The three months leading up to my junior year of college were lonely and emotionally draining. I was living in Atlanta, working in a ministry that helped feed people, find shelter space for those between homes, and track down money with which to pay overdue electric and gas bills.
It was good work. But in between the moments of feeling like I was helping to make a difference – a real difference, even if it was only temporary – I felt sad and hopeless and overwhelmingly guilty. I had so much and others had so little.
On top of that, I was alone in a city that didn’t know me, didn’t want to know me. My heart, already bruised after a string of breakups, was being torn to shreds by the men and women who sat at my intake desk day after day and told me that they couldn’t pay their rent or feed their babies.
On the long weekends when I didn’t have work and I didn’t have anyone to talk to, I’d lace up my sneakers and grab my walkman and run. I ran for hours, miles, matching my gait to the beat of “Yellow” and “I’m Like a Bird” and “Drive” (a mix CD my roommate burned me off of Napster) (A walkman! NAPSTER!).
The summer ended and I went on a family trip that began with a mini-reunion of the family on my dad’s side. My grandfather was so ill, he couldn’t lift the oxygen tank that accompanied him everywhere. I remember marveling at how strong my tiny grandmother must have been to lug that thing in and out of the car. (I marvel now at how strong she must have been in so many other ways.) It was so good to see him, for my last memories of him to be set in a beautiful place filled with much laugher and family togetherness.
After the reunion, my parents and my brother and I went up to Canada. We walked on a glacier and ate a lavish, four-course meal attended by a fleet of servers in a restaurant that looked like a castle. I remember my father tripping on a flight of stairs somewhere, cutting his shin. And as the little river of blood snaked down his leg, the dreadful realization bobbed to the surface of my consciousness – maybe for the first time – that he wouldn’t be around forever.
My mother flew with me back east to school, as she’d done every year; got me set up in my dorm room. She left the morning of September 11 (a morning I mostly slept through, by the way. Thank goodness for instant messenger or I never would have turned on the TV.) and was sitting in an airplane at Newark airport waiting to take off when her pilot saw the first plane hit. We spent days watching the coverage – the plumes of smoke billowing upward and upward as though it was happening fresh every minute; the scenes of people tacking up missing person signs near ground zero; the footage of American flags blossoming from homes and businesses and car windows all across the country – our hearts swollen with pain and hope and terror and pride. Classes started on time a few days later and I said goodbye to my mom. My uncle drove up from South Carolina to pick her up and drive her west. My father started driving east and they met somewhere in the middle.
That was me the fall of 2001: heartsick, panicked, grief-stricken, lonely.
I wasn’t looking for love.
So when I met the cute boy at a concert that October and shared a Wa sandwich with him in a friend’s dorm room, I didn’t think much of it. He was one of dozens of cute boys I’d met in college (albeit one of the few who’d looked at me with anything like interest). And I wasn’t looking for a boy. My heart was battening down the hatches, closing the storm shutters against the possibility of more feeling.
We all tried to be normal. I can’t recall if I went home for fall break that year – but I know my choir trip to Spain was cancelled. I took a statistics class that was surprisingly interesting. I tried valiantly to attend a class on Chaucer but when I didn’t forget I had it, I could never find the classroom. (I still have stress dreams about that class.) I started work on the first of two junior projects – this one about the poetry of Elizabeth I.
In between classes, I was aware of the cute boy. I piled into his SUV one day after dinner with a group of his friends. He had the Linkin Park album in his CD player and I remember giving him mental bonus points for knowing the words to “In the End.” He drove us back to his side of campus, and I stood awkwardly in his dorm room, trying to come up with the proper amount of impressed enthusiasm for the number of beer bottles he and his roommates had amassed on the mantle of their common room. His eyes were so blue.
We first kissed at a fancy gala. I still remember the dress I was wearing – knee-length black tulle over hot pink tulle with a slit up the side where the pink came through in ruffles – my flamenco dress, I called it. I’d had a choir concert that night, so I was late to the party. The cute boy was there. He was 21 (and I was not) and he sneaked me sips of a fancy drink that tasted like cake batter. We stood outside in the November cold and smoked cigars. (Neither of us likes cigars.) In the basement tap room later, our heads swirling with loud music and tobacco and too much Frangelico, we kissed for the first time. I remember thinking he was the best kisser in all the lands.
But that was just harmless fun, my heart insisted, drawing its fragile armour tight around it.
Several weekends we spent flirting and – made bold by bad beer – kissing. Many week days, we’d blush in each other’s presence, afraid to admit to anything blooming between us.
