“If you don’t introduce me to this man of yours I’m going to start thinking you made him up to get me off you back, Rose.” My mother sighed into the phone.

“You’ll love him. He is wild, handsome, smart, and so very sweet. I should watch out that you don’t try and steal him away from me when you do finally meet.”

She laughed. “Lord, I hope he is as perfect as you make him sound. Make a trip down to see me and bring this Eli of yours with you.”

I told her I would, knowing it was a lie, and hung up.

The memory of Eli was old, like a faded photograph worn around the edges. He smiled often, broad and lopsided, at the silly jokes he played on me. He once convinced me to look at a giant fish in the lake, and pushed me in instead. He laughed so hard I worried he would pass out. I was already calculating the distance to the nearest phone and if I could make it in time. Of course he was fine and we laughed just as hard about it when we lay on our backs, drying in the grass.

Our love would last for ten thousand years we said. As time passed, it has.

We parted ways on an ordinary day. No tears were shed because we knew we would always be together. He left to travel the world and find his fortune. I got a job flipping burgers and took night courses in English at the local college.

Long stretches of time passed without word from Eli while he backpacked across Spain. I learned to knit to fill the dull stretches of days and months.

When he was staying in youthostils in Germany and living his dreams, I quit my job and found a better one two towns over as the secretary of a small law firm.

Eli called from a borrowed phone somewhere in Sweden to tell me he loved me. I told him the same and hung up. Shortly after, I moved into a cozy house the color only found in the sky above the horizon on chill, winter days. My blue house to cover up my blue, lonely mood.

Eventually I got my degree, but never could find a job to go with it. So I stayed working at the law firm. Eli went to Iceland, Norway, Russia, Turkey, and so many other places that I lost track. He always called to tell me of his latest adventure and to make sure I knew he loved me.

With each country visited, another year passed, and I grew old. My mother passed away, ashamed of her only daughter’s inability to wed. I buried her with a knitted afghan I made just for her. She would have rather had a grandchild.

The blue siding of my house faded with age, just as I did.

When the knock came at my door I almost didn’t answer. No one had come to visit in such a very long time. The clock chimed noon. With chain barred, I peeked out.

Weather worn skin of leather, straggly hair, and eyes the color only found in the sky on chill winter days greeted me with a smile.

“I’ve missed you Rose.” Said Eli.

I decided that I must be dead, slammed the door, and braced my back against it. Whether it was to keep him out, or keep me up, I wasn’t sure.

He knocked gently. I could barely hear him call my name, muffled through the door. When he peeked into the window, I hastily slid the curtains shut and then ran around the house closing, and locking every possible entrance. I ignored the knocking and calling until it eventually stopped.

I couldn’t sleep that night, or the next, nor did I dare leave the blue house.

When I ran out of jam, I decided it might be time to venture out. Toast without jam is tragic and I did need to go shopping. With heard pounding, I slid the curtain up to make sure he was gone. No one but my weather bleached porch greeted me. Deciding it was safe, I crept out the back door, quiet as can be, in case Eli was waiting. He wasn’t. I was relieved and disappointed all at once, but hurried to do my shopping.

With two bulging bags of food, I returned home, still afraid of seeing the man I loved. He was not there, and I was alone. I pursed my lips and then pushed the door open into my dark house.

The groceries never did get put away. I simply let them fall from my arms and sunk into my plush chair, where so much knitting had occurred, crying. There would never be another chance with him. I was sure of it.

My days returned to their normal routine and time passed until I was sure I had only dreamed Eli at my doorstep. I took to sitting outside, knitting, waiting for him to return. Terrified he wouldn’t. Terrified he would.

“Rose?” He startled me awake with the softest whisper. I must have fallen asleep outside. My knitting lay in a pile at my feet where I dropped it.

“You’re not real.” I whispered back. The moon illuminated his creased face. Worry lines evident at the edges of his mouth and between his brows.

“I am now.” His voice was gravely with age. A shy, little boy smile crept across his face before he leaned forward, kissed my cheek, and hugged me warm and close. He was real.

I pulled back first, searching his face for any signs he was still a phantom. “I wrote a story about you.” I said. “We were in love and you pushed me into the lake. After we lay in the grass and laughed and laughed.”

“I remember.” Eli said. “It was one of the best days of my life.”

“But, that’s not possible.” I reply. “I made you up for that part in the story.”

“You have loved me so deeply for so long, that you made me real.”

“That’s not possible.” I begin to argue.

He hushes me and leads me inside. “We have a lot to catch up on.” He says. “We can figure out the technicalities later.”

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