Love Story, the Long Version

Serenade

Canon 5D Mark ll, 100mm 2.8 macro, 3.2 aperture, 1/80 shutter, 100 ISO

When I first met him he was a skinny country boy, or at least I thought so. My sister Liza and her husband-to-be, Mickey, brought him home with them to be best man at the wedding. (I was the maid of honor.) He was and still is Mickey’s best friend since grade school — kindergarten, to be more precise.

I knew they were bringing him home. In fact, there was much chatter about setting us up. I had been at work that day, and drove home nervously wondering if they had gotten there yet. I worked as a food server by the pool at the local Ramada Inn. I wore as my uniform white shorts with a white shirt and white, you guessed it, skippies. When I drove up to the house, I saw Liza’s car. I took a deep breath and bounced in the door, as casually and cheerfully as possible. I hugged my sister first and introduced myself to Mickey.

Then, my eyes fell on him.  He was skinny, with gentle blue eyes, and a quiet but stable demeanor. His brown hair curled just a little around his ears. I felt rattled already. “Oh hi!” I bubbled, trying to feign surprise that he was there.  “Hey” he answered calmly. He was unassuming and confident. Peaceful. In the world of the boys I knew, this is was an anomaly. I was definitely curious.

When the newlyweds scurried off for their honeymoon, he decided to hang around a little longer. I had invited him to do so, but honestly didn’t think he would.  He did. We stood by his little yellow Honda and listened to his and Mickey’s first album that was hot off the press. He put the headphones on my head and grinned. He was so happy to share it with me. Oh that smile. I was so comfortable with him. It was unnerving. In the 24 hours that he stayed, we laughed, listened to James Taylor, drove around in one of our old beat up cars, and he played guitar and sang for me. When he played that night on my mom’s sofa and sang so sweetly, my heart melted. Just a little. Thoughts of our kids listening to him sing and play passed briefly through my mind. Wait… what?

I quickly made myself think of other things.

The next day he went back to Georgia, and I promised him I would write. In fact I told him not to write me first, but to wait on me. Ahem.  He still likes to tell that story, how he looked into the deep cavernous mailbox every day, (with echo sound effects and all), feeling so dejected. In his telling of it, weeks, no, months, went by. And, to make matters worse, when I did write him, I typed it. Apparently, that was the most impersonal thing I could have ever done.  He, of course, responded with a very personal, handwritten piece of correspondence. I still have it. (He still has my typed one too.) In it, he was funny, thoughtful, and clear about his intentions to get to know me better. He also invited me to come to see him and go to a James Taylor concert. I had been playing JT constantly since he left. But, I turned him down flat.

I had already moved on to another boyfriend by then. Hmmm…

Let's Make Some Music

The week before I was to go back to school at JMU, my mom decided to attend a class in Atlanta for a week. It was the very week of the concert. I finally agreed to go. I stayed with my sister, but spent every waking hour with Chris. We explored the Chattahoochee, went downtown, watched a movie together, but mostly we just talked. We talked about everything and nothing. We talked about God and who He is and isn’t. We talked about relationships, (and how I needed to drop my new boyfriend.) We walked in the rain, where he stopped me and whispered, ” Hey, rain looks good on you.” I still get weak in the knees just thinking about it. I probably would have kissed him right then and there if he would have made an attempt.

I could feel my heart burning. Something was so very different about this boy. This man. At the end of the week, we drove to his house in North Carolina and saw James Taylor together. He held my hand at that concert , in the breezy open air. My heart fluttered.  In the late night hours we sat on the road where he grew up, the traffic light glaring with two red eyes. The stars seemed to sing. We were together, silent. Hearts content. I could feel mine expanding. Breathing. Coming alive.

Could it have only been a week that we were together? In the car with my mom on the way home to VA, my heart ached. I was changed. When I got home, I broke up with that other boy.

Me and You

We met the day before Liza and Mickey’s wedding on July 1, 1986. We pledged our love and made our vows a year and two days later, on July 3, 1987.

This year we will celebrate 26 years together. He has loved me second, and that is all I ever wanted — to be second in the life of a man who loves God first. We have learned to walk these paths together taking care of and honoring each other. We try to keep things new while cherishing the old.

I am so grateful that Carolina boy eased his way into my heart with his peaceful smile and reassuring nature. He is mine and I am his.

Music for a Lifetime

It will be 24 years this summer since I blushed behind that veil and gave him my heart, my everything. He is my husband. My lover, my very best friend, my confidant. I trust him with my life. He is my North Carolina country boy, and I am his Virginia skippy girl.

Around and Around We Go