He’d come over to my dorm room on school nights, sit next to me on the little loveseat set up in the common space, and watch reruns of Seinfeld. (Much later, I learned he hates Seinfeld.) He never held my hand, never touched my hair, never kissed me good night. Just watched Seinfeld with me then trudged back to his own dorm.
We went to the winter formal together. I wore the same red gown I’d worn to my high school prom.
We emailed over Christmas. He was in Europe with his family; I was back home, hanging out with old high school friends and boyfriends, flagrantly NOT serious about anyone anywhere, in the US or overseas. Two weeks is a long time to be away from someone you’ve only known for three months. And the empty planes and heightened security, my father’s pallor of grief from losing his father, the high school sweetheart who’d found someone else to love… it all reminded me of just how fragile everything is, how destined for ending.
Back at school, we had to study for exams. An English major who knew how to work the system, I had arranged it so I only had papers to write. (I hated exams, but I loved writing papers. Still do.) The reading and exam period encompassed all of January, if I remember correctly. Once my papers were filed neatly in my professors’ inboxes, I had nothing to do.
The cute boy needed new tires on his car. He would sit for his last final and still have a full week left in the exam period. So he was going to drive home – here, in fact; this city where we live now – to get new ones. His mother and his sister would be visiting from Europe, so he could see them at the same time.
Somehow, we came to the agreement that I would come with him.
How did we arrive at that conclusion, I wonder? And why were my parents okay with me driving eight hours in a car with a boy they didn’t know – a boy I’d only known for three months – to stay with his family in a strange city?
Sitting in the car, the feeling that this was a horrible mistake settled around my shoulders. What would we possibly talk about for eight hours? Instead of thinking up topics on my own, I read him tidbits from Cosmo magazine. (There was a little fact about yawning in that issue. It said people yawn when others yawn as a means of communicating with each other. We still say, “I’m trying to communicate with you!” whenever one of us yawns after the other.)
We got to his house and I met his mother and his aunt and his sister. I would be sleeping in his sister’s room, on a trundle bed.
I went upstairs to call my mom, to let her know we’d arrived safely.
I don’t know if I told her straight out; no, I think I held onto it like a secret for many months. But I remember talking to her in his bedroom in the dark, laughter and chatter floating up the stairs from the kitchen, and knowing with such clarity: I could marry this man.
Something about the calm, confident way he drove, the easy way we’d been able to talk for eight hours straight… Something about the family photos on the wall or the comfortable warmth of the kitchen or the way that his mother assumed (as mine would have) that of course I would sleep in his sister’s room… Something about how welcoming these women were, how much they clearly, deeply loved this boy…
That’s when I knew. I knew he was a man I could love, a man I could walk beside into forever.
I hid that knowledge deep inside myself, kept it under lock and key, for several months. It wasn’t until spring break, when I was sitting in a closet in a Puerto Rico hotel room, straining over bad cell reception to hear him talk about St. Patrick’s day in New York City, that I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I DID love him, and I wanted so badly to tell him so. I did a week or so later, I think, under cover of darkness. Turns out he loved me too.
But that first moment… the moment I said to hell with wounded hearts and the possibility of pain and opened myself up to a future with him? Was that night in his childhood bedroom, talking to my mother on the phone.
Our love story isn’t particularly cute or special, but it’s ours. Thinking of it still forms a little mountain of happiness in the back of my throat. Remembering that time still makes the room sparkle. I still think this city is a magical place.
Now. I’d love to know when YOU first knew that you were standing face to face with the person you’d love for the rest of your life.
Was it love at first sight? Was it friendship that deepened into love? Was it a wild and crazy romance? Did you meet in a bar, in a class, at work, online? Was it unexpected? Was it a long time in the making?
Please do tell. I could use some love stories to get me through the weekend – sappy, silly, strange or whatever yours may be.
I want to tell my high school boyfriend story instead, because that was my sappiest romance.
My friend had a serious crush on him, and wanted to hang out at the place he worked, for, like, HOURS. She made me come with her. Finally she got up her nerve to “ask him to talk,” and they went and sat at a table while I sat discreetly at another table. Then I saw him leave. I raced over to her: “What happened? What did you talk about? What did he SAY?”—and she said, flatly, “He talked about you. He asked all kinds of questions about you.” She dropped me off at home, and the phone rang, and I knew it was him, and it was. We dated seriously through most of high school.
