Fourteen months and one week later, my eyes popped open and I sat straight up in bed with one thought: I’m getting married today. I smiled to myself. Then came another sudden and pressing thought: Oh God, I’m gonna throw up.
I jumped to my feet and slumped over the toilet while the wonderful lasagna from our rehearsal dinner made an unexpected and unpleasant encore appearance. My dad came down the hall and peeked into the room. Being the loving, compassionate father that he is, he took one look and yelled, “Fran, she’s puking!” before breaking into hysterical laughter. “Like mother, like daughter.” I heard as he drifted back down the hall. Yep. Apparently, I inherited my mom’s wedding-day-hurling-gene. What can I say? I was a bundle of nerves.
I don’t remember many details about the ceremony. The music was nice. The bridal party was lovely. Tim sang to me. I do remember telling him that if he noticed me looking over his shoulder as he sang, it wasn’t because I was secretly in love with his best man. It was just because I was fighting the urge to cry and needed a distraction.
Probably the most moving part of the ceremony was when Tim and I sang together. “One Hand, One Heart” was the prayer song in the mock wedding scene from West Side Story; the scene that I couldn’t get through without crying because I could see our wedding day so vividly in my mind’s eye. No other song could have been more perfect.
“Make of our hands, one hand.
Make of our hearts, one heart
Make of our vows, one last vow
Only death will part us now.”
I guess you could say we had come full circle; a struggling stage romance that flew in the face of everyone’s expectations.
So, there you have it. Just a couple of clueless teenagers dazzled by firelight; college kids held fast by divine chords of love; and now –older, much, much older but still growing deeper in like, deeper in love, and deeper in yeah, that other “l” word, everyday.
Greater love stories have been told but…this one is all ours.
Oh, the honeymoon?! You didn’t really expect me to share everything now, did you? Hmmmm. ;-)
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Overlooked
No matter what I tried, the lump only grew larger. My shoulders ached and my eyes burned. How can I possibly get through this day? I was panicking. Tim broke into the silence. “You want to stop at one of the overlooks?”
Yes. Please stop. Please. I need out. I need air. “Sure.” I replied half-heartedly.
We pulled into the gravel parking pad at a more or less unoccupied look-out point. I got out of the truck and sucked in as deep a breath as I could hold. I was overcome. Just a few yards ahead was a step down to a large boulder. “I’m gonna go a little closer for a second.” I told Tim, praying he wouldn’t follow me. Now, I realize that standing on a rock overlooking a drop off when you are already somewhat dizzy with emotion may not be the wisest choice; but I had to have a moment alone. I needed to let just a few tears fall. Not enough to open the flood gates but enough to let the pressure off of the tap, so to speak.
Tim made no move to join me and I was so thankful. When I finally felt that I could look him in the eye without falling apart. I turned and headed back up to where he was leaning on the truck. When I reached him, he grabbed me and held me. Great. More hugging. Again my emotions surged. Swallow it. Swallow it. Then all the sudden I heard something I was not expecting at all. Singing. He was singing to me.
There’s a Steven Curtis Chapman song called “Go There with You.” (click here for lyrics) It was a favorite of ours and basically speaks of love that goes the distance. As he poured out the words with the voice that I had fallen in love with years earlier, I unleashed the swell and let the tears pour. And when he dropped to one knee, popped open the ring case, and asked in a cracking voice that betrayed his own emotions: “Amie Harrington, will you marry me?” I bawled like a baby. In fact, he had to confirm that the tears represented a “yes” response.
Oh my heavens, what a moment! It was like climbing off of an insane roller coaster –I was slightly weak-kneed but otherwise exhilarated.
Turns out, Tim had fully intended to propose while at the chapel but I wasn’t the only one churning butter in the pit of my stomach that day. The boy was scared to death. While lying in the grass by that pond he had been fighting the urge to throw up. It’s crazy to think that we had each spent the whole day wallowing in private misery.
We grabbed a couple of sodas from the cooler and started the trip back home. I was elated. Giddy. Relieved. Then suddenly very cold –I have no idea how it happened (though I’m willing to bet it had something to do with trying to open a can of pop while maneuvering my newly adorned ring finger to give off the greatest sparkle) but I dumped an entire can of Sprite in my lap. I was soaked through. Tim pulled off to the side of the road and I grabbed an extra pair of shorts and the blanket we had used for our picnic from the truck box. While driving down the interstate and under the cover of the blanket, I proceeded to change from drenched jeans to dry clothes.
Tim, at least feigning focusing on the road ahead said, “If I’d known putting a ring on your finger would finally get you out of your pants, I’d have done it a long time ago.” We laughed and speculated as to whether anyone else would believe my explanation for leaving in one set of clothes and returning in another. But of course, you believe me…right?
