My Love Story

Jeff and I met in college. He said he saw me long before I knew who he was. I believe him. He has a very specific memory of me walking out of Aitchison hall wearing a white lace dress with my hair pulled back and bright red lipstick. I remember this ensemble. I wore it infrequently, but loved it all the same. Whereas he has a very clear moment, I have a vague assortment of might have been hims to choose from. I remember hanging out with a group of people in the lobby area. Sometimes we played cards, sometimes we talked for hours, sometimes we shot pool. He insists he was part of that group. He could have been. I have a vague inkling that he was there, but nothing that I can swear to.

A year after we apparently "met", he called me at home over the summer. Rather, he called me at the apartment I was subletting in my home state that summer. I worked at a factory making safety materials such as industrial glasses, gloves, etc. When I wasn't working my 9 hour shift there, I was rushing to my other job in the cosmetics industry. I disliked both jobs, but made good money. Unfortunately, it left little time to meet people in a place I knew only one other person. I was desperate for a real conversation. His phone call was that link, even though I wasn't entirely sure who he was. I spent most of my spare time trying to figure out how to get back in touch with him. I failed.

When college started that fall, I had largely forgotten about the phone call. A few weeks into the semester, I was sitting in the lobby when he asked me if I got his message. I was floored. Suddenly, I remembered him. We fell into a natural friendship and within a couple of weeks were inseparable even though we weren't 'going out'. We were just the best of friends, however unlikely it seemed.

It wasn't until after the winter holiday break that we actually 'went out'. It was the typical college dating experience. On again and off again. Honestly, on again, off again many times. We were always at different points of seriousness. Finally, we broke up for the last time. For the next year and a half, we dated other people. Well, I dated other people. He tried a few dates with a couple of people.

Then the antics really started. Fran, his good friend, spent many nights at my house. (By now I had moved off campus.) He was either telling me how much Jeff still liked me, how miserable he was without me, or trying to get Jeff to stop being a Lloyd Dobber under my window. I was both enamored and annoyed by Jeff's actions. Mostly, I ignored him. Drunken wake up calls from someone yelling beneath my window was only fun when I was drunk too.

Finally, I gave in and agreed to talk to him at 3:30 in the morning after he spent half an hour jumping around and making monkey sounds in an attempt to get my attention. I wasn't amused. Fran was freezing. Jeff was drunk. I was exhausted. We talked for maybe another half an hour and he went home with little more than when he arrived. He'd gained a conversation. It was huge for him. It was nothing for me. Outside of the crazy wake-up calls, we simply ran in different circles and rarely saw each other. I hadn't been ignoring him. Our paths just didn't cross all that frequently.

Slowly, we began to talk again. It wasn't for another 6 months that we renewed our previous romantic relationship. As they say, the rest is history. We were married two-and-a-half years later, have two fantastic children, and are still very much so happy with each other after 9 years of marriage. I predict 10 years will be the same.