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Description

Around 4pm

  "That's another delivery taken care of," Harold sighed, strained from the stress as the van struggled to pull onto the highway. The power steering had failed about an hour ago and I noticed he was struggling to turn the wheel. My glanced glanced at the fuel gauge for like the seventh time this hour. it was Half full. I had hoped by now this would be enough gas to get onto the interstate and take us home. As much as I hated to admit it, but my worst fear was about to come true.

  We had a very hard, stressful day since early this morning. Today was meant to be the start of our new job delivering food to customers as carriers. The task was simple, simply go to the businesses, pick up the orders that were placed and drop it off to customer houses. How bad could that sort of job be? Turns out, both of us found factors out of our control to quickly test out patience. I sort of remember a few times both of us were tense and near lashing at one another accidentally. I sat there in our van most of the day just trying to keep my composure, keep my boyfriend relaxed and focused on why we were out so far away from home. Not going to lie, there were points where I almost broke down sobbing seeing how stressed out both of us were getting. I kind of recall a moment feeling tears down my face, my eyes widened in horror at the fact the van was starting to act up after delivery #3.

  'I want to go home... I want to go home...' was my only lingering thought at varies points of the stressful day. What I would give to be relaxing in the comfort and warmth of our house having not much of a care in the world instead of sitting in a quickly acting up van wondering if we would ever get back. It was difficult to even talk to Harold at points because I had little idea if I was giving him support or risking making him feel even more upset. It was strange, when you're supposed to be the one meant to protect him from stress and yet stressful things out of your control happen and you're faced with a harsh reality: the colossal task of trying to believe things would be okay despite increasingly demanding odds. Nevertheless, my determination and resolve to protect our lives was about to rise up toward a greater, life-threatening challenge.

  "Let's just try to get home," I said once we decided to head back after a few hours of stressful driving. The van pulled onto the interstate and it only took seconds to regret things. Without warning, out of nowhere, Harold and I heard the van gave a dire sound and he instantly pulled the van off toward the side of the interstate to avoid us being struck by oncoming traffic. The van was pulled to a sudden stop and I instantly noticed on the dash panel the horrible truth: The van's battery was basically dying fast. The vehicle that did so much for so far, was slipping away. Now it was brain dead, with us still inside about to make a harsh realization.

My gaze immediately looked toward Harold, my heart skipped a beat. Then, I heard him...in an extremely awful state. He started to cry, badly, his head leaned down at the wheel, then the sobbing started. It took only moments for my mind to register what was happening. The whole idea of him breaking down took a really harsh blow to my own composure. I felt guilty, nearly blaming myself for not being able to help against all the stress.

Shaking, I reached over after unfastening my seat belt and pulled Harold into a soft embrace, with my first words being, "let it all out..."

Even if I knew deep down those words were not going to magically fix the van or suddenly make the whole situation better, these were the only words I could summon from my mind.

Even if I did not really wish to hear him cry this badly, the time for my own desire was not now. He had to come first, no matter what it took. So, I exhaled, and spoke again. "I'm so sorry...This is not your fault. Today was not your fault..."

Physically, we were both fine. Hearts were still beating, we were not on death's door. Mentally on the other hand, I was watching my own boyfriend of 3 years having a near mental breakdown. The sobbing, painful as it was to hear, was something I told myself to listen to. Let him cry, allow him a chance to get his emotions out. My own emotions were in turmoil, but I did not care about them--All my focus on making sure Harold's were shown without judgement or resentment. It took minutes of me holding him and the tears on my own face to start falling once reality struck for things to finally settle down enough to have a small talk.

"We'll get through this.." I said, as if I was so certain we would make it home alive from this terrible trauma.

Even after the small talk, the only words he said to me that stuck out the most was how grateful he was I was there. Me, the guy unable to do more right now than watch him cry.

"If you weren't here I'd probably be breaking something..." he told me. My mind iced over, toward panic. I understood what he meant. He was beyond upset even with me being around, the idea if I was not with him at this moment--not knowing what was going on with him...it shook me to the core. It was little comfort to know I was all that prevented a total mental breakdown.

More than once my mind drifted off toward 'what ifs'. What if I hadn't agreed to come along? What if this happened while he was alone out here and I was back at home some other day? If I had zero idea what was going on with him thanks to lacking a way of reaching me or our family? The idea of not being around was a thought I would never accept, so in a way I am thankful I was around during all this. For both of our sake.

