A Meeting in a Cave: Monday Memory

Years ago, someone brought an old tree stump to the back of a long cave. It was a magical cave, so that’s where I liked to sit and play my violin while having a hard time as a teenager.

    I barely knew Cade, but I'd brought him there. After motioning for him to sit by me on the stump, we talked, leaning back-to-back. My emotions swam around. I wanted to hold Cade’s hand, ask him to put his arm around me, but I didn’t; I hardly knew him. Some water fell on the lighter’s flame--our only light. After that, Cade and I talked in the darkness.
    Our voices and the dripping water echoed around. I told him about my jobs at the library and the diner, and how I taught music lessons.
     He said he’d just backpacked through Scotland and come back, even though the taste of Europe left him drunk, wanting more from life.
     We didn’t really say anything extremely important, just subtle things. I even remember getting quiet for a few minutes. We molded into the darkness and simply listened to the cave and our own breathing.
     When I dropped Cade off at his apartment later that day, I felt different. Maybe I wouldn’t run away after all. I just needed to get a grip. But something strange happened. Even though I had a phenomenal time with Cade, I didn’t give him my number and he didn’t ask for it. We waved to each other, sharing kind words before I drove away, and that was it.

Excerpt from Bible Girl & the Bad Boy 
 Click the picture for more about that.  

Every Monday I'll be visiting places written about in my memoirs.  Last week's location was the private lane I grew up on. Here's that post: Is this a sign . . . literally?

Today's memory is about Ledgemere Cave. 

Cade and I videotaped our four kids there and told them the story of how we fell in love.