It has been 64 years, but the spring of 1804 is one I will never forget. I was 17 years old and it was the first time I ever saw his face. I was accompanying one Miss Rachel Berry to a garden party to celebrate Lord knows what when I first saw him. He was standing alone, laughing politely to a joke Mr. Bainbridge seemed to have made. He wore the most handsome emerald green jacket - velvet, I recall – and he kept fidgeting with his top hat. Before I could even try to figure out who he was, he looked up, straight into my eyes and time stopped. That one moment seemed to last for years before I felt Miss Berry tugging on my sleeve. I tried to pay attention to the girls around me, but I could still feel his look locked onto me.

The rest of the party seemed to drag on. I walked right past him, once, to refresh Miss Rachel’s drink. I passed so close to him our hands almost touched, and we made eye contact for just one moment. Silly of me to get so worked up over an almost-touch and a half-second look. I just couldn’t help it. He made me feel so many new things – things you read about in books – with just that one look. I knew I had to talk to him. I couldn’t leave the party without knowing his name, I just couldn’t. But I was so…scared. I couldn’t figure out why – he was just another boy. I was around boys all the time and this had never happened before. Not like this.

That afternoon was spent in laughter and stories and far too many biscuits and tea. After an hour or two, the boys went off to play croquet while the girls were busy fixing each other’s hair and playing with their ribbons. I was able to sneak away to the lake where there is this giant willow tree. It’s still there today,  I still go visit it when I can. It’s right beside the bank, with its branches hanging over the water. I love to sit under it and watch the sun sink behind the hills in the distance.

“Hello.”

I jumped at the noise and stood up as quickly as possible. I hadn’t expected anyone to find me – no one had seen me sneak off. But it seemed that he did. That boy – the one that made my stomach tighten and my breaths shorten. He seemed as startled as I was.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you! I just saw you…um…” he cleared his throat and extended his hand. “Anderson. I am Blaine Anderson. Of Dublin.”

My god, that accent. I had met Irishmen before, but none of their accents made me weak in the knees. I took his hand and I might have imagined it, but I’m sure I felt a spark.

“Kurt Hummel of just over that hill.” I pointed to a large hill behind him and he turned around to look.

“I’ll have to remember that, Kurt Hummel of The Hill.”

I giggled. I had never giggled in my life – I didn’t even think it possible, but I did. I giggled.

“So how did you end up in Essex, Mr. Anderson?”

“Oh, call me Blaine, please. ‘Mr. Anderson’ makes me feel so old.”

“Blaine, then.”

“Thank you. Well, the short story is I’m spending the season with my aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Bainbridge. A season which is, sadly, almost over.”

“And what would be the long story?”

“Um…The long story is I’m…trying to find out who I am, I suppose.”

“That was awfully short for a long story.”

“Yes, I suppose it was.” He said with a laugh and sat down against the trunk of that giant willow tree. He looked up to me expectantly and the invitation to sit with him was written clearly all over his face.

We sat in a comfortable silence and watched the sun sink for a time before I asked him,

“So, why did part of you run off to Essex?”

This time, he giggled – it wasn’t me, I swear. He took a deep breath and sighed before talking again, looking out over the water.

“I was born here. My parents moved us to Dublin when I was too young to remember this place. I didn’t feel…right…in Dublin, I don’t know, something felt like it was missing. So I decided to come see where I was born. Hoping to find myself.”

“And did it work? Have you found yourself?”

We made direct eye contact for the fourth time that day and he whispered,

“I think I have now.”