At the time, and also looking back, this is a KILLER story for my friend. I mean, imagine that pain: the person you have hopes in DOESN’T like you AT ALL, and in fact asks for information about YOUR FRIEND. But there are two reasons this doesn’t hurt the story for me. One is that she started dating someone else literally that same week. The other is that she didn’t turn out to be a good friend.
Well, after years of dating I met my love, 9 years after my divorce in fact (was doing the math–I am at least a decade older than our lovely blog host) Prior to my meeting my fiance, I was involved with someone who betrayed me…so between him and all of the ‘special’ guys I met via internet, parties, and other social venues….my heart was quite guarded.
I was half heartedly doing the ‘internet dating’ thing…which has its pros and cons…
One Fall day…a handsome medical professional ‘winked’ at me…so, I responded,something about him, his cute pics and maybe just the ‘vibe’ of him– it peaked my interest. Which, did not happen often in the land of internet dating– most requests were politley turned away…unless I felt that ‘certain feeling’…
After some conversations and flirting– my cute medical guy, well, he kind of scared me! Was I ready to fall in love again? After my horrid divorce and the breakup from the ‘lying,cheating ex”….my new beaus eagerness sent me running! So, I nicely said I did not wish to see him.
So, then came a few first dates with, lets see, a professor,a chef, and an attorney whose politics,arrogance and sexism actually had me thinking about stabbing him with my dessert fork by the end of our meal.
All this time– could NOT forget the cute “medical guy”…some men I met were nice, some were not…but, did not feel that ‘special something’ with them as I had had with him.
So, after 4 months of quite a few unfulfilling 1st and 2nd dates…I asked for help. I wanted to contact him, but, was embarassed to call, not to mention afraid of rejection. So, i asked the Universe, Divine, God…whatever your title of choice for help…
I said…PLEASE get him to rejoin this dating site…(he had deleted his profile)…if he did rejoin, then, and only then would I contact him!
Well, 4 days later– guess who popped up as a NEW MEMBER on said site!YES– my ‘medical guy’!
So, as I am always true to my word…I contacted him, reminding him who i was…saying things like’ so sorry I ran away, please forgive I was simply scared’…I also said things like…”if you feel you would want to re-connect, great, if not, I completely understand”… that I wished him well in any case… sent my email, then just waited.
The very next morning…he called…”so very happy you contacted me, all is forgiven, I understand”…
And here we are…engaged, moving in together and quite happy!
What a sweet story! They say it always happens when you least expect it. And I know so many other people who were cemented after a road trip together, proving compatibility by absence of boredom or torturous conversation! My story is similar to yours but without the college drinking because we’re LDS. Friendship between us deepening into my becoming fully aware that I wanted to marry him, but simultaneously knowing he needed time to figure out he wanted to marry me too. Once he did, it was a quick 4 months until we were married. That’s BYU for you!
When I was in grad school, our program hosted a Halloween party that we were encouraged to bring friends and spouses to. Because it was a dorky grad party, I dressed in the most clever costume I could think of: a spelling bee. I had a gigantic bumble bee costume on and doctored it up with cut out letters, a dictionary, and a sign that said “Scripps National Champion 2008.” I thought it was terribly clever. When I got to the party, most everyone else was dressed as a slutty something-or-other. Really? Ugh. I was talking to the cutest (also douchiest) guy in the program about my thesis when he cut me off and said “Why are you dressed like a bee? That’s not sexy at all.” I just looked at him and said “I’m not trying to be sexy, asshat, I’m trying to be CLEVER.” And then Sergio came up behind me and rescued me from the dbag, saying “I love your costume–it’s the best one here and I think you look sexy as hell.” We’ve been together ever since.
We were just good friends – not even dating- and B invited me to go sailing with a big group of people. Out in the middle of Lake Michigan he turned and gave me a wink and then went back to a conversation he was having with some older friends – and as I heard him laugh, all of sudden like a ton of bricks the thought that I was going to marry him hit me. I brushed it off- I mean we were just friends- but here we are…….
I’m in the car, so no time for a long comment, but I wanted to say you’re such a beautiful writer. I was transfixed reading this.
In the spring of 2001 I was slowly disentangling myself from a horrendous 9 year relationship (sometimes it is not so easy to break up with The Crazy if The Crazy does not want to be broken up with and takes to stalking you). I knew the Mister from school and thought he was cute, nice and funny, but it was during finals in law school and I was kind of busy fending off The Crazy and his marriage proposals and him following me around. A break from men seemed like a good idea.
