today. Hope that maybe, just maybe, this will be the year.