Patience Shelly Freeman grew up only 15 minutes from Chester, or Chessie, as she was the first of friends to call him. He'd become a little perturbed when others started using that name for him, as he secretly wished for it to be what she alone called him. However he was never in a position to reprimand those friends who piggy-backed the name, or request them not to, without giving away his boyhood crush on her.
The Freeman and the Bridgeman had been family friends since the passing of Patience's father when she was 12 years old. Her father had done occasional work with Chester's, and it was actually tardiness that really solidified the relationship between the cross-town neighbors. Mr. and Mrs. Bridgeman had been fighting throughout the day of Mr. Freeman's wake; it was not a frequent occurrence, but both were silently passionate individuals, so their spats ran deep. It wasn't until a fussy, uncomfortable Chester walked down the stairs in an awkwardly adorned black suit that his parents remembered the date and the time. After everyone hustled to become presentable, in the rush forgetting to attend to Chester's garbled apparel, they left the house nearly an hour after the end-time of the wake. The ride was silent from start to finish; Chester sat in the back seat and could make out his own reflection in the window when a dark colored car passed them, or when they drove past the forest preserve. He'd seen enough to recognize the fussy state of his hair and was trying his best to pat it down with his licked hand, moving as if in slow-motion in fear of breaking the silence. When they finally arrived the parking lot was empty, and the only sound aside from the closing doors of the car was his mother's audible scoff at finally seeing her son. She tugged at his jacket and he shrugged her off, sending her into a quickened pace leaving both him and his father behind.
It was quiet inside the funeral home. Seven or eight rows of chairs were empty save Mrs. Freeman in the front row, face in her hands, and Patience sitting on a couch in the corner of the room farthest away from the casket in the same position. Chester's mother eased her way into the seat next to Patience's mother, and, both startled, shared a laugh and a seated-hug. Once the males arrived, the parents all stood and chatted solemnly while Chester anxiously approached Patience. She was a year older, and at that age, that was enough to scare a boy from reaching puberty for another 5 years. He could see that she was not as upset as he imagined he would be if his father died. This comforted him a little, but that comfort was thwarted when she looked up at him and said hi before he had really composed himself. He stammered out a few syllables, of no real comprehension, and she giggled.
"What happened to your clothes?"
Chester sputtered out a few more sounds as she stood and began to manipulate his clothes into the appropriate, or at least more appropriate, placement. This was enough to scare a boy into immediate puberty. Even at that age, though, he understood the significance of this young girl reaching out to help him at her own time of need. She continued to talk to him throughout the redressing, and they started conversing not too long after when Chester finally found his voice. They must have talked for another hour, as did their parents, and soon...too soon to Chester...his mother was calling for him to come over. He bashfully said he was sorry for Mrs. Freeman's loss, trying his hardest to raise his eyes to meet hers. His mother instinctively patted at his hair which was now already in place thanks to his new friend. He hated the thought that now she had been the last to touch his hair. As they walked to the car, he noticed his parents' altered mood. Arm in arm, head on shoulder, they were his loving parents again.
After that, the three adults would have dinner together at least once a week, often more. During the lucky weeks, they invited the children as well.
Patience and Chester even dated briefly in high school. Nothing too serious, but enough so that for a spell Patience was scribbling "Patience Bridgeman" into her notebook. As innocent high school relationships went, it was the simplest and fell victim to maturing interests on both of their parts. Chester became serious about his writing which often led to the unveiling of some of his personal beliefs that did not coincide with hers. Even as high schoolers, general education had committed to helping students form their serious, life-long worldly views at an earlier age, so as to "eliminate conflict" by avoidance later down the road. Chester had also continued through his awkward stage, riding on his literary talents as a socialite, while Patience sparked into a beauty by the standards of every clique in school. Both understood and respected their friendship, and that of their parents, and remained very good friends...even enough to upset immediate and following romantic interests.
Upon graduation, Patience received a full scholarship to attend Emory University and study psychology, while Chester eased his way into his journalism degree at Ohio University. Not from lack of attempts, the two struggled to keep in contact. The demands of education and career, and the commitment to the craft consumed both. At least from Chester's end, he soon found that the combination of his own lack of success and assumption that Patience had become a highly successful psychologist created a fear that he could not overcome. He passively hoped that someday she would look him up. Little did he know she was doing the same, before it was too late.
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