When things finally relaxed between us, it was decided we needed to get more comfortable, so he and I climbed into the backseat. That was only the beginning of the nightmare. It did not take more than a few minutes to understand the gravity of what was going to happen soon.

"I still have my phone, it has a charge.."

Harold's phone was dead, an empty charge thanks to fact it was needed for our job earlier and I didn't want to risk mine as well. I had been trying to keep my battery up. Funny enough, this decision might have just saved our lives.

I pulled out of my phone, having a charge of around 70%. That was where the good news ended. My phone had been draining fast for the past couple of weeks, maybe a sign of old age. I had probably enough to last a couple of hours if I used it sparingly.

We called AAA to explain where the van flatlined. We did not have an exact location, thanks to lacking road signs or anything helpful. Plus our visibility was going to decline fast in an hour. The tow truck was estimated to arrive at 5:20 at first, but that changed to 6:30. Overall, it was going to be a few hours of waiting for help that may or may not come.

Then we called home to explain what was going on. To make a long story short, it was not an easy call to make. The only thing I recall deeply thanks to how determined I stated it was:

"I promise I'll keep him alive!"

And it was truth--from that second on after I stated this, my resolve became to keep Harold alive in all this, no matter what it took. It was simple on what I needed to do. After the phone call, my hands went toward my winter jacket and unzipped it, passing it over toward him. I grew up in Michigan, so I was quite used to arctic winters, I was not as much how adept to cold Harold was, but I was not about to second-guess myself. He needed to stay warm in a van that was going to get more cold by the minute.

"You need to keep warm," I told him, after passing my winter jacket, settling for just my lighter jacket underneath. "That's what matters right now."

Sure, maybe it was a bit stupid to only think about his health, his safety over my only health, but Harold means the entire world to me and I would gladly go through arctic hell if it meant he stays alive. I did not care whatever happens to me. Harold takes priority in my mind through thick and thin. He was the man who was about to become my lawful husband in a few weeks, after all.

He settled for wrapping our legs in my jacket to try to keep them warmer since they were colder than our torsos. Thankfully, being a couple neither of us minded sharing an embrace. As the temperature got colder by the hour we were trying to share body heat. It worked a little bit, it was enough to keep us going.

The wait for the tow truck proved to become a true test of patience. We only had one small bag of doritos as food and we were quickly getting hungry. The last time we ate was lunch about half a day ago.

"You need your strength, you take it," I said, giving him the bag.

"We both do," he replied, after opening the bag, sharing the chips with me. It made me feel relived we both cared that much about one another to share a vital resource instead of fighting over it.

Over the next few hours started to take a bit of a toll on our mental health. Both of us were quickly growing more depressed from both the temperature, the lack of knowing if we were going to getting home tonight safe, or if the tow truck would ever arrive. The lack of assurance on whatever or not we would stay warm long enough to remain conscious was another critical matter. The van constantly shook near me as cars from the highway zoomed by, each one scaring me if they were getting too close for comfort. The last thing Harold needed to see was someone smashing into the van on my side...

As the minutes ticked into hours, eventually it got to a point to where Harold stated something out of the blue and it took me by surprise.

"I love you, Nick Griffith."

My mind recongized what it meant. I knew he loved me, but to call me by his surname meant the world to hear. True, I was about to marry him if we got out of this, in a few weeks or so. It felt like the moral boost I needed to keep myself stable.

"I love you too, Harold Griffith." was my instant reply, my heart warmed up. I was certainly going to accept his surname the moment we married anyway, so it was a grand feeling.

The sky was getting darker as the temperature got darker, instilling fear into both of us more and more. It took all I had to stay mentally in control, keep Harold calm, assure us both we were going to make it out of this once the tow truck was here. We kept checking my phone on the estimated arrival. Just want to keep Harold alive and happy, no matter the cost.

Finally, around 6:30 pm or so, the tow truck had arrived, its driver mentioned he had to go through quite a ways to get here, given no one else would bother making this trek to collect us. We were thankful. Exausted, sure, from the ordeal, but we were rescued, taken back home that night and spent a long time cuddled in bed to recover from the stress. On that happy note, it is quite true.

The writer of this is Nick, on December 2nd, our relationship was put to a test we needed to overcome. And we did.

We will get married around New Years, estimated. That is all.

