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| Search for Latte Love! |
Antonio and I remained friends throughout high school and communicated mostly through telephone conversations for many years following graduation. At about age 25, we lost touch with each other. Throughout these years, our relationship crossed the boundries of friendship only once. I quickly dismissed that romantic connection, because I was dating a man who I eventually married and later divorced. Antonio never married, but he had loved. One relationship gave him Michael, the apple of Antonio's eye. It was through sweet little Michael and his 3-year-old bladder that Antonio and I found each other again -- 24 years and 300 miles away from our first kiss. It was hot muggy day. I had just ordered my daily indulgence of over-priced coffee from my favorite coffee house. Antonio ran into the building, carrying Michael. Poor Michael was clutching at his crotch, tears streaming down his face, crying, "I really have to pee pee Daddy! I really, really have to go." Even though I ran to help open the bathroom door, it wasn't until after Michael's crisis had passed that Antonio and I reconnected. It was Antonio who made the recognition. As I dusted the foam on top of my latte with powdered cinnamon, Antonio placed his hand on my arm, looked into my eyes, and said without hesitation, "Susan. I can't believe my eyes! Do you live close by? You are incredibly beautiful. This is my son, Michael. Do you have time to sit with us?" Antonio could not stop talking. I did not recognize him until I heard his voice. Starring at him and smiling, I was dumbfounded. I felt my heart beating in my chest. Being with him instantaneously warmed my heart. I felt peace. We sat, talked, laughed and entertained ourselves with the sweetness of Michael's preschool charm. Belying a decade of separation, the intimacy was immediate. Our conversation was seasoned with gentle-touching gestures. Tenderly, Antonio placed his hand on top of mine. Laughing at stories of Michael's shenanigans, I touched Antonio's shoulder. I squeezed his hand and wiped tears from my eyes as he recounted Michael's birth story. Michael, reacting to his father's comfort level, eagerly played show-and-tell with the contents of his backpack and was soon climbing onto my lap to reach his hot chocolate on the table. Before we knew it, two hours had past. Antonio's phone rang. His grandparents were getting worried. I was living in Kentucky. Antonio was visiting with his elderly grandparents who made home in Paris, Kentucky, a small town northeast of Lexington. His family's hobby was horses. Each August, the entire extended family gathered in Louisville to see the World's Championship Horse Show at the Kentucky State Fair. Since Michael's birth Antonio had made a habit of assisting his grandparents with the drive (under the pretense of needing their help with the baby.) Antonio also used Michael to convince the elderly horse-lovers to buy a hotel room in Louisville. Seven days of round-trip driving from Paris to Louisville was just too much for Michael. That morning of our surprise rendezvous, Antonio had woke-up early and took Michael for a walk down Bardstown Road. We had to say our goodbyes. As we did so, we exchanged phone numbers and vowed to stay in touch. Our friendship grew. Before long we were calling each other five times each day. Within a year, I had quit my job, packed my bags, relocated 300 miles north and learned all about the American Saddlebred. Within the next year, Antonio and I exchanged marriage vows.
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I
had always loved Antonio, but it took 25 years to learn exactly how strong
that elusive emotion can be. Antonio was my first love. Although we instantly
developed a spiritual connection, at 13, we were too young, too inexperienced
to recognize its significance. Outwardly, our youthful relationship was
typical: a summer of discovering kissing and caressing, testing limits,
defying curfews and exploring emotional intimacy. Just after attending
our first official high school dance together, we "broke-up." It
seemed to be the thing to do. There was no fight, no falling-out. It
is what our friends were doing. We called it "going-out." Late
night teenage phone conversations focused on who was going-out with whom,
which couples were breaking-up, the latest "secret" crushes
and matchmaking plans for best friends. Unknowingly, within this web
of adolescent romance, Antonio and I had planted a seed for an incredibly
magical tree. 
