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  1. 8 thousand 8 hundred and thirty six days thinking about her I should have kissed her. I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. I was just about to then she looked at me nervously in the car and shyly said ‘I had better head in now. I really need a wee.” And that was why I never kissed her. 24 years of wondering: what if I had kissed her? Dec 19th 1997 The work’s Christmas meal, the Mandarin restaurant in the next town along. Same place every year and the same teasing from Sadie and Jaqueline. My fifth year in the printers. Not like your standard printers. Voice is different. It’s a voluntary organisation set up to help voluntary organisations. Confused? I guess they always were ahead of the times. Social enterprise is the modern title these days. Basically I design and print things for voluntary groups and organisations at a not for profit price. I do get paid. That was never up for debate. Sadie is lovely. Much older, big build woman, like your mum at work sort of person. She works part time and knows everyone that comes in, or at least makes out she does. Her memory isn’t quite what it used to be but she’s good at what she does and always bubbly and cheery. I think deep down we all need to work with a Sadie. I miss her even all these years later. Then there’s Jaqueline, tall, in her early twenties, friendly, peaceful and hard worker but so focussed on church stuff she’s not a threat to anyone. And she’s not my type anyway, not at all. Lovely girl, just not for me. Plus she’s got a boyfriend. So this work meal every year is a plus 1 thing and every year the teasing gets a little bit closer to my heart. Rub it in women why don’t you! Yes I’m still single at 27. I’m balding already, not overly tall and wear glasses. I’ve grown a beard and moustache to hide behind and I still live with my parents. What’s a guy like me meant to do with a plus 1 invite anyway? Unless I can bring my guitar? Now that might work. This year though they are both teasing relentlessly about this one girl. She’s becoming a regular here and what Sadie and Jaqueline don’t know is that I’m secretly infatuated with her. Not sexually, well not just that. More in a deep connection type friendship. She’s different. Probably too young for me. I really must stop thinking about her. It seems every time her image pops up in my mind or I read or see something and think about her she just somehow walks into the building. I first met her about 6 months ago. She popped in to our old building looking to photocopy something for a charity registered with us. I was so busy packing I just walked over to the photocopier and showed her how to use it but then just as she was leaving I realised that if someone else other than the contact we have for a charity comes in we need to get their details. It’s just for invoice purposes but also to check they are who they are. So I got her name and phone number off her and thought nothing more. Then we moved to the new building and she came in again. Just another customer really and I was busy. She started looking at a display of fancy paper and envelopes and then Jaqueline had to answer the phone so she waved me over to see to her. It’s wasn’t love at first sight or anything, or even infatuation for that matter. She was just a young girl in the enquire about something. I introduced myself and made light talk. She had a folder tucked under her arms and she was curious about the paper. “Is it only voluntary groups who can buy these and get things photocopied?” “Yes. Why do you ask?” “Oh don’t worry. I was just looking to make something for my gran for Christmas and really liked this paper.” “What is it you’re making? It’s not really the crafting sort of paper. You’d be better going to the art shop at the bottom cross for art paper. This is quality printing paper I’m afraid.” “It isn’t for crafting. I’m literally rubbish at that. It’s to print a poem to frame.” A poem? Now I was intrigued. “Like a famous poem?” “No. No. Just one I wrote myself.” She let me read it and that was it. Her writing had depth, wonder, beauty to it and before I knew it I had taken a piece of her chosen paper and smiled at her. “Were you thinking of doing, hand writing or photocopying? I’m afraid you’d be better writing it darker for photocopying as otherwise it won’t show over the ingrain so well. Or were you thinking printing?” “Oh I hadn’t really thought. Maybe writing it on Word. Can I just put this paper into the printer at home?” “Depends on your printer. You in a hurry?” “Not really, why?” “I could type this and print it for you if you’d like?” “Seriously?” “Only because it’s such a beautiful poem. Did you really write this?” She nodded and I spent a lovely half hour with her