Yes. Please stop. Please. I need out. I need air. “Sure.” I replied half-heartedly.
We pulled into the gravel parking pad at a more or less unoccupied look-out point. I got out of the truck and sucked in as deep a breath as I could hold. I was overcome. Just a few yards ahead was a step down to a large boulder. “I’m gonna go a little closer for a second.” I told Tim, praying he wouldn’t follow me. Now, I realize that standing on a rock overlooking a drop off when you are already somewhat dizzy with emotion may not be the wisest choice; but I had to have a moment alone. I needed to let just a few tears fall. Not enough to open the flood gates but enough to let the pressure off of the tap, so to speak.
Tim made no move to join me and I was so thankful. When I finally felt that I could look him in the eye without falling apart. I turned and headed back up to where he was leaning on the truck. When I reached him, he grabbed me and held me. Great. More hugging. Again my emotions surged. Swallow it. Swallow it. Then all the sudden I heard something I was not expecting at all. Singing. He was singing to me.
There’s a Steven Curtis Chapman song called “Go There with You.” (click here for lyrics) It was a favorite of ours and basically speaks of love that goes the distance. As he poured out the words with the voice that I had fallen in love with years earlier, I unleashed the swell and let the tears pour. And when he dropped to one knee, popped open the ring case, and asked in a cracking voice that betrayed his own emotions: “Amie Harrington, will you marry me?” I bawled like a baby. In fact, he had to confirm that the tears represented a “yes” response.
Oh my heavens, what a moment! It was like climbing off of an insane roller coaster –I was slightly weak-kneed but otherwise exhilarated.
Turns out, Tim had fully intended to propose while at the chapel but I wasn’t the only one churning butter in the pit of my stomach that day. The boy was scared to death. While lying in the grass by that pond he had been fighting the urge to throw up. It’s crazy to think that we had each spent the whole day wallowing in private misery.
We grabbed a couple of sodas from the cooler and started the trip back home. I was elated. Giddy. Relieved. Then suddenly very cold –I have no idea how it happened (though I’m willing to bet it had something to do with trying to open a can of pop while maneuvering my newly adorned ring finger to give off the greatest sparkle) but I dumped an entire can of Sprite in my lap. I was soaked through. Tim pulled off to the side of the road and I grabbed an extra pair of shorts and the blanket we had used for our picnic from the truck box. While driving down the interstate and under the cover of the blanket, I proceeded to change from drenched jeans to dry clothes.
Tim, at least feigning focusing on the road ahead said, “If I’d known putting a ring on your finger would finally get you out of your pants, I’d have done it a long time ago.” We laughed and speculated as to whether anyone else would believe my explanation for leaving in one set of clothes and returning in another. But of course, you believe me…right?
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Happy Birthday or is it?
April 18th, 1993 was a glorious day! The sun was out. The sky was blue. The birds were singing and my stomach was in a thousand knots. We’d made plans for the day to head to Callaway Gardens in GA. Callaway is a nature preserve of sorts with beautiful Azalea trails, butterfly houses, exotic gardens and yadda, yadda, yadda. You don’t need to know any of that. You do need to know that Callaway Gardens has this delightfully picturesque, little, stone chapel. It sits just above a peaceful lake and has a beautiful stained glass window which serves as the back wall. The perfect place for a wonderfully romantic guy to get down on one knee and pledge his love to a girl who’d spent hours practicing her surprised face.
We wondered down nature paths and watched turtles soaking up the morning sun along the edge of a pond. We held hands as we strolled around the butterfly house. We enjoyed a picnic lunch in a clearing. We were surrounded by beautiful serenity. My insides, however, were churning like class 5 river rapids. By early afternoon, we had made the rounds and seen all there was to see except the chapel. I thought my heart would explode out of my chest as we made our way up the hill to its entrance.
We stepped inside. It truly is a stunning place. The woodwork, stone, and stained glass together create this very intimate space that automatically evokes a certain amount of reverence. Patience. Patience. We walked around with others admiring its structure, and sat in the coolness of the wooden pews, and then…and then…
Then we went back outside. Huh? I was stunned. No. I was destroyed. I could feel my hands starting to shake and my chest tighten. I thought I would pass out right there in front of everyone. Tim made his way to the side of the pond and lay back in the grass, propped on his elbows. I settled on a nearby rock. We sat there. Not one word was said. He stared out at the water. I stared at the ground; forcing air in and out of my lungs and willing the tears back from my eyes.
