It's been a while. Nothing too crazy has happened, so I haven't been inspired to write. I guess I could talk about the every day going ons in our home, but really, does any one care about that? I'm sure I have had boring posts in the past, and I'm sure I will in the future, but I'm feeling the need to tell something exciting right now. So here it goes. I think the title of this true story should be And He Knew It Was Love.
And He Knew It Was Love
One night in my somewhat sketchy apartment, I suddenly awoke to pounding on my bedroom window. Fear overtook my body. Someone was trying to break into my place. My roommate wasn't there. I was all alone. Should I just sit still and hope they don't see me? Should I grab a high heel and hope it could be put to better use than making me fall in front of a crowd of people? I was somewhat frozen, but I knew I needed to call the police. For the first time in my life, I dialed 911. I no longer heard the noise at the window. It had moved to the kitchen door. "Please hurry! Someone is kicking in my door. Please hurry! Please hurry!" The operator assured me she was getting someone over to the place. It was quiet. "They're in the house. They're in the house!" As I stayed on the line with the operator, my bedroom door swung open and revealed a thin guy with red hair. You guessed it, it was Jeff. Trying to fight back tears, I told the operator it was only my boyfriend. I got off the phone and sobbed while Jeff held me. He sure has some explaining to do.
It was really all my fault. Jeff had left my apartment earlier that evening and had called me when he got to his house as he was accustomed to doing. In the 15 minutes it took him to get home, I had fallen asleep. The problem was that I had fallen into a very, very deep sleep on top of my phones. Yes, phones plural. Jeff first called my cell phone. I didn't answer. He then called the house phone. I didn't answer that one either. He waited a little while and tried again. Still no answer. Somewhat concerned, he decided to drive back to my house to check on me. He tapped gently on my bedroom window. I didn't hear a thing. Then he frantically started banging on my window and ran to the door. That's when I woke up. With adrenaline pumping through his body, he kicked the door in, sending the lock across the other side of the kitchen. He ran through the den and opened the door to find me on the phone with 911. Yes, sweet Jeff did all that because he wanted to make sure I was okay. I don't think it was until then that my Dad knew it was love. He knew a guy who would kick in a door to rescue his daughter probably loved her. And he was right.
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