as I typed up her poem and we messed about with fonts and I printed the finished piece out. I found out so much about her that day. She was called Heidi, she was 18 and she was at university studying to be a teacher. But the most significant thing she shared was that she wrote poetry. I desperately wanted to ask if I could read more of her poems but chickened out. Another regret. Anyway, I’m taking way too long to get to my point, aren’t I? So I secretly, ashamedly I confess, copied her details off the contact cards on Sadie/Jaqueline’s desk before closing and after over a week of building up the courage I began writing to Heidi and sending her my own poems. Actually some of them were songs but she didn’t need to know that technically. I never told her who I was and I always used quality paper, the expensive stuff. Because she was that type of girl. I had a new pseudonym: ‘the mystery poet’. Of course when Jaqueline and Sadie teased me about asking Heidi to the Christmas meal they knew none of this and only knew this girl was coming in for the smallest of reasons these days and asking for me. One time she stayed in the print room chatting to me while I worked for over half an hour. She was such a breath of fresh air, so smart and lovely and…so stuck in my head all the time. I eventually did ask her and amazingly she agreed. I guess that was obvious since I almost kissed her but it was still a shock to me. Work does were rather an intimidating thing with this company. They were all like family and talked shop non stop even at Christmas. I was sure Heidi would take a run for the hills and be bored the entire time. She surprised me though, especially only being 18. She held her own, joining in like she was with long lost friends and I found myself drawn to her more and more. I knew there was something between us, a friendship, a connection, but I blew it. I drove her back to her parents and as we sat outside in my mini I let my hand move slightly off of the gear switch and towards hers. Then I got scared. What if I ruined the connection we had? What if this wasn’t what she wanted? She was at university, she had plans, for all I know she might even be seeing someone. I liked her, not just in a sexual way but in a deep appreciation and affection way. But yes I really, really, really wanted to kiss her too. But the moment passed and she wriggled in the front seat as I had to blink and look away. “I had better head in now. I really need a wee.” I got out, held the door open for her and that was it. I went home, wrote her a song and got way too turned on thinking about her, especially her little wriggle in my car. We talked on the phone a lot and I made this really long tape recording for her of songs I liked and stuff I played on my guitar. I sent her more ‘mystery poet’ poems too. She came less and less to the printers though and then one day, less than six months later, I heard on the grape vine that she had a boyfriend. She popped in a few months later to show me her engagement ring. I stopped writing to her and took Lyndsey to her wedding. It broke my heart seeing her get married but I walked away and kissed Lyndsey that night and pretended my life was great. 8,836 days ago now. I’ve regretted not kissing her ever since and never stopped thinking about the way she wriggled in my car that day and the way we connected. No-one has ever came close to Heidi. ————- 17th February 2022 I’m still living at my parents house aged 52. Never did marry. Still playing my guitar. Still writing songs and poems. Left the printers in 2015 and been self employed since. Dad’s really getting on now and mum died a number of years ago. Dad wants a letter posted so I put on my coat and shoes and walked down to the post office on the Main Street. It’s not a big town this so I wasn’t expecting a little white car to pull up and ask directions. It’s actually hard to get lost here to be honest. She pushed her window down and called over in a friendly voice. “Excuse me, you couldn’t tell me where Saltire Crescent is could you?” I jump and turn to look at her. That’s my street. No-one comes to my street unless they are Amazon or a supermarket delivery firm or the postman. I politely give her directions then pause. “What number are you looking for?” “32.” That’s my parents house. That’s where I live. I do a double take of the woman in shock. “If it’s a parcel you’re delivering I can take it for you. That’s my address.” She looks at me smiling. After all these years surely it can’t be? “Euan?” “Heidi?” “I feel so embarrassed now. I was hoping to pop this through your letterbox and drive away quickly. We weren’t meant to meet. You probably don’t even remember me?” “Heidi? Long time no see! You in a hurry?” She smiles. Was this not what I said to her back