After some time passed, Tim looked over and said, “I guess we should be heading home.” I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak. We stood up and he hugged me. I groaned inwardly. Why was he hugging me? I didn’t want a hug. I wanted a question. The question. I wanted a promise. I wanted a future. It was like being the runner up on some game show where they give you a really crappy consolation prize. “Amie Harrington you did not win the “Til Death Do Us Part” vacation package (aaaawwww) but we do have this lovely parting gift for you…a hug (applause).” NOOOOOOOOOOO! I wanted to scream.
By the time we made it back to the truck I was completely numb except for the painful pit that was now lodged in my throat. We drove the narrow streets through the exit and along the tree-canopied road leading away from the park. I knew I didn’t have the strength to keep the disappointment that had seized my being from showing all over my face. I stared out of the passenger window trying to breathe; trying to swallow; trying to understand. How could I be so stupid?
We wondered down nature paths and watched turtles soaking up the morning sun along the edge of a pond. We held hands as we strolled around the butterfly house. We enjoyed a picnic lunch in a clearing. We were surrounded by beautiful serenity. My insides, however, were churning like class 5 river rapids. By early afternoon, we had made the rounds and seen all there was to see except the chapel. I thought my heart would explode out of my chest as we made our way up the hill to its entrance.
We stepped inside. It truly is a stunning place. The woodwork, stone, and stained glass together create this very intimate space that automatically evokes a certain amount of reverence. Patience. Patience. We walked around with others admiring its structure, and sat in the coolness of the wooden pews, and then…and then…
Then we went back outside. Huh? I was stunned. No. I was destroyed. I could feel my hands starting to shake and my chest tighten. I thought I would pass out right there in front of everyone. Tim made his way to the side of the pond and lay back in the grass, propped on his elbows. I settled on a nearby rock. We sat there. Not one word was said. He stared out at the water. I stared at the ground; forcing air in and out of my lungs and willing the tears back from my eyes.
After some time passed, Tim looked over and said, “I guess we should be heading home.” I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak. We stood up and he hugged me. I groaned inwardly. Why was he hugging me? I didn’t want a hug. I wanted a question. The question. I wanted a promise. I wanted a future. It was like being the runner up on some game show where they give you a really crappy consolation prize. “Amie Harrington you did not win the “Til Death Do Us Part” vacation package (aaaawwww) but we do have this lovely parting gift for you…a hug (applause).” NOOOOOOOOOOO! I wanted to scream.
By the time we made it back to the truck I was completely numb except for the painful pit that was now lodged in my throat. We drove the narrow streets through the exit and along the tree-canopied road leading away from the park. I knew I didn’t have the strength to keep the disappointment that had seized my being from showing all over my face. I stared out of the passenger window trying to breathe; trying to swallow; trying to understand. How could I be so stupid?
Monday, June 1, 2009
Playing Possum
Tim finished up his first year of college and I managed to graduate from high school despite having cried through most of my senior year. We still had our occasional spats –like when I went to Panama City with a group of girls for my senior trip. Tim was not very happy. Historically, teenagers on unsupervised beach trips tend to forget the rules of exclusive relationships. Heck, they tend to forget the rules, period. Maybe it’s something in the formula for Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil or…I suppose it could be the unlawful and ungodly amounts of alcohol being consumed. Either way, Tim was convinced that something dreadful lay ahead and it involved me being tangled up on the beach with some oven-baked lifeguard.
The few days before leaving, he all but ignored me completely. I was amazed. Here he had spent a year in college and almost “fallen out of love with me” while I lingered faithfully and yet now, he couldn’t manage to trust me for one week. He knew better than anyone else that I was “a good girl.” He also knew that the girl I was traveling and staying with (one of his ex-girlfriends, in fact --not one previously mentioned in the story but still somewhat ironic) was the captain of an anti-drug and alcohol performance team at our school. But neither this nor anything I said would allay his fears. So, I did what a loving and loyal girlfriend should do.
I went anyway. One week of worry wasn’t going to kill the boy. And I had a great time. No alcohol, no life guards, not even a notable sunburn. (My girlfriend and I laughed as we had complete freedom from our parents but still spent an hour every day slathering on and reapplying sunscreen. Our moms would’ve been so proud.) I returned to my sweetheart just as I had left, only heavily freckled.
The months passed and we continued to fall deeper in love; deeper in like; deeper in…what’s that other “l” word? Oh yeah, lust. That’s the one. Suffice it to say we were steadily heading toward the moment of truth. Time to sink or swim. Fish or cut bait. Hitch up the wagon or put the horse out to pasture. Um, I believe Paul said it this way, “It is better to marry than to burn…” And it was getting harder and