Not a once upon a time

Once there was a little girl in first grade with long red hair who was painfully shy and quiet. On the other side of the church sat a yellow haired, beautiful brown eyed boy whose eyes always danced with laughter. He noticed her in church one day and proudly told his mom “see that girl with the long red hair? I am going to marry her someday!”

On one particular day, the little girl was furious with the mischievous boy. For the rest of CCD, they had to sit silently with their heads down because someone couldn’t behave themselves. The little girl was worried that her teacher was mad at her even if she hadn’t almost ever spoken a word. But the little boy smiled and laughed. He wasn’t worried. He never worried.

One went one direction and the other, another. They both grew up with their share of happiness, sunshine, and rain. As middle school opened up, the girl decided that she wanted to start attending a youth group at the little white church on top of the hill. This weekend the youth group was meeting up with the sister church and going on a hike. The girl and her friends piled into the car and traveled to the other church. As she stood off to the side, twisting her ear ring around and around – a nervous habit that went unnoticed to her by now- she heard laughter. The group seemed to swallow him up as he chuckled and joked. She looked over at him and wished that she could be that. She could be like the sunshine.

            During the hike he came over. She assumed to meet her very pretty friend. His hair was bright yellow and his eye lashed longer than anyone’s she had ever saw. He never introduced himself, and she didn’t know his name. So he became the kid with the “ogre” hands. She remembered looking at his hands and wondering how he got such large hands.

            The story went on. The two finally connected anda friendship of unlikely sorts was formed. Over the next couple of years, he would throw gum in her hair and hide ice cubes in her sleeping bag. Her face would almost crack each time she tried to look sternly at him only to laugh. He dumped her out of a canoe and held her hand when another broke her heart. He made her laugh. She made him smile. Seasons came and went and they grew.

            He would tell the now teenage girl with the now longer red hair that he loved her. She would laugh. He would call her at night, and they would talk until early mornings. She would sing to him and he would tell her loud and outrageous stories just to get her to laugh. One night the ordinary became extraordinary and the simple became complex. They were on the phone. She made him laugh, a feat she was quite proud of since humor wasn’t her strongest point. He laughed and said “I love you!” She smiled and said “I love you too.”

            Silence. As if the world had paused in its rotation to wait. He quietly asked her to repeat that. She shyly whispered back. And in fairy tales, that would be that. But sometimes real life is often stronger and more complex than happily ever after. After all, growing up together was still growing up. Graduation came and the future came barreling upon them. The only thing they were sure of was that they weren’t very sure of anything. But he took his larger than life hand and wrapped them around her small and shaking one. She smiled, and he laughed and they began.

            Today that boy with the bright blond hair shaves his head, but his dark beard brings out his dark eyelashes even more. Her red hair is shorter and she never wears ear rings now, although she still tugs at her ear when she is nervous. Fifteen years ago, she walked down the aisle on the arm of her daddy never as sure of anything as she was of this. He stood at the other end of the aisle, the boy who poured out confidence, and was racked with nerves because he was scared he couldn’t give her all out of life that he felt she deserved. But she smiled. He smiled.

            If this was a fairy tale of “Once upon a time”, here would be the happily ever after. Real life is more complex a thing. Thank God for that. Because in the trials when you look through the tears and feel that hand grab for yours, you know. When he washes your hair for you on the morning of your Dad’s funeral service because you can’t lift your arms, you know. When she won’t let you give up on yourself and tells that boy to stand back up, even if it hurts, you know. You know when he carries you to the bathroom after months of being ill with an unknown cause, and you know when she brings you 3 bags of chocolate chip cookies  after knee surgery.  You know that you have found something special that not everyone is blessed enough to find. You are not perfect and the sighs and the bickering over laundry will come, but you know that you will never be alone. That after all this time, your best friend has become your everything. We are going to make it. You know when you laugh so hard your eyes water and your side splits. You know when he starts to sing in the kitchen and dances you around. You know when she saves the last brownie for you and agrees to sit through another season of your favorite sci-fi series. You know.

            I couldn’t be more grateful and blessed. I love you Scott Alan. Forever and a day.