What Am I to You?

Two years ago last night our beloved Candleshoe night happened.



What happened the next night is another story entirely.

B. and I had been on a few dates on and off that summer.  I liked her, but she lived four hours away, attended another school, and pretty much had her whole life set there.  I had done long-distance before with disastrous consequences and I had a feeling that if we ever did start dating, it would either end in marriage or in a very ugly breakup.  I was hesitant to start a relationship for a number of reasons.

First off, I wasn't planning on dating seriously until I was almost or completely done with college.  I knew I was considering a major in the arts, and while some would consider me an idiot for choosing such a major rather than something sensible like accounting or business or pre-med, I was not so much an idiot as to rope some poor innocent girl into my foolishness.  If I was to starve, I'd do it alone.  I had a plan.  First college, then job, then girlfriend, then marriage.

But I keep traveling just to see her...

Second of all, B. and I were really good friends and I was starting a new chapter of my life where I wasn't living at home or on a foreign mission.  I controlled where and when I moved.  No more Uncle Sam or mission office controlling my location; my friendships and relationships no longer had a shelf life.  I determined how long I was in one spot and how long I was around those with whom I liked to spend my time.  If things went south with B., I could only blame myself for losing such a great friend.

But would I really come visit this often to only see a friend?...

There were a litany of other reasons and rationalizations with which I tried to buffer my pride, yet when she mentioned over the phone that she had a wedding to go to in Vegas, I promptly volunteered myself as a date.  She was a little taken aback; she had noticed my subtle edging away from any sense of commitment into the comfort of the friend zone, so this turnaround had her a little confused, but she happily agreed and I made the drive down with bread, brie, grapes, candles, sparkling cider and all the trappings for what became arguably our most famous date.



The next day we drove down to Vegas and attended the wedding, enjoyed the fancy cuisine and kept giving each other a look.

When we drove down into the city of sin and I had to shake off the thought of us going on dozens of roadtrips together, we gave each other that look.

When we toured around the casinos we splurged and went to see the Bodies exhibit.  Ever the scientist, she geeked out.  We shared the look then, too.

When the minister gave some friendly advice to the bride and groom, we gave each other that look.

When the family toasted the happy couple, we gave each other that look.

After the wedding festivities, we walked down the strip until at last we came to the famous Bellagio fountains.  Towers of water shot into the air in dazzling patterns synchronized with music.  We stopped and watched the display of hydrotechnics and resisted the urge to reference Oceans Eleven.

Then she said it.

The question she'd been asking all day with that look.


"What am I to you?"


She knew I was hesitant.  She knew I was concerned.  She knew I was feeling more than I wanted to let on.

She'd seen my look.

So she wanted to know.  Where was this going, if anywhere?  Was this just going to be a will-they-won't-they drama until one of us graduated?  What was she to me?  A friend?  More than a friend?  A girlfriend?  The love of my life?

...(all of the above?)

I think in actuality I only paused for about two or three seconds to run through any and all excuses I had hidden behind in the past.  When none of them held up I happily reached the conclusion that we couldn't remain "just friends."  So, in order to preserve the friendship, she'd just have to marry me.

I paused for a minute and told her, "I'll tell you when the song's over," praying that the fountains would start up again with Clair de Lune or something equally romantic.  I already knew this was a moment we'd be telling our kids (and i guess you) about, I wanted it to be as memorable as possible.
She immediately responded with a stolid, "No you won't you'll tell me now," But I was firm on the timing; this had to be perfect.

Turns out, the fountains only play songs ever 15 minutes, so as silence swallowed the evening air, she turned expectantly, I gazed at the ay the city lights bathed her gorgeous face and finally let my lips say what my eyes - my look - had been saying all day:


"You're the woman I'm in love with."


She smiled.  I smiled back.  We were giddy schoolchildren waltzing down the Strip for the rest of the night.  We were in love!  At last!  I finally let myself be happy, let my best friend become the center of my heart and my life.  We didn't date for long.  We were engaged only until she could move/transfer schools.  We knew then that we were meant to be.

We celebrated this little anniversary of ours last night.  We just went out to dinner, nothing too fancy.  But as we spooned groggily last night she had me tell our story over again.  It's worth retelling.  I nestled closely to her, breathing in all the smells that are hers and now mine because of that perfect question:

What am I to you?




S