Description

Around 4pm

  "That's another delivery taken care of," Harold sighed, strained from the stress as the van struggled to pull onto the highway. The power steering had failed about an hour ago and I noticed he was struggling to turn the wheel. My glanced glanced at the fuel gauge for like the seventh time this hour. it was Half full. I had hoped by now this would be enough gas to get onto the interstate and take us home. As much as I hated to admit it, but my worst fear was about to come true.

  We had a very hard, stressful day since early this morning. Today was meant to be the start of our new job delivering food to customers as carriers. The task was simple, simply go to the businesses, pick up the orders that were placed and drop it off to customer houses. How bad could that sort of job be? Turns out, both of us found factors out of our control to quickly test out patience. I sort of remember a few times both of us were tense and near lashing at one another accidentally. I sat there in our van most of the day just trying to keep my composure, keep my boyfriend relaxed and focused on why we were out so far away from home. Not going to lie, there were points where I almost broke down sobbing seeing how stressed out both of us were getting. I kind of recall a moment feeling tears down my face, my eyes widened in horror at the fact the van was starting to act up after delivery #3.

  'I want to go home... I want to go home...' was my only lingering thought at varies points of the stressful day. What I would give to be relaxing in the comfort and warmth of our house having not much of a care in the world instead of sitting in a quickly acting up van wondering if we would ever get back. It was difficult to even talk to Harold at points because I had little idea if I was giving him support or risking making him feel even more upset. It was strange, when you're supposed to be the one meant to protect him from stress and yet stressful things out of your control happen and you're faced with a harsh reality: the colossal task of trying to believe things would be okay despite increasingly demanding odds. Nevertheless, my determination and resolve to protect our lives was about to rise up toward a greater, life-threatening challenge.

  "Let's just try to get home," I said once we decided to head back after a few hours of stressful driving. The van pulled onto the interstate and it only took seconds to regret things. Without warning, out of nowhere, Harold and I heard the van gave a dire sound and he instantly pulled the van off toward the side of the interstate to avoid us being struck by oncoming traffic. The van was pulled to a sudden stop and I instantly noticed on the dash panel the horrible truth: The van's battery was basically dying fast. The vehicle that did so much for so far, was slipping away. Now it was brain dead, with us still inside about to make a harsh realization.

My gaze immediately looked toward Harold, my heart skipped a beat. Then, I heard him...in an extremely awful state. He started to cry, badly, his head leaned down at the wheel, then the sobbing started. It took only moments for my mind to register what was happening. The whole idea of him breaking down took a really harsh blow to my own composure. I felt guilty, nearly blaming myself for not being able to help against all the stress.

Shaking, I reached over after unfastening my seat belt and pulled Harold into a soft embrace, with my first words being, "let it all out..."

Even if I knew deep down those words were not going to magically fix the van or suddenly make the whole situation better, these were the only words I could summon from my mind.

Even if I did not really wish to hear him cry this badly, the time for my own desire was not now. He had to come first, no matter what it took. So, I exhaled, and spoke again. "I'm so sorry...This is not your fault. Today was not your fault..."

Physically, we were both fine. Hearts were still beating, we were not on death's door. Mentally on the other hand, I was watching my own boyfriend of 3 years having a near mental breakdown. The sobbing, painful as it was to hear, was something I told myself to listen to. Let him cry, allow him a chance to get his emotions out. My own emotions were in turmoil, but I did not care about them--All my focus on making sure Harold's were shown without judgement or resentment. It took minutes of me holding him and the tears on my own face to start falling once reality struck for things to finally settle down enough to have a small talk.

"We'll get through this.." I said, as if I was so certain we would make it home alive from this terrible trauma.

Even after the small talk, the only words he said to me that stuck out the most was how grateful he was I was there. Me, the guy unable to do more right now than watch him cry.

"If you weren't here I'd probably be breaking something..." he told me. My mind iced over, toward panic. I understood what he meant. He was beyond upset even with me being around, the idea if I was not with him at this moment--not knowing what was going on with him...it shook me to the core. It was little comfort to know I was all that prevented a total mental breakdown.

More than once my mind drifted off toward 'what ifs'. What if I hadn't agreed to come along? What if this happened while he was alone out here and I was back at home some other day? If I had zero idea what was going on with him thanks to lacking a way of reaching me or our family? The idea of not being around was a thought I would never accept, so in a way I am thankful I was around during all this. For both of our sake.

