Wednesday, June 15, 2005

the love of my life

Phantom Scribbler started a little meme off of significant other meet-ups. Her story is FABULOSO, I definitely recommend you all go read it. And now, I will share the story of how I met my adored hubs.

In my final semester of high school, I began dating a boy from the all-boys Jesuit school associated with my all-girls Catholic high school. Can you believe it? I went to an all-girls school! How trite, no? Anyway, said boy and I, lets call him G, were head over heels for each other, but he was going to college in California, and I was off to Massachusetts. It should have been over at the end of that summer, but it wasn't. Being the crazy impetuous person that he was, he decided in July that he would move to Boston with me. He'd never traveled, and he figured that if it worked out he would take classes at the local community college and eventually transfer to a university in the area, or if it didn't work out, he'd move back to California and follow his original plan. I was terrified of moving to Boston anyway, so when he suggested it, I was ecstatic! I would live in the dorms, he would live in a nearby town, and we didn't have to break up.

Insane though it sounds, it worked out quite well. I had my best friend nearby, and he gave me the space I needed to make friends as a freshman and the time to study. I missed out on the crazy parties my classmates attended, but I wasn't really all that crazy to begin with, so it wasn't a bad thing.

We dated steadily through my freshman and sophomore years until the start of my junior year. It made me a bit of a random celebrity on campus: this girl whose high school boyfriend had moved to Boston to be with her. It was fun and looking back now, I think I had more confidence and an easier time adjusting because I had a built in support system. He wasn't on campus every day and we certainly had independent lives, but it was still nice. During the summer after my sophomore year, though, everything changed. He became moody and mean. We argued a lot. He hated school and he wasn't as interested in having a girlfriend. I found out that he was doing drugs, and as the fairly straight arrow kid that I was, I was devastated.

In October, in an oddly vague and unimportant conversation we decided to take a break. Our reasoning figured that if we missed each other or couldn't live apart, we just wouldn't, but for now we'd see how we felt. I was fine for a couple of days, and then I crumbled. I didn't understand how this could be happening and I cried for days. We had one terrible fight that reminded me of why we were breaking up and I decided that I would stick out the break-up, no matter how sad I was. I threw myself into school, into exercising, into deciding what I would do with my life. I think I was mildly depressed and I lost 15 pounds because I was never hungry. As winter break approached I couldn't fathom going home to California and to all our friends and family. I didn't want to face the holidays without seeing him, and my parents suggested selflessly that I take a trip to Argentina on my own.

It was one of the best ideas they have ever had. I took off for almost a month to the sunny temperatures of Buenos Aires, where I had friends and family that had never met or known G. I had a blast, but I also mourned the time that was over. I didn't want to get back together with G, but I was sorry that the time in my life when we were together was over. I remember laying on lawn chairs by the pool and listening to Sarah McLachlan's "You Do What You Have To Do" and the line that says "and I have the sense to recognize that I don't know how to let you go" over and over. Because that is how I felt.

I flew back to Boston refreshed and ready to move on and oh-so-glad it was over. It was a Friday. Saturday morning, G called. He asked if he could come over. Stunned, I said yes. He said he missed me, he had the hardest Christmas of his life. He didn't know how to do this, this being apart. And I didn't know what to say. Here was this boy I loved, but I wasn't in love with him anymore. And I was glad it was over, but I was tempted. I told him I needed time to think and asked him to leave. I thought about him and his proposition until classes started on Wednesday, and I still didn't know what I would do.

On Wednesday morning I got up and got dressed for class and as I was packing my bag my roommate came in and told me she had a dream the night before. With a dead serious look on her face, she said that she dreamt I would meet my future husband that day in class. She also said that I needed to wear something cute for this man of my dreams. We laughed and both looked down at my perfectly nice but nothing-special outfit, so I changed. I put on a gray fitted dress jumper with tights and cute shoes. I curled my hair.

I walked into my first class of the day, Philosophy, and in the seat in front of my assigned seat, was the hubs. I took one look at him and knew. I came home that evening and started a journal. The first line of this journal talked about my roommate's dream and this boy. By the second class he had my phone number, by the third we had a date. At the end of the week I told my mother that I knew I would marry him.

3 and a half years later, my roommate was the maid of honor at our wedding. 6 years later, we moved a mile a half away from where we met.

I never knew I could be this happy.

How about you, Angry Pregnant Lawyer? And anyone else who wants to share!

4 comments:

Phantom Scribbler said...

Oh, what a wonderful story! But how did your roommate know???

SpookyRach said...

Oh wow! What a great story!!!!

Ninotchka said...

What a GREAT love story. One that future children and grandchildren will enjoy for sure! :)

Jennifer (ponderosa) said...

Found you through Phantom Scribbler. What a fantastic story!