[To preface this story, it was written years ago in a moment of pure romantic ridiculousness, but I liked the ending so I kept it and posted it anyways]
No one expects to meet their soulmate at fourteen. Actually, all fourteen-year-old girls expect and want to meet them but in my case, there was no way that I was ready. I can still remember the first time I really saw him. It’s been twelve years since that moment but I still remember it like it was yesterday. It was August of 2001, and I was entering my Freshman year of high school. My mom had promised me a shiny silver trumpet when I made first trumped in the marching band. Before I even left 8th grade, the music director had given me that distinction. On this sunny, gorgeous summer day, I had my beautiful new horn and as we all made our way to the field to start marching drills, I saw him walking with a good friend of mine. We had performed together in a musical when I was in 7th grade and I had met him a few times through mutual friends. Unfortunately, I was brutally shy when I was younger and most people thought I was snobby and stuck up because of my silence. This was not the easiest pill to swallow, since I had always been a spirited kid, albeit one of those spirits happened to be a huge attitude problem coupled with sarcasm and a fiery temper. Where was an important change in 8th grade when I got my braces taken off. I felt like a brand new girl and my smile was fantastic for the first time in my life. So now, in 9th grade, when he saw me and smiles I was finally able to smile back with confidence.
I remember the way the sunshine was glowing and how his eyes crinkled when he smiled. I remember his smile and how it seemed to brighten up my day. We started dating shortly after that and he became my “First High School Boyfriend”. We dated for 2 months or so until I went to a 12 hour punk show with a group of friends, supervised selflessly by my newly 21 year old cousin (on her birthday, no less). He was not allowed to go and so I went on my own. That’s when I met Taylor. Over the next week, we broke up and sure, I felt really bad but at the same time, I knew it was the right thing for me to do. I was also the luckiest girl in the world, because he decided to continue being my friend. We went through years of being friends while we both went through good times and bad. Eleven years later, I was invited to a surprise party for his father after three years of not seeing each other. When I walked in, it was like the clouds clearing after a long storm. I remember catching his eye and making an immediate beeline. He pulled me into his requisite bear-hug and my feet came straight off the floor (literally). I saw his entire family, who through the years had become like a part of my family. I was introduced to his girlfriend and they seemed happy so I was happy for my friend. That was the day I realized how much I missed this family. This rag-tag bunch of misfits had become nearer and dearer to me than some of my actual blood relatives. That was the same night that he told me that I was his back-up and opened up a long suppressed emotional can of worms.
To explain myself in an unflinchingly honest way, I have to say that I am a hopeless romantic trapped in the body of a cynic. I’m realistic and introspective enough to know my own self quite well. Previously, I had thought that meant that I had constant doubt and trust issued, it turns out that several years later I've realized that I’m just very lucky and know myself incredibly well. As I write, I realize more and more that although there is no fixing my past, no bandage big enough for my former wounds, at the end of the day I am happy. Not because I suspect that I’ve found the love of my life, but because after years of self-doubt and confusion, I love myself. I had contemplated the idea of loving myself before but apparently it took knowing that someone could love me, unconditionally, for over a decade to realize that over the years I have become a warrior. I love that about myself. I have transformed like a phoenix in the flame into a battle ready, loyal, honest, un-apologetically bold, independent, beautiful tropical fish.
With this beautiful realization came one that I had never expected to have. For the first time in my life, I could see my future. I could see his smiling face at the end of the aisle. Our normally self-satisfying smiles, beaming not only for our own radiant joyousness but for the other’s too. I could see my sister and his, beside each other, watching my ascension to a step I never thought I’d take. To a leap of faith I had been brushing off and laughing off as a joke for a decade with the reasoning, “Who would want to marry this much crazy?” For the first time in my life, I could feel my father carrying my arm and see the eyes of everyone I’ve ever loved watching me float towards a lie I had always dreamed of. Mutually assured and never-ending unconditional love and affection. It was the fairy tale I had been cynically poking fun of for years. Despite its not being some sort of Disney fairy tale where we could spend a Saturday afternoon in its entirety at the comic book store we both practically grew up in. I could imagine myself sitting in our future home with his head in my lap while I run my fingers through his hair. I could see myself having a bad day and yearning to be at home and then getting there and feelings the tension release by just being near him. I could see every birthday, anniversary and national holiday. I could see myself as the mother of two nameless, faceless kids who could be anything or anyone as long as they were ours. I could see us dancing on our wedding night in the moonlight somewhere. Drunk, but knowing that it was just the beginning. This would be the best night of our lives, but so would tomorrow night and the night after that. Dancing while smelling the sweet summer air and listening to the crickets chirp while he sings quietly to me.
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