When things finally relaxed between us, it was decided we needed to get more comfortable, so he and I climbed into the backseat. That was only the beginning of the nightmare. It did not take more than a few minutes to understand the gravity of what was going to happen soon.

"I still have my phone, it has a charge.."

Harold's phone was dead, an empty charge thanks to fact it was needed for our job earlier and I didn't want to risk mine as well. I had been trying to keep my battery up. Funny enough, this decision might have just saved our lives.

I pulled out of my phone, having a charge of around 70%. That was where the good news ended. My phone had been draining fast for the past couple of weeks, maybe a sign of old age. I had probably enough to last a couple of hours if I used it sparingly.

We called AAA to explain where the van flatlined. We did not have an exact location, thanks to lacking road signs or anything helpful. Plus our visibility was going to decline fast in an hour. The tow truck was estimated to arrive at 5:20 at first, but that changed to 6:30. Overall, it was going to be a few hours of waiting for help that may or may not come.

Then we called home to explain what was going on. To make a long story short, it was not an easy call to make. The only thing I recall deeply thanks to how determined I stated it was:

"I promise I'll keep him alive!"

And it was truth--from that second on after I stated this, my resolve became to keep Harold alive in all this, no matter what it took. It was simple on what I needed to do. After the phone call, my hands went toward my winter jacket and unzipped it, passing it over toward him. I grew up in Michigan, so I was quite used to arctic winters, I was not as much how adept to cold Harold was, but I was not about to second-guess myself. He needed to stay warm in a van that was going to get more cold by the minute.

"You need to keep warm," I told him, after passing my winter jacket, settling for just my lighter jacket underneath. "That's what matters right now."

Sure, maybe it was a bit stupid to only think about his health, his safety over my only health, but Harold means the entire world to me and I would gladly go through arctic hell if it meant he stays alive. I did not care whatever happens to me. Harold takes priority in my mind through thick and thin. He was the man who was about to become my lawful husband in a few weeks, after all.

He settled for wrapping our legs in my jacket to try to keep them warmer since they were colder than our torsos. Thankfully, being a couple neither of us minded sharing an embrace. As the temperature got colder by the hour we were trying to share body heat. It worked a little bit, it was enough to keep us going.

The wait for the tow truck proved to become a true test of patience. We only had one small bag of doritos as food and we were quickly getting hungry. The last time we ate was lunch about half a day ago.

"You need your strength, you take it," I said, giving him the bag.

"We both do," he replied, after opening the bag, sharing the chips with me. It made me feel relived we both cared that much about one another to share a vital resource instead of fighting over it.

Over the next few hours started to take a bit of a toll on our mental health. Both of us were quickly growing more depressed from both the temperature, the lack of knowing if we were going to getting home tonight safe, or if the tow truck would ever arrive. The lack of assurance on whatever or not we would stay warm long enough to remain conscious was another critical matter. The van constantly shook near me as cars from the highway zoomed by, each one scaring me if they were getting too close for comfort. The last thing Harold needed to see was someone smashing into the van on my side...

As the minutes ticked into hours, eventually it got to a point to where Harold stated something out of the blue and it took me by surprise.

"I love you, Nick Griffith."

My mind recongized what it meant. I knew he loved me, but to call me by his surname meant the world to hear. True, I was about to marry him if we got out of this, in a few weeks or so. It felt like the moral boost I needed to keep myself stable.

"I love you too, Harold Griffith." was my instant reply, my heart warmed up. I was certainly going to accept his surname the moment we married anyway, so it was a grand feeling.

The sky was getting darker as the temperature got darker, instilling fear into both of us more and more. It took all I had to stay mentally in control, keep Harold calm, assure us both we were going to make it out of this once the tow truck was here. We kept checking my phone on the estimated arrival. Just want to keep Harold alive and happy, no matter the cost.

Finally, around 6:30 pm or so, the tow truck had arrived, its driver mentioned he had to go through quite a ways to get here, given no one else would bother making this trek to collect us. We were thankful. Exausted, sure, from the ordeal, but we were rescued, taken back home that night and spent a long time cuddled in bed to recover from the stress. On that happy note, it is quite true.

The writer of this is Nick, on December 2nd, our relationship was put to a test we needed to overcome. And we did.

We will get married around New Years, estimated. That is all.