A few weeks later, the Mister asked me out. I said yes, and spent most of that first date talking about what a jerk my Ex was (cringe). Remarkably, the Mister asked me out again (even though I clearly Had Some Issues), and on our third date we were sitting on a park bench on Columbia’s campus, and I realized that this guy was awesome. I told him right there on that park bench, on our third date, that I would marry him someday. (Why on earth he did not run screaming into the night, I have no idea.) He said “ok. But I will do the asking.”
He did ask, a year later, and we’ve been together eleven years.
This reminds me I totally did the same thing! Like, 10 days in, I told him I thought we were going to get married. And he DIDN’T FLEE. What a guy!
Oh I love this story. I love your writing and I wish you would write every single day. My “how I knew” story would be a little long to type here, but I remember the exact moment as though it was yesterday.
Oh! Then I hope you write about it on your blog and put the link here, because I so want to read about it!
We met online and after our first date (which lasted like, six hours) I knew he was it. He kissed me goodnight and I clearly remember thinking, “I am going to marry him.” I’d never thought that before about any guy. It’s weird how sometimes, you just know when you know.
This is beautiful! 😉
I would love to write our story, but its so long….
I know what you mean..I shortened my story,left out details…gave the major facts.
Oh please write it anyway! I love love stories, no matter HOW long they are!
It would be a BOOK! Sordid (not that I was the other woman, but there was a crazy ex-GF), sweet, unbelievable, amazing. I would love to write it. Maybe in time… I’ll keep you posted and let you know when the time is right (or write??) HAHAHA. Corny pun.
They are nice to hear, aren’t they? 🙂
Oh dear I loved this. Every single word of it.
I want to reply. But I am going to save it for a certain special occasion… When I post it on my blog I’ll link back here so you can see it.
Thanks for the inspiration and sharing your beautiful story.
Well, now you’ve got me all frenzied with anticipation!!!
Ok I could barely pull myself away from reading this and I feel like I need this story to keep going. Like it’s not real. Like it’s a book…a fiction that leaves you longing for your love, makes you want to reach out and squeeze the arm of your loved one as if to say, hey remember those days?
I actually don’t remember when the exact moment was when I knew I would marry him, but I remember that I knew long before. Long, long before. Before I even dated him.
We met in our 10th grade homeroom…I was new to the school. I was 15 years old and he had just had his 16th birthday. I had a crush off and on for him and his best friend (a girl) tried to fix us up for 2 years. FINALLY, he asked me to the prom during our senior year and we have been together since. We just celebrated our 47th wedding anniversary this week….. I guess you could say we grew up together…
I didn’t even realize I was dating my now-husband until someone asked me. Apparently staying at someone’s apartment until all hours of the night and telling them everything about yourself is considered “dating.” Who knew?
I knew I was going to marry him when I went to visit his family for the first time and his mother wrapped me in a big, giant hug. I just knew.
I was at his best friend’s wedding, and we had been dating only for about 4 months. I felt like I was going to explode with emotion. I wanted to marry this man.
In case I don’t come back here to share any stories (I have every INTENTION TO, but my life is crazy)…
I LOVE this. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE.
YES – do share whenever life gets less crazy!
We met at a bar and were attached at the hip for weeks (and, it would appear, years, clearly) and I remember during one particular late night/early morning, we laid staring at each other and he said he could stare at me forever and I agreed and realized then I’d never felt that way about anyone before. Not the boyfriend I’d had for five years prior, not the randoms I dated after the bf but before Chris. That was that.
Things happen at the least expected moment, huh? I met my husband after I had just bought a $1000 dress for a rodeo queen pageant. I was so NOT planning to get married any time soon. Just six months later I bought a different really expensive dress for our wedding 🙂 Love your story.
It was not love at first sight but we grew to be best friends and then began dating. The day I knew I wanted to marry him was the morning after a fight. I woke up and clear as day remembered thinking that there was no one else in this world that I would rather argue with and still wake up the next morning and know that they loved me more than anything in this world….I am very much non confrontational and very much a peacemaker so being able to feel that was my ah-ha moment…there were many romantic and sweet things along the way of our courtship, but that was the day I knew I could marry him and spend the rest of my life with him!
Totally loved this post! Well, I am not married yet….so I guess I won’t really know 100% until I am married!! Hehehe
This is SO SWEET. Having known my husband since middle school and dating him 6 years before marrying, I don’t really remember any aha marriage moment (and instead have the cheezy “high school sweethearts” label – though with a twist, because I asked him out first, which is always a shock to people)… but it is interesting to think about little moments and turning points like your visit to your husband’s family and how things might have worked out differently without those moments. My husband and I went to the same college, but if we hadn’t, who knows what would have happened with our relationship. That may sound a little pessimistic, but I always feel like it makes memories more precious and special, even if they’re just little non-romance movie worthy moments, because they’re what solidified us as a couple. As it was, we grew and changed in compatible ways through college that strengthened our bond, and here we are!
