Six years ago today, I said I would be his girlfriend.
Three years ago today, I said I would be his wife.
Today, I love him like crazy. Still. I'd even be willing to have his babies.
I've already done that.
Anyway... because I'm feeling all sentimental and mushy-gushy, I think it's only fair to share the beginning of a story I've been working on. The story of how we became, well, Us...
As I huffed across the foot bridge that morning, I had absolutely no idea that I was about to meet my future husband. I did know, however, that I was about to be late for the first class of my college career. I hadn’t anticipated the absolute chaos and desperation that was finding a parking place at the local community college.
8:59. Not late! I smoothed my pink sweater over my favorite jeans, and then I heaved myself through the door, hair flipping wildly into my eyes, cheeks rosy from the cool September morning air. I scampered to the first available seat. I must have looked a mess.
“Miss, you’ll have to move.” The voice boomed from the front of the auditorium-style classroom. “We asked a few moments ago that everyone sit in the first three rows.” His tone indicated that I, clearly, had cut it a bit too close and should never, ever consider being so nearly late again. Ever.
How embarrassing! I instantly felt flustered. I moved quickly to a new seat. Two seats away from him.
Class trailed on. I paid no attention to the others around me.
As the lecture wrapped up, I tucked my notebook and pen back into my messenger bag, the kind everyone was carrying at the time, and pulled my cell phone from another pocket. One missed call. The words on the outer display screen felt ominous, intimidating. They made my stomach turn.
I knew who it was. I knew it was my sort-of boyfriend calling from across the state where he had gone off to college, only to break things off within the first week of school. He had gone back and forth between then and now, a few weeks later. He missed me, he wanted to be on his own. He needed me, he had met a girl at a party. The frustration and agony seemed limitless. He was Mr. On Again one day, Mr. Off Again the next… he was never Mr. Right.
Walking out of the classroom, the sense of relief over not having gone away to college with my high school love was immense. It just wouldn’t have been right. Something much, much better was in store for me here. I just knew it.
That was the understatement of the century.