I stood at the top of the stage-right staircase 15 minutes before the ceremony was set to begin at Browning Amphitheatre, and I watched the sky open and pour rain on our guests. Seconds from freaking out, Alison’s dad, (Alison was my roommate before Tim) ran up the stairs, grabbed my arm, and said, “You can get married under a tree on the Oval.” Mark is a judge. Her mom wasn’t close behind. She said, “Every raindrop is a blessing.” They ran past my dad and I to their car to grab umbrellas.
It was a torrential downpour on an 8:30 p.m. ceremony. The candles went out. The stereo system shorted at one point and started playing the theme from “Star Wars,” the guests split and some waited in their cars while others found shelter under trees. I looked at my dad (a pastor) and knew that with a judge and a pastor on the premises, there would surely be a ceremony, just not as I envisioned it.
In the rain, my dad walked me down the aisle.
In the rain, my Tim and I said our vows.
In the rain, we had a perfect ceremony.
And a couple of years before that, we had our first date.
In the rain.
It took him a while to work up the courage to ask me out. I’m sure his recollection will be different, but it is my blog and I’m telling the story. So, in my mind, it took him a while to ask me out.
Actually, there were a couple of other “incidents” prior to that initial, nervous question. A couple of times that others implied that we should go out. There was the time all of the residents of our floor in the residence hall went ice skating. I clung to the wall barely inching around the outside of the ice as Tim (an intramural hockey player) tried to coax me onto the ice, and seeing he was not being successful, then tried to trip me. (Like I said before, my blog, my recollection).
And there was the time a group of us went to see “Pulp Fiction” and our RA, Maria (no names have been changed, as no one is innocent) said something about how if Tim and I had children they would be the whitest children ever, and Tim said something like, “Are you kidding? They would be clear!” And he proceeded to run across the room and sit on my lap.
At this point I feel it is necessary to mention that Tim is a soccer player. A very good soccer player. He played on four intramural teams in college. And he played hockey, pick-up basketball games, racquetball, skiing, and others that I don’t remember. He was an honors student, but even amongst the honors ranks, there are jocks. And he was a jock.
And he sat in my lap.
Soccer players have very nice muscles in their legs and nether regions.
And he put his nether region in my lap.
A few nights later, after Tim had received his first professional massage, he decided that even though I missed the demonstration, he would fill me in. While he was massaging my neck and shoulders, he said, “So do you want to watch a movie together sometime?”
Very smooth, Tim. Very smooth.
However, I said, “Sure.” And we left it at that. No specific date. No specific movie. I wasn’t even sure if we would be watching this movie at an establishment or in a dorm room. Actually, I wasn’t sure we would watch one at all.
Friday night of that week, I was late getting back to the dorm from play practice. Tim was waiting up for me and asked again if I wanted to watch a movie. I told him I just wanted to take a walk first and then I would watch with him. He was ADAMANT that I not go walking alone on campus after dark, so he grabbed his keys and jumped into the elevator after me.
It was raining gently.
We ended up on the Oval (a large grassy park-like area in the middle of campus). We accidentally did the Long Walk* (without knowing the significance of it*), during which the Orton Hall Chimes played (which I guess is good luck), and—in the middle of the Oval—I taught him a dance from West Side Story—the dance when Tony and Maria meet. With my humming as the music.
Lets review. Tim is a JOCK. Tim is not a dancer. (Just to be fair, I am not a dancer either, but again, my story.)
But it was perfect.
When we got back to the residence hall, two of my roommates (before Alison) had their boyfriends in town, so I went straight to Tim’s room. He loaned me a sweatshirt (as mine was wet from the rain), and as it turns out, he had a movie set up and ready to go. His roommate (he only had one) was gone for the weekend.
So, he grabbed my hand, and we watched “Army of Darkness” on our first date. In case you were wondering, I STILL love this kind of date. Spontaneous and free.