The summer after junior year of college, I went to a friend’s birthday party. I stepped into the back door of her house, looked across the kitchen to the group playing drinking games at the kitchen table, saw Christopher and thought, “That’s the man I’m going to marry.”
Then I realized I thought it and mentally slapped myself, “I’m 21. I’m too young to get married!”
In the next breath he told someone else at the table that he was 19 and showed them his cross tattoo. I thought, “I really can’t marry him. He’s too young for me, and he’s Christian. Which I am Not.” (I do adore people of all faiths; I’m just not one.)
But he was so cute. So, I moved away from the door, where I was still standing because this all happened in a split second, and sat down at the table to join in the drinking games even though I’m not a drinker.
Later in the evening, we went out dancing. Christopher had a fake ID. I literally felt myself drawn to him, like a magnet, all night long, so purposefully danced with his best friend or danced badly.
I already had a boyfriend, too, though things were rocky with him already. I spent the whole night telling my self that I didn’t want to be a cheater. And also that I couldn’t break up with my boyfriend because of this guy I’d just met.
So I let him go.
Except, going to a small school, I saw him all the time, now that I knew who he was. But I wasn’t going to let myself date him. Because that would be crazy.
Fast forward. Break up with boyfriend. Date other guy, because can’t date Christopher. Christopher dates someone else. We both break up with other people.
Christopher waits tables at the local cafe. I come in with friends and he arranges it so I sit in his section. His best friend, also a waiter, asks me to come dancing with them that night.
And that’s it for me. We dated for a long time, were long distance for four years, and gave up other parts of our lives to be together. But the crazy thought I had when walking into that kitchen was right. And, ironically enough, he’d looked at me and thought it, too.
oh my gosh I wish I could write as eloquently as you! That was beautiful!
I think I first knew when Russ left for medical school and I still had a year of college to complete. We were already in a semi-long distance relationship (2 hours) which then turned into over a 10 hour drive.
The first semester of him being gone I completely dove into school and work – working close to 40 hours a week with still going to school full time. I realize when I had any “down time” I would miss him. And when my single friends would go out I would join them, but I never felt that I could enjoy the atmosphere – I would have rather been home chatting with Russ.
Cheese-tastic, I know.
What a lovely story… and you wrote it so well. I love all these “how I knew” stories!
Here’s mine:
My mother (a romantic like me) had always told me I’d know. A few times I thought I knew, but I was forcing it and the relationships never lasted. I was miserable and lonely so I decided to move 400 miles away — closer to home — but would go on 3 dates first. It was a big thing to respond to personal ads back then (20+ years ago) but I could only find 2 that sounded good. The first was the date from hell. I was glad the 2nd guy hadn’t responded. But then a month or so later, when I was making plans to move, the 2nd guy called and I forgot to say no. We went on the best date ever and didn’t even kiss good night (I was too nervous because he was so great, and he was too shy). I went home, called my mom, and told her I met the man I was going to marry. And I did marry him … only 6 months later. It’s been 20 years.
My mom was right… when you know, you know. I knew.
AW, very sweet story 🙂
Your story is sweet!
When I met my husband he was a junior in high school and I was a freshman in college. We didn’t start dating until the July after he graduated from high school, but I knew in April of that year that I wanted to marry him. I had been in love with him for at least a year. He became my best friend really quickly after I moved to Denver and met him. It evolved into something more, but neither of us wanted to act on it until he had graduated. We were married a year after we started dating. 🙂
First of all, I have missed you and your blog and me reading and making idiotic comments. Just to get it off my shoulders.
Secondly, I love this post. I always wonder about “when I knew”. The first inkling might have been when we’d only been dating 4 months and he came to hang out with me over the weekend I had my wisdom teeth removed. I thought it would be no big deal, and it turned into me laying in bed for 6 days, swollen and bloody. He was sleeping in the room across the hall, so I would call him at 3am, and he would go get me fresh ice packs, a thing of pudding and a pain pill so I could go back to sleep. My dad didn’t even do that.
And here we are, 6 years later, happier than ever. I think it’s the little things that make the big differences.
How did I miss this post? HOW? I am so mad at myself. Everything about this is perfect: your story, the writing, your story, THE WRITING. When can I buy your book?