our story

Everybody has a story. When two stories collide, a couple has a story.

In the beginning- and essentially until the end is imminent- the story of the beginning is the thrilling one. In the end, it becomes the story of the end. So, one could easily conclude, that in the ultimate relationship, the end-all-be-all, the one true love, that beginning story needs to last a lifetime.

My best friends' parents both have stories. M's parents were high school sweethearts. R's parents were free-minded hippy types who got married in jeans and t-shirts. Stories that last. My parents' story, although maybe not as idyllic and more, well, dorky, is still lasting. What are the chances that either person was thinking about the story when these lifetime stories began? I'm guessing they weren't. And that will be my goal for the week. Stop STop STOp STOP thinking about the story.

J and I had a wonderful story, years in the making. He saw me on my first day of school and told his younger sister that she should make friends with me so he could meet me. I didn't meet her until after J and I got together. I didn't meet J for years after that. I had been a dream-girl to him. And that dream came true for both of us. Beautiful story. But, the story I tell now is about stages of life and PhD programs and cross country moves. The beginning story gets no play, and its such a good one. Pity.

C and I had a story. We met because I raised my hand and asked if he'd like to buy me a drink. I was trying to prove a point to a friend, but C made me work for that point. Either way, I made my point, I got my drink. 6 months later, we had our first date. That's another story, but the original story, how our stories first collided, that's the beginning. That's the beginning story. I don't get to tell that story anymore. Now I only get to tell a story about age differences and lifestyles.

P and I had a story. The story was better than the relationship, in the end. First date at the beach, walking on the pier, first kiss at the top of a rollercoaster. Magnificent story. The kind that gets written in cheesy teenage love novels. The kind that doesn't actually happen. But it did. And now... well, you know the story... I don't get to tell the beginning story anymore. I get to tell the inconclusive end story. Some combination of 'not sure', 'stopped calling', and 'just kind of ended'.

Last night at the airport someone walked up to me and said "so, why the Dodgers?", in reference to the royal blue Dodgers sweatshirt I had on. I was sitting on a wall, looking into the airport bar to see the Monday night football game. He was on the ground, looking up, asking me about the intersection of two of my favorite topics: baseball and me. We chatted, I learned that he played baseball in college, has friends playing in the major leagues now. He was in town with his mom, and waiting for his flight home. We were headed home on the same flight. He handed me a business card full of contact information and went back to sitting with his mom. I boarded the plane first, put on my headphones, started reading my book. When he and his mom boarded she asked him if he wanted to sit next to me, and he rolled his eyes and told her to keep going. I realized about 20 minutes into the flight that his mom decided to sit directly behind me.

I e-mailed him this morning.

Meeting in an airport seems logical. There are at least 40 other people going the same place you are. But how often does it happen? (And how often does it happen while wearing sweatpants, hair a mess, no make up on?) This could be the chronicle of a beginning. This could be the beginning of another end.

Eh, who cares. :)

Stories give me such a thrill.

L