A Love Story Across The Oceans Part 13: Game ON, Philly!

Game ON, Philly!

So, before I go too far, let me just say: the only thing slower than a carrier docking into dry dock is the disembarkment of her crew. Seriously.

“How long does it take?”, Donna asks.

“How the hell do I know? I’ve never been to one of these before!”

"My feet are burning up on this asphalt."
“Mine, too!” she says.

I’m scanning the sponson — that structure that sticks out from the hull. I see movement, sailors going about their duties. Hey… could it be? What are the chances, out of 5,600 sailors, that I spot my Salty Sailor?

YES. It’s him.

Oh. My. GOSH. My stomach just dropped south and my entire self is absolutely humming with excitement, standing on a precipice of something. Something. What exactly? The unknown possibilities. Man, this could go sideways for more reasons than I can count. Breathe, Janine. Just breathe.

And now the Hawk’s crew starts trickling by our strategic little spot on the pier while we perch on this very uncomfortable wooden barrier — basically an overgrown skinny sawhorse. Anything to get off the damn burning hot melting asphalt.

We’re both getting anxious. 

Donna jumps down to pace.

I’m checking out every sailor that goes by. These sailor boys look better than anyone I’ve ever seen in uniform.
“Dang, these guys look awesome!” Donna says.

She’s still pacing… bitching louder by the minute about the asphalt. 

And then — as she’s mid‑rant — I hear something.

Our names. Surely not.
I’m losing it. Must be the heat. Dehydration. Desperation?

Letters and tapes are one thing. Real life? Whole different ballgame. I can talk to a fence post, but this? THIS is different.

But yes— they ARE saying our names. They’re flat-out IDENTIFYING us.

“Donna… they’re saying our names.”

“No they’re not, Janine.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure they are. They’re saying, There’s Janine & Donna."

"They aren’t, Janine! How would they know who we are?"

"LISTEN!"

She stops pacing. Another group walks by.

“There’s Janine & Donna.”

“Oh my gosh, Janine. They ARE! WTF?”

“I don’t know!”

And then it hits us at the exact same moment:

THE TAPE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Shit! HOLY COW. 
If my face looks anything like hers, we’re both wearing the biggest bug eyes ever.

Did everyone see that tape?
Did they PASS it around?
I’m mentally rewinding every second, looking for the obvious — and not so obvious — absolutely embarrassing parts.

When is he getting off this damned ship already?

At this point, it looks like the entire crew is off. Now for the stragglers… except they’re not really stragglers. Not after six months at sea with 5,600 shipmates. These are the ones who have a physically role in settling the ship into her berth. Patrick, my Salty Sailor. His DC rating puts him in that group, so of course he’s behind the rest — cleaning up, pulling on his dress whites, getting ready to descend the gangplank.

Oh my gosh — is that him?
Is it?
Shit. There he is.

What do I do?
Do I run?
Which direction?
Toward him? Away?
What is WRONG with me?

I’ve done some pretty crazy things in my life up to this point…
Nah. I’m not running away.

I’m grabbing this moment with all the fun and loudness of life with no written directions. I’m writing this story, my story, in real time.

And then — that moment.

That tiny, impossible stretch of space between his eyes locking on mine and the actual contact. Oh, that CONTACT. Oh. My. GOSH.

The world hits pause. The heat, the noise, the sailors, Donna’s pacing — all of it fades out. It’s just him. That smile. That pull.

My heart is doing backflips. My knees are negotiating a surrender. My brain? Useless. Completely gone. Blank.

And then — boom — contact.

His arms around me. His chest against mine. That bear‑hug lift that knocks the breath right out of me. It’s not gentle. It’s not tentative. It’s not “hey, nice to meet you.”
It’s I’m here. I’m real. I’m yours for this moment.

Amazing. Absolutely effn’ amazing.

I cannot. I’m totally undone — unraveled, unspooled, wrapped up in this moment like it’s the only thing holding me upright. Everything outside this little bubble disappears. Do I notice it? Not by a long shot.

Do I have an original thought in my head? Absolutely not. My brain has left the building. I’m running on pure adrenaline and whatever chemical cocktail the human body releases when a gorgeous man in dress whites locks eyes with you across a pier.

And the wildest part?
This man is basically a stranger to me. Two dates and six months of ocean between us. That’s it. That’s the whole résumé.

And yet…
I feel like I’ve known him for EVER.
Like we’ve been best friends since forever, picking up right where we left off without a single hitch.

Promise kept.
And damn, it’s turning out to be a dousy.

I’m excited at the possibilities, but I’m not jumping the gun. I want to enjoy this ride — this wild, fantastic journey — and see where it leads. I don’t know where that is, but I’m willing to run this dog down and savor every step of the way.

And that’s where I’ll leave it for now.

Because the next part of this story?

Not much happens in Philly…
Except Pat strolling around like the stud of the moment, Donna on one arm and me on the other, celebrating the 4th of July in Philadelphia with two chicks like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Let freedom ring, Baby!

And honestly?
That’s a whole vibe of its own.

Stay tuned for more from #thePrairieYankee

If you've hung with me so far, thank you! If you're just joining, enjoy the ride!

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