Wednesday of last week, was the 15th anniversary of our first date. Unless Tim had done the math, I never would have known. (See? Honors student.) At lunchtime every week day, I go to Esther-Faith’s preschool, give her a catheter, and drive her to daycare. Wednesday of last week, when I came out of the preschool to transport Esther-Faith to daycare, there was a single pink rose on my steering wheel, a new Christmas ornament, and a box of tea. As I made the discovery, Tim popped around the front of the truck and said, “Happy Anniversary!” I must have looked bewildered because he explained that it was the 15th anniversary of our first date. He asked if I wanted to go out for a bite to eat that evening.
He looked suspiciously handsome in his tan-colored suit. So, I said yes.
He explained that my mom was coming over and where did I want to go. My mother is overworked, underappreciated, and very tired. And I’m not sure she ever says no to her son-in-law. So, I knew that our time would be limited, and I suggested Chipotle. Tim chuckled mischievously, kissed me on top of my forehead and walked away to his car.
Later that day, Tim sent me a text message asking me to be wearing my black dress and pink heels for the date. My first thought was “GOOD GRIEF!” Cause you know, the black dress meant I needed to shave my legs. So I sent him a text message, “For Chipotle?!” He sent back, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you may want to.”
I fed the kids. My mom arrived. I finished Esther-Faith’s enema. I changed into my black dress and pink heels. Tim arrived with a single pink rose. We rushed around. My mom sat back smiling at it all. Tim walked me to the car. We have a strict date rule: Tim opens all doors for me. As he opened my car door, he handed me another rose. And that was the case for the rest of the evening. By the end of the night, I had 15 pink roses.
If there is one thing Tim gets right every time, he knows that I like surprises. So as he drove, I touched up my make-up. I grilled him about work. He pretended to listen about my work. I started asking questions about where we were going, what was his plan, and whatnot. He did not give ANYTHING up. Not one detail.
And then he pulled into the conservatory. It was dark, but Tim assured me that they were open until 8 p.m. He grabbed the camera (and a rose) from the back, and we went to the conservatory. Still unaware of what Tim’s plans were, I took a phone call from a friend who had left his wallet at work an hour away and had run out of gas. A good chuckle later, Tim and I started to tour the romantically lit conservatory. We were looking for a good spot for a photo. Once we found it, Tim set up the camera, synced the remote, and took some photos.
By this time I was hungry. Tim asked if I thought I could wait as he had one more stop to make. I get cranky when I’m hungry, but I obliged.
We ended up at the Oval.
This time, Tim had done his homework. He downloaded the same song from iTunes that we danced to on our first date, brought along a battery-operated iPod player, and was ready to try to recreate our first date. Only this time, I wasn’t wearing sweat pants. And he wasn’t wearing sweaty soccer clothes. As the college students walked by us seeming not to notice, it struck me that we probably looked like grown ups. We are grown ups. So much has happened the last 15 years. Our wedding. The adoption of our sons. The birth of our daughter. So much separated our carefree college selves from the two grown-ups giggling as they tried to remember the steps to the first dance they ever danced together. So much. And so little.
Last Wednesday when we did the Long Walk*, it started to rain, and the bells chimed. And—I kid you not—it rained the whole time we were on the Oval, but not a minute before we arrived, and not a minute after we departed. At first I thought Tim had arranged to have sprinklers turned on or something, but he did not.
A blessing for every raindrop.
Again.
After the Long Walk, Tim took me to a nice restaurant and we shared a slow, romantic meal together. Dressed as grown ups. Giddy as teenagers.
Recalling our first date. And the many other firsts that have come and gone over the last 15 years. We talked about our history and our future. We held hands. And smiled. And giggled. And the euphoria of that date lasted far into the next day. Because as hard as it is to believe that we found each other, after 15 years, it is equally as easy to continue to love each other.
(*from colleges.collegetoolkit.com
The Long Walk: If you and your special someone walk hand in hand the length of the Oval—from the main library to College Road—your love will last.)
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