Finally, Finally, Finally

About a million years ago, when I was dating Keith, I wanted nothing more than to get him up to Canada, to the places where my family and I have been going for years and years and years. I told Keith these spots--Port Dover and Long Point, both in nestled on the Ontario side of Lake Erie--were stunning, relaxing, fun. I told him there was good food, plenty of beer, and all the ice cream a person could crave. I said, "Let's go. Seriously, let's just go." But he would never go. No matter what, he always found a way to stay home while the rest of us packed up and took off for the bay.

This always made me sad. We argued about it, and I cried over it. He told me he had no real interest in going. He said there was nothing there that caught his interest. I tried to tell him just how wrong he was--how there's something in those places that catches everyone's interest--but he just shook his head and continued to tell me no way, no how. All I wanted to do was share that place with him, but he was having none of it.

Years later, when Keith had moved on to his relationship with the very sour, very bitchy Big Head, he started going up to Long Point because--surprise, surprise!--his stepmother had property up there and finally talked him into going. And--again, surprise, surprise!--he loved it. He couldn't say enough about it. He loved the little cottage on the beach. He loved the beach. He loved drinking on the beach. He looked forward to long weekends up on the curve of the lake, and when he told me this, I could've reached through the phone and strangled him with my bare hands.

Still, there's no reason for me to be bitter about that anymore. After all, I've now successfully sweet-talked a boy into going, even if we could only make it a day trip. A few days ago, the Boy From Work and I packed a beach bag and headed off to eat hot dogs at the Arbor, buttery perch at Knechtel's; to dash into the ice cold water of Lake Erie, to scuff through the groomed sand at Port Dover. We wandered and relaxed. We watched windsurfers throw their kites into the air and cut across the waves out into deep water. We read. We sampled Ontario-grown peanuts. We bought a stockpile of Crush Cream Soda, so I'll have a little Canadian flavor to take back to Maine. We watched boats come in and out. We watched old men fishing off the Port Dover pier. We watched fog hang low over the point.

It was the best day, and I'm glad the BFW was the boy I finally got up there. I'm glad it was him snuggled up next to me on the beach. I'm glad it was him holding my hand as we stood underneath the lighthouse and looked out into the dusk and all its pinks and oranges reflecting in the water below. It couldn't have been any more perfect.