The Story of Us: The Futon

The Story of Us: The Futon

Feb 10

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Last night, Clark and I cozied up on the futon to watch Contagion. Fantastic movie, but for those of you that have seen it, doesn’t it make you want to hit the pause button immediately and go wash your hands? And for crying out loud, stop touching your face! Anyway, to lighten the mood a bit, I said, “Hey Babe, do you ever stop and think that this was futon on which we had our very first official make-out?” Then we laughed about how if we knew then how many poopie diapers we would have changed on that futon, we may have chosen an alternate location. Nevertheless, that is where it all began, but not before I tried to break up with Clark… on the futon.

We had been dating nearly three weeks. A tale-worthy first date, a near train wreck second date and on the third date, a solid gold DTR {for those of you that didn’t subject yourself to the Christian college experience and therefore did not spend the better part of your 20’s recovering from it, DTR stands for “define the relationship”.} The truth is, I had never had a guy treat me the way that Clark did. When he looked at me, he saw me. If we were in a crowd, he acted as though we were the only two people in the room. Whether it was my Starbucks order, my favorite song, or my parent’s first names, he committed everything I said to long-term memory as though there would be a pop-quiz at the end of the night. He made me feel beautiful and witty and worthy, which was an entirely new experience for me. He didn’t even try to play games, and I found his lack of mystery endearing and inviting. I also found it a bit treacherous. After all, there was bound to be a catch, a quirk, a fatal flaw somewhere in him. I half expected to see his mug shot on America’s Most Wanted or to find out that he had a wife and three kids who lived in Montana. It was too perfect, especially for someone who spent $100 a pop on the shrink’s couch waiting for the other shoe to drop. I couldn’t bear the thought, so I figured I would drop it first.

One night on the futon, I proceeded to deliver what I thought was a pretty darn convincing Dear John speech complete with all the old standby’s.

“I need to focus on my career right now.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about you.”

I think I may have even said, “It’s not you. It’s me.”

I took a deep breath before he said anything, fully anticipating him to head for the exit muttering, “See ya ’round”. I mean, if I was ever going to get rid of Clark Beasley, this was my chance. Never in a million years did I expect him to say…

“I’m Not. Going. Anywhere.”

Now, those of you that know Clark know that he is way more considerate of other people than myself. He would rather crawl in a cave and be bludgeoned to death by Cornish Pixies than impose himself on anyone. This doesn’t make him a pansy. It just makes him, well, nicer than I am. But that night on the futon, he meant business. He wasn’t going down without a fight. His “No sale” response to my compelling argument obliterated his charming Nice Guy image which completely threw me off. I thought, “Any minute now, he’s going to pull out a big wooden club and grab me by the pony tail and say, ‘Ounga Uunga’.” The man knew what he wanted and what he wanted was me and he made it quite clear right then and there that he wasn’t going anywhere…not in a psycho-stalker, Martin Burney sort of way, but in a way that made me feel like the most desired woman in the world. And I was hooked, right up until a few nights later when he told me that he loved me over the phone to which I responded…


Who says that?!?! The point is, I did not make it easy on Clark Beasley. He showed up bearing his heart on his sleeve while I kept mine under lock and key. It took a crowbar, a slim jim, and some elbow grease, but he managed to open me up to the idea that this could very well be it. From that day on, Clark Beasley and I spent every waking moment together, and most nights we fell asleep talking on the phone.  He carefully refrained from using the “L-word” until I was ready to say in back. It only took me a month. Once I did say, “I love you” {which was an accident by the way} it sent our budding romance into overdrive.

And that is where our story must conclude for today as my blasted computer battery is about to die.

Have a great weekend… and don’t forget to wash your hands!


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Salina Beasley