Thursday, June 10, 2010

A Love Letter

There are few things I've kept since we've been married.  You are one of them.  I like you like a favorite pair of jeans.  Soft.  Thighs faded to felt.  Comfortable.  I may pick at a thread or fray the knee or re-hem with my handicapped sewing machine but scars are bred of history and it is our history that founds our strength.

My first memory of you is hazy at best.  You were already a man.  I was a timid ninth grader who didn't believe she was pretty enough to warrant attention.  I remember the way your fingers danced along the frets, your long hair falling across the strings but never getting tangled.  I remember the way you seemed consumed by the music and oblivious to everything around you.  You were interesting.  But so was the drummer.  And I was invisible.

You popped up over the next few years.  Degrees of separation were minimal.  You knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who knew me.  My best friend had a crush.  I told her to get over it - you were too old.  You started dating my friend's sister.  I was jealous and couldn't figure it out.  I started dating a boy who was a beautiful liar and he broke my heart.  You started driving me home on Friday nights.  I remember waiting in the car on Halloween night while you ran into Tim Hortons, praying silently that God smite the crush from me.  You came back with your coffee and said, "I broke up with Cathy tonight."  We listened to Mr. Big's Hold On Little Girl and I took it as a green light to fall in love.  You called me that same night to tell me I was beautiful.  You told me to look up Phillipians 1:3: "I thank God every time I think of you."  I'd never been hit on with the Bible before.  It was our you-had-me-at-hello moment.

That was 1996.  And the rest, as they say, is history.  I have loved you now for more than half of my life. I'll write it all sometime because I think it's worth saying but for now I will give you Phillipians and our first kiss beside the Christmas tree and our last kiss, which I imagine will be soft and sweet and anciently arthritic.

< that's us in 1997




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