Arthur grilled chicken on Memorial Day, proving that you’re never too old to learn. He not only approached the task with gusto, the man now has his own technique, further proving what I’ve always known: that he can do anything, and do it well. Pay no attention to his house slippers; they are as Mercury’s wings.

Today is our 12th wedding anniversary. We usually forget, but have gotten so used to associating the date with the start of Hurricane season that it comes in a vague second, like a birthday on December 25th. There’s another date in September that we do remember to celebrate; the day we met back in 1986.

It’s funny how life throws curve after curve and we field them to the best of our ability, never knowing which pitch will land us where. When I moved into an apartment below Arthur’s sister Debra in 1986 we were equally unaware the other existed. We became acquainted gradually, in dribs and drabs. Leaving my small, boxy home one day I looked up to see a dog on the patio above me and asked “Is that a boxer?”, not recognizing the pit bull. That would hardly endear me to her, resulting instead in frosty glances and avoidance techniques.
Another day we managed to say ‘hello’ to each other in the parking lot. Once I found my boyfriend chatting in her loft while waiting for me to get home from work.

It just happens, the friendship. Grows from nothing to something before you remember that a few scant weeks ago you had no idea what this person’s name was or if they like strawberry jello. Then you do.

It wasn’t long -perhaps a month- before Debra approached me with a delimma: she had to attend her sisters wedding in Chicago but didn’t want to go alone. Would I go with her if she bought my ticket? Of course I said yes; in those days I could be ready to go at a moment’s notice if adventure promised.

I flew Continental to my destiny on September 5th, leaving behind warm, sticky Houston to stand freezing outside O’Hare in weather a south Texas girl wouldn’t think to be prepared for, waiting to be picked up by my new friend’s sister.
The sisters -all five- are they themselves a story, but not mine. I’ll skim over them here as I pretty much have in life, as the siblings are scattered and don’t keep in touch well with each other, let alone their brother.

Debra and I were whisked away from the windy curb by one sister to another’s home where everyone had coagulated to discuss the rehearsal dinner that night and wedding the next day. And that’s when it happened; the moment had come and the universe pitched one straight inside.

I walked into the room, turned left and saw a man in earnest conversation; slightly bent at the waist, left arm on left knee, his left foot perched upon a bench seat. [One of my pet peeves] My gaze traveled upwards from the strange white deck shoes past the ill fitting KMart clothes and to the balding, spectacled head, not expecting much of anything. He looked up at the new arrivals, our eyes met and to say that lightening struck would not be an exaggeration.

It felt as though the lightening had shocked me from within, lit me up and the bright light streamed out of my pores into the room, alerting everyone to my condition. In that instant I knew I would marry him. I learned later that it was the same for him.

And that’s when I started running. I began at the wedding reception by drinking so much he had to take me outside to try and sober me up a little. To this day I have no recollection of the limo ride to the airport or the plane trip home, but vividly recall getting on my hands and knees and kissing the tarmac once we’d landed, vowing never to leave Texas again. The warmth of the asphalt against my lips felt like home.

Having no idea what a wonderful person he was, and is, I was such a snot that I tried to close the door fate had opened, claiming I didn’t want my destiny. I had other fish to fry, and my plans didn’t include an older man with 12 hairs left on his head. I tried for six years, running away, pulled back, running ever further, yet ultimately returning to his orbit where I belong.

Now I curse the lost years, of course. Lesson learned, not too late this time.

Happy Anniversary, my love.