scribblechic

Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary, today I am remembering the day I became friends with the man I married. My husband and I crossed paths accidentally at an off-campus St. Patrick’s Day party two years after having met in a college English class. I was dating his friend.

I had conceded to setting aside my studies that evening just long enough to experience the festive consumption of tinted beer with strangers camouflaged in waves of green; my perfunctory attendance a compromise between my boyfriend’s plans for the evening and my disinterest. Biding my time for a discrete exit, I watched with amusement as the boy I was dating engaged the crowded apartment with his infectious good humor and easy laugh.

Then my husband took a knee. We had been classmates and the familiarity of his face was a happy surprise. Reintroducing ourselves my husband settled by my side grounding me in a comfortable conversation. In the coming weeks he would continue to appear on my dates keeping me company. The school year ended as did my relationship and we all parted ways in the early days of summer.

I celebrated a newfound independence making room for myself between work and studies, relishing solitary endeavors. I sent a note to my future husband from a place of independent contentment and so we began a conversation that covered miles between us and created a new journey in friendship.

Long phone calls and handwritten letters documented our beginning, but I always return to the simple gesture of pausing on bended knee. When my daughter sings the timeless refrain of How do you know? I share my husbands willingness to meet me patiently, resting beside me in friendship. This is how I know.

Tagged: Friendship, Marriage, Musings