The Movie Script That Is My Life

A common question that I'm asked is how my wife and I met and ended up getting married. I usually tell people that the story is "ridiculously impossible" and they, usually, are pretty skeptical (as I'm sure some people who are reading this now are). To make sure that I provided the full story, and that I didn't leave out any details, I had my wife read through what's written below to confirm I had everything correct. Now, get comfy. This isn’t a short story.

I will state for the record, non-official as it may be, that most people would say that certain events in the story of how they met their significant other were "crazy" or "unbelievable". The story of how my wife ended up as my wife hasn’t ever considered the word "normal" and probably doesn't even believe in it. It still causes me to stop every so often, after nine and a half years of marriage, and my brain still has to verify that I'm still married and my wife really is my wife. This thought process occurs not because of some sort of mental issue, though some people may say I have a few of those, but it's because my brain remembers the sequence of events that I'm about to review for you, Dear Reader, and it still has issues believing that things actually happened the way they did.

Our story begins, as some stories do, with my parents. They asked a question when I was a Senior in high school and although I answered in the affirmative very quickly, I still can't believe they asked it. They said:

Do you want to go spend Spring Break with your sister at college to see what it’s like?

(See what I mean about this being pretty ridiculous? I've only started the story and I know some people are already saying things like, Dude, NO WAY. Seriously? Yes. I'm as serious as a heart attack. Everything I'm telling you here is true. I'm not making anything up.)

So, after it was rapidly settled that I wanted to go hang out with my sister and her friends at college, for a whole week with no parental supervision, time flew rather quickly and soon I found myself driving the eight hours or so (one way) with my parents to do just that. There are a number of highlights I still remember from that trip, which include:

- Helping to strike a theater set (which was the interior of a Victorian house right down to the crown molding, if I remember correctly) in two hours.

- Falling asleep in my sister's 8am history class (and being elbowed by her repeatedly to make me stay awake).

- Having a home-cooked dinner made by a gay ballet dancer during the time he wasn't needed to understudy during a rehearsal for the dance recital where my sister was the stage manager.

- Being allowed into the bar where one of her friends was the bouncer.

- Waking up to drunk people playing loud music in the main room of her apartment at 2am because the bar kicked them out and they wanted to keep the party going (and having the boyfriend of an upstairs housemate yelling at them to quit it before bodily harm occurred).

- Going along with my wife's boyfriend at the time to pick up his new mountain bike.

- And, last but not least, meeting my wife.

Now, usually when guys talk about meeting their wives for the first time, they have some sort of experience where they see them somewhere, they talk for a bit, and they exchange information to stay in contact or whatever.

Wrong! That’s too standard for us!

One morning, while I was staying with my sister, we were hanging out in the upstairs kitchen of the townhouse that her and her friends were renting for that year. There were four of us sitting at the table talking and my wife shuffled out of her bedroom. (Yes, really.) When my wife is really tired, she’s not awake enough to walk properly. So, her feet scuff along the floor until that happens. Add in, that she had bed head in full effect, her eyes barely open because she was tired, she had her glasses on, and that she was hunched over with her bathrobe tucked around her as tight as possible so she stayed warm. I imagine anyone reading this can see why my wife still doesn't believe me when I tell her I thought she looked “cute” when I first saw her. To be honest, I'm rather surprised she remembers the incident mainly because her brain didn't recognize that there were people sitting at the kitchen table until she was halfway past it. That's when she stopped, looked over, stuck one hand out of her bathrobe and did a tiny, rapid wave with her hand before she shuffled off to the bathroom.

Heck of an introduction, isn't it?

I know I hung out with my wife and the rest of my sister's friends a bunch that week, but that's the scene that I remember the most. (Gee, I wonder why?)

After my visit was over, my parents asked me how things went and what I did. According to them, because I honestly don’t remember the conversation, I talked a bit here and there about my experiences, but then I said, "But, DAD! There's this GIRL!" and I proceeded to wax poetic about my wife for a solid 20 minutes or so. Not that I was interested in her or anything.

No, not me.

Not at all.

I didn't see my wife or talk to her for around two years after I first met her. That happened when she and my sister graduated from college. We only saw each other briefly then and we didn't say much to each other beyond "Hello". However, we kept tabs on each other through my sister, in a "How is he/she doing?" manner, which would become a pattern for the next couple of years.

Two years after she and my sister graduated from college, my wife moved in with my family for the summer while she was in grad school. She worked temp jobs, hung out with my sister and her friends, and got ready for her next year of grad school. I spent some time hanging out with my sister and her friends, hanging out with my own friends, and suffering from a full-blown case of unrequited love for my wife. Here are two important interactions that happened during those couple of months:

One weeknight, my wife told all of us goodnight and headed off to bed right as I came down the stairs. I let her pass me by, watched her go into her room, and sighed loudly as I watched the door close. My father, who watched this whole scene play out, looked at me and said, "Forget it Drew. It'll never happen." Then, went back to reading his newspaper.

On another night, my father and I were talking about various things and my wife was brought up. We discussed the fact that she was single and my Dad ended the conversation by saying, "I just wish she could end up with someone nice."

I'll point out here that I was dating someone at the time. Note that I wasn't pursuing my wife at all (I was in a relationship and it's not like I had a chance, right?), but all of this was still going on.