in 1997? Then she laughs. “We’ll I’m on a double yellow line and need to get back for the kids getting out of school this afternoon but that’s not for a while yet. I can’t believe I found you! How are you doing? We must catch up?” “There’s a new Starbucks a mile up the road. Never been yet.” “Jump in if you want. I can’t believe it’s you! Euan Frame! After all these years!” I open the door and get in. Her car is tidy and fresh smelling and I’m suddenly nervous. I’m getting in a lady’s car at 57 and I’m nervous. How crazy is that! I direct her to Starbucks and she parks up. I unclip my belt to get out but she just sits there quietly. I suddenly remember she had a letter for me. I’m desperate to know what it’s about but scared to ask her. “You must think I’m a stalker or something, finding your address online and writing to you.” “I hadn’t even thought about it until you said.” She’s blushing and gone quiet but then she looks at me, the bald man with glasses and a beard and moustache. A man who hasn’t even ever left home or got married or ever had kids. “I’ve looked for you loads over the years. Thought about you loads. Then I came across a box in the loft and I needed to know. You…you were the mystery poet weren’t you?” I smile and gulp. If only she knew how many more poems I had written for her, how many songs I had composed but had no-one to sing to, no-one to send them to. “Did you really never guess?” “I think I liked the idea of it being a mystery. I loved my poems and songs so much. I was broken when the mystery poet stopped writing.” “You got married. It didn’t seem right.” “I guess not. God I loved those poems so much. Took my breath away reading them again. And listening to your tape again.” “What? You still have that?” “Of course! Not easy to find a way to play it these days but I kept everything you ever sent. I just wish I could have kept the phone calls too. We talked a lot and shared so much.” “We did.” “I felt so connected to you. I…I fell in love with you you know.” I turn and stare at her. It’s so long ago now she may as well know the truth. “I was in love with you too.” “But that Christmas? That works meal? You never even kissed me.” “I couldn’t. I wanted to so much but I was scared to ruin what we had together. Then when you…actually best I don’t go there.” We’re looking right at each other and she’s every bit as I remember her. Do I dare share what really stopped me kissing her? It’s been over 24 years since then and she’s married with kids now. Does it matter anymore? God she’s beautiful and lovely still, so young looking despite the odd strand of grey hair, her eyes deep and trustworthy, her smile open and sweet, just like she always was. “I quite like the privacy of the car. Fancy a drive through coffee?” I pay, like I should really, and we sit back in the same spot staring at the back of some random building drinking our coffee as she tells me how she never ever forgot me. She got married and had kids but was never really happy. Her husband was depressed and lazy and sex was scarce. I’m listening and drinking and still in shock that I’m actually sitting right beside the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about in over 24 years! Time seems to freeze as we catch up on the lost years and her voice makes my heart come alive. Then she wriggles. The same cute little wriggle I’ve fantasised about all these years. “I should head inside the shop. I really need a wee!” I don’t have a door to hide behind now. I can’t drive home sweating profusely and shouting at myself because I’m so turned on I can’t believe I never kissed the girl I’m besotted with. I slide my hand over hers on the gear stick and look right at her. I should ask her if it’s ok. She hasn’t mentioned if she’s even divorced or still likes me or… I kiss her. Really kiss her. And it’s way more than I ever dreamt it would be. My heart is dancing a melody and my body is shaking. I should stop. I gently pull away and look at her but she’s beaming and blushing and giggling. “I wish you’d done that 24 years ago Euan. I’ve wanted it every day since!” There’s so much I should say but then she does that wriggle and I’m putty in her hands. “I really need a wee but can you…would you kiss me again first? I want to remember it like I do your poems, your letters and all your phone calls.” So I kiss her again. This time even more intensely. I’ve waited 8,836 days to do this and I’m not regretting it again. The fact she really wants to pee is the icing on the cake. Once we stop kissing I might even tell her how incredibly sexy that is and how her saying that to me years ago made me so hard I practically came on the drive back to my parents. No woman has done that to me since. No-one. ————-
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