True Love
Me
So my husband and I met at summer camp when I was fourteen and he was sixteen. He worked as a junior counselor and I was a camper - arriving in the session designated for teens. My very first day there, I watched him, shirtless, on the softball field, run down a high fly ball and make a diving catch to save the game and I knew right then and there I would marry him. No doubt in my mind.
We lived in different states so for the next six years, we wrote letters, talked long-distance late at night when the cost dropped and saw each other…oh…maybe a handful of times - Altogether I would guess that we spent no more than two weeks in each others company. Finally, when I was twenty and he was twenty-three, we spent an entire week together. All I’m at liberty to tell you about that visit is…censored!
Anyway, after seven days together, we fought - because he got scared, and I mean terrified about the direction our relationship had taken…so he picked a fight with me about the shortness of my miniskirt. And we broke up. The next year was one heartache after another for me and I ended up with another man who was the bizarro or cracked mirror version of my true love. On the rebound, I married him.
Four years and one child later, we divorced. Two years later, after not having seen each other or spoken a single word to each other in six long years, my true love called me at two in the morning and asked if he could come visit. He drove eight hundred miles, stopping only for gas. I waited for him in the driveway of my small house. He climbed out of his car, picked me up in his arms, carried me off to bed - my son was with a sitter - and two hours later, asked me to marry him. I said, “Let me think…yes!” And that was that! Ah, true love!
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