In August, I headed off to college and my wife went back to grad school. During this time, there was a legitimate discussion between us where we almost became roommates. (She would have slept in the bed under my loft.) My wife was looking for a place to live to finish her externships for grad school. The only reason it didn't happen is because her mother visited my apartment and, not surprisingly, didn't approve of the quality of the living conditions. My wife drove down to my apartment for my 21st birthday party in September and then we saw each other again in October, when my sister and brother-in-law got married. We hung out a bit with other people, went clubbing with a group, and I found out she was in a relationship. My relationship, interestingly enough, fell apart right around that time. But, again, my wife wasn't an option for dating because she was out of my league. We also tried to see Type O Negative on Halloween, but unfortunately those plans fell through. Then, in November, a friend of mine from college and I hung out for an evening with my wife in her apartment which was a short drive from my college.

Once my wife graduated from grad school in December of that year, we went back to mainly staying in contact through my sister. We graduated from the "How is he/she doing?" questions to talking on the phone every once in awhile when I was hanging out with my sister and/or brother-in-law during the various times when I was visiting them on the weekends. This situation continued apace until roughly a year and a half later. Around then, my sister passed along my wife's email address and we started writing each other every so often to keep tabs on what was going on in each of our lives.

In January of 1999, my girlfriend at the time broke up with me. I'm bringing up this incident because of a set of events that, in hindsight, are rather amusing that occurred that night. On the drive home from my now ex-girlfriend's apartment, I was trying to make myself feel better, so I said out loud, "Oh, well. There’s always Allison." I chuckled at my wit because, in my opinion, there was no way in hell I’d have any chance to date my wife at that time. What a great joke! So, I headed back to my parents' house, where I was staying for the weekend, and I broke the news to my parents. After expressing their disappointment about what happened, my mother looked at me, and without me saying a word about what I said earlier she said, "Well, there's always Allison." We all chuckled and then my parents really laughed when I told them I'd said the same thing earlier.

Then, I called up my sister and brother-in-law and broke the news to them. After offering condolences and without a word of what had transpired earlier, my sister promptly said, "Well, there’s always Allison." Another fit of giggling ensued and laughter quickly followed when I confirmed that every member of my family had said, word for word, the exact same joke about my wife and me. Immediately after this conversation, my sister handed the phone to my wife because she was visiting for the weekend! Ay, caramba! Luckily, my wife didn't hear what my sister had said! Phew! We proceeded to catch up and I informed her of the demise of my relationship. The very next thing she asked me was when I was going to visit her in Delaware.

Looking back on it now, the timing of that question is utterly hilarious, but it was perfectly innocent because neither one of us was considering dating the other person. We decided that I would visit for a few days during my Spring Break in March and we hung up the phone.

For the next couple of weeks, my wife and I exchanged emails. We talked about my visit and what was going on in each of our lives. It was the most we had communicated to each other at any point since we were introduced. On March 9th, 1999 I drove from my parents' house in Virginia up I-95 to Delaware to visit my wife. The trip took me approximately three hours and it was a fairly easy drive. She lived in an apartment complex about five minutes off of the highway, so getting there was a cinch.

I surprised her at the door with a bouquet of flowers. This was done with no ulterior motive whatsoever. I was just being nice as I generally am with my friends. When I called my parents to let them know I had arrived, the following conversation ensued:

Me (to my Mom on the phone): Yeah, it was an easy drive. I don't know if I'm staying here overnight or if I'll be driving back later today.

My wife (very firmly): You're staying here tonight.

Me (after a slight, surprised pause): Okay, I guess I'm staying here tonight.

Yet again, this conversation was 100% innocuous. My wife has repeatedly told me over the years that she stated what she did simply because she knew I had driven three hours to visit her and driving six hours in one day was an utterly ridiculous notion when I could crash at her apartment.

After hanging out for a little bit, we jumped in a car, grabbed a bite to eat, and played pool for a few hours. After heading back to my wife's place, we ended up snuggling on her couch with her head on my chest.

Now, stop for a minute and consider how it would feel to snuggle with someone that you've had a crush on for four years. Yeeeeeah. My brain had a train of thought similar to the following:

Breathe. Relax. Keep your cool. She doesn't know and if you relax, you'll be fine. Breathe. Just relax and everything will be fine.

Meanwhile, since her head was lying on my chest, my wife could hear my heart rate skyrocketing and its attempt to mimic a jackhammer.

I'm smooth with the ladies, can you tell?

Regardless of the situation, or perhaps because of it, we ended up kissing and we started dating. The next day we had our "first date" (which was a dinner of pizza, Pepsi, and sushi) and things snowballed from there.

In October of 1999, my wife moved from Delaware into my parents' house in Virginia.

In May of 2000, we moved into our first apartment.

In September of 2000, I arrived home late at night, got my wife out of bed to "check out the things" I picked up from my ex-girlfriend that she wanted to give me (the legitimate reason I was late getting home that night), used petting one of our cats as an excuse to get down on one knee, and proposed. That happened with the following conversation:

Me: There's one other thing I have to show you.

Allison: What?

Me (holding up a ring): This.

*My wife takes the ring out of my hands, looks at it for a bit, doesn't recognize it, and gives me a confused "I don’t know what this is" look*

Me: Marry me?

My wife nodded her head and whimpered happily while I slid the ring onto her finger. I still giggle over the fact that I proposed to my wife when she was in her bathrobe. For some reason, I find it very fitting for our relationship.

(Fun side note: When we broke the news of our engagement, the most common phrase we heard was, "It’s about time!")

On October 20th, 2001 my wife and I were married among family and friends. We've stayed that way, happily, for over nine years and we're still going strong. I plan on updating this sentence in some fashion every year for the rest of my life.

So, there you have it. One of the most convoluted, you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me stories that I've ever encountered. Especially since I lived through it.

I won't complain about the results, though. Not in a million years.