This is a work of historical fiction. All the events in this epic love story are true, well, at least partially true. In chapter one where I talk about the torrid (yet reverent) affair I had with a milk man in the rural town of Kamas, Utah, there really is a place called "Kamas, Utah". The names have not been changed to protect anyone, for I feel that any one of my acquaintances should be embarrassed to the fullest extent possible, thus suing me for libel and getting absolutely nothing. This work has come from the very depths of my soul. I have spent at least an entire evening drinking Diet Coke pouring over my computer to bring you my heart wrenching tale of love and triumph. All I ask is that you read this with an open heart and a box of Kleenex.
It was a cool Tuesday morning in June, as I brushed my damp strawberry hair from my forehead. My denim apron was covered with flour from making the morning bread and I wasn't fit to been by anyone, even the grouchy milk man. I had worked at the Oakcrest Convent in Kamas, Utah for 8 years, making soup and baking bread for troubled adolescents. Every Tuesday for those 8 long years the same milk man had come at 9:30 sharp, bringing milk and a scowl. "Here's you'r milk lady", he would say, "sign the invoice, and make it snappy". One day, three years ago, I had asked him if I could buy some extra yogurt and he hollered at me for not ordering in advance. That day, not only did I not get extra yogurt, I vowed I would never ask for any extra dairy products again. I heard the low rumble of the big dairy truck pull up to the back of the kitchen door. I glanced at my watch. Never in 8 years had the milk man be early, I wondered if something was wrong. The back door swung open and a tall muscular man strode in with a cart load of milk. He smiled and said "I have some milk for you". I must have looked at him strangely, because he then asked "you did order milk didn't you?" Somehow I stammered out a "yes". His eyes laughed and he extended his strong muscular hand. "I'm Garth", he said, "the substitute milk man. Ol' Chuck had a nervous breakdown and I'll be taking his route while he's at Charter Canyon learning relaxation techniques". I smiled, and tried to brush the flour off my denim apron, feeling suddenly embarrassed at how I must of looked to him. He took the milk to the walk-in refridgerator. I knew he would leave in less than a minute, unless I could stall him. As he came out of the walk-in, he pulled a pen and the invoice from his shirt pocket. I did what I vowed I would never do, "You don't -- by any chance-- have - um - some extra milk you could sell me? Maybe?" I stammered out. "Funny", he said, "I brought an extra crate with me, it's all yours." He strode out to his truck, and I noticed his long sinewy legs. He put the milk in the walk-in, and then came over to where I was standing. "Thank you", I blurted out, "you are so good to me". "No Charge", he said breathlessly. He turned to walk out the door, but then came back to where I was standing. I felt my pulse quicken as his soft brown eyes met mine. "I hope you don't think I'm forward", he started, "but for the last three nights I have had strange dreams. I saw a beautiful angel, with reddish blonde hair. Her eyes were pleading with me though I couldn't hear her. As she came closer I could read her lips, as she mouthed the words over and over, 'more milk please'. I walked in the door today and there you were -- the same angel in my dream. I tried to shrug it off, that is, until you asked for more milk". I touched his hand, but no words left my lips. He broke the silence by tenderly saying "next Tuesday then?" I nodded. He walked out the same back door he had entered only twenty minutes earlier. As he drove off, a tear slid down my cheek, that I didn't bother to brush away. Somehow I knew my life was about to change.
The week passed slowly and it seemed if Tuesday would never come around again. The day had finally arrived and by 8:30 I was waiting by the back door wearing my freshly pressed white linen apron. "What if last week were all a dream?" I wondered outloud. My fears were put to rest as I heard the heavy tires of the milk truck on the gravel. I tried to keep my emotions supressed as I watched his denim clad legs emerge from the cab of the truck. He came right to me, even before getting the milk out of the back of the truck. "I brought you something," he said with a sly wink, "a dozen ice cream sandwiches". I laughed outloud, at his romantic gesture, and graciously accepted his gift. "There is more", he said, "I also brought -- milk". He scurried to his truck and came back with a cart of milk. He put it in the walk-in and came to my side. I could feel my face turn red and hot, I had never been this close to a milk man before. His strong masculine hand took mine in his and he whispered "I brought you a crate of chocolate milk." My eyes met his wanting gaze and I asked with a half-laugh "where did you come from?" He laughed outloud and right before his lips met mine, he mumbled, "Heber!"