A Door Closes...
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A Door Opens...
 

By the latter part of January, things were beginning to settle into a routine again as I began work on the project that McDonnell Douglas/EDS had found for me. True to their word, the project kept me at home with only occasional trips to St. Louis. I was able to spend the required time on Grant's affairs, including settling his estate. I spent a lot of time with our friends, with Ron and Chris and with Lowery and Ron, with Larry and Bette and with Bob. Together we went out occasionally, and once or twice I went out to eat by myself at places that Grant and I had liked. My memories of Grant had begun to move to that place in my heart and my mind where they will always be.

I have to say, before my next comments, that I am not now and have never considered myself to be a person who believes in much other than what I can see or touch, but perhaps there is more to existence than that- based on what happened to me on a Saturday night about two weeks after Grant's death. I had been at home constantly for the previous two weeks, with no particular work to do. I was, as I recall, sitting in the living room reading when I had the distinct feeling that I was being urged to get up and get out of the house for a change. I will resist the urge to make that feeling into anything more than it was.

So I ate some dinner and then went down to the bar where Grant and I had spent so many Saturday nights to play some pool. This was the first time since Grant's death that I'd seen anyone save the close friends I've mentioned already. This familiar place felt very comfortable, and I played some pool with casual aquaintences I'd met before.

In between games at the table, I wandered around the small bar, and I came across a guy standing at the bottom of the stairs to the upstairs lounge. He was very nice-looking, with a Western hat and clothes and one of the largest mustaches I'd ever seen. I introduced myself, but he seemed to have little interest in me or anyone else, and so I shortly moved away. Later in the evening I returned, and persisted in my efforts to find out who he was.

We did begin to talk, and we learned a little about each other. His name was Fred Nabors, he is an "Aggie," has family in Fort Worth (whom he had been visiting earlier that evening) and lives about an hour North of Dallas in a small town off Route 75. He is a horticulturist, and works at a large greenhouse operation near McKinney (also North of Dallas). He is also very, very attractive, and I can't deny that I was strongly attracted to him.

Anyway, we spent some time together that evening, and then began to see more of each other in the following weeks. It wasn't long before I realized that Fred Nabors was going to be a good deal more than a casual acquaintance. He found traits in me that he liked, and I found him to be someone I could grow close to as well. Meeting him was, at first, much like meeting Lowery or Larry or Bob, but then we simply started spending more and more time together. By the end of January we were beginning to see each other each weekend; he liked coming down to Dallas on weekends, and I enjoyed having him.

 

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A Door Closes...
Return to the Index for 1991