About a two months ago, a boy asked a girl to marry him.
Oh, and I’m her.
Since it seems that the older I get, the less I am able to remember details of any sort, I thought it might be prudent to tell our story before it becomes just some story that no one really knows. So here goes.
It began one unsuspecting morning in May, May 15th to be exact. I only know this because I am a nerd and have kept a daily journal since the age of 10, giving me liberty to look back upon life like some obsessive historian and see exactly what day something occurred. I don’t know why I do this, really, other than the fact that I am nerd and nerds do that sort of thing I suppose.
So anyway, it is May 15th, and I am sitting by the pool reading the paper. Glancing up, I see this guy with tattoos up his leg, across his chest, and up his left arm walk over to a chair across the pool and sit down to read.
Upon first glance I realize I’ve seen him around before. I go back to reading, making mental note that I really need more ink. Maybe something across my shoulder would be nice.
A few minutes later, before I have a chance to stop it, a gutsy little breeze comes whooshing through, quickly taking my newspaper with it and dispersing the entirety of it’s contents across the deck.
Mischievous little breeze it was.
I jump up in an attempt to grab the scattered prints before they end up on the bottom of the pool and notice Tattoo Boy is helping me. I smile and thank him, and he says something about no one reading the paper anymore. I respond with some comment about being too old to be so young in the world we live in these days, which makes him laugh and we continue talking.
I honestly remember very little about the rest of our conversation, until, of course, he asks if he can see me again. People never really forget that moment, do they. The moment we realize that something real we feel isn’t just inside of ourselves, but experienced by another person at the same time. Perhaps in the same way.
I am not sure what it is I feel at the time, but I feel something. Something about the way his eyes shine and flash, like an afternoon in the fall when the sun is still so bright and clear, but you know there’s a storm coming. There is such life and joy and sorrow all at once there, the depth of which I know I’ve seen somewhere before.
So I give him my number, just like that, and he picks up his book and leaves. I wonder if maybe thats what he came here for.
Or not so much
That evening I get a text from him asking me out to coffee. Turns out, he doesn’t play the wait-two- days-to-call-game, which is nice because neither do I. I mean really, a girl who knows what she wants will go out with a guy if she likes him, and no amount of waiting will change that. Unless, of course, she likes playing passive aggressive games, in which case, run for the hills.
So anyhow, he asks if he can take me out, but since I’m getting ready to leave for Hawaii in a few days, I tell him we will have to wait till I get back. I find out later he actually reads this as a probable indicator that I’m not actually interested in seeing him at all and that I am, in fact, one of the aforementioned passive aggressive females we both try to avoid.
Fortunately I know nothing about this, and send him a photo of myself under the Hawaiian sunshine to say Aloha and to let him know I am thinking about his sparkly eyes.
Ok, I don’t say that last part. But that is the photo I sent him.
Apparently this gives him the assurance he needs, so when I get back we go out……to go do a WOD (workout of the day) together on a hill across the street.
Ok, so it’s not the most romantic first date, but it is the most unique, and it intrigues me. This is the first time I get to wear running shoes and gym attire on a date. Kind of spectacular. It’s memorial day, so we do a hero WOD, which are workouts done in honor of men who have given their lives in the line of duty.
Second date, coffee shop. We walk there, because he has no car. He sold it when he got out of the military so he could ride his bike more often and put less filth into the air. I find this strange and charming.
Third date, he asks me to go star gazing across the street on the hill where we first went out. He kisses me. He’s very good at kissing me, so I kiss him back. It’s quite romantic until a drunk man comes stumbling past us and the sprinklers turn on out of no where, sending us running down the hill laughing our heads off.
And those two crazy kids have been together ever since. We are best friends more than anything else, friends who really enjoy kissing each other. We have good conversation, make each other laugh, fight and make up, and play well. He brings energy where I bring calm, and we both learned to truly trust someone, maybe for the first time.
Then one day he asks me to be his best friend forever, and I tell him I will. Not because I want to be someone’s wife, because honestly that was never my goal. But I do want us to be what we are, for as long as we have, because I think that is love. And love like this doesn’t come every day.
Just once in a while, beside a pool, on an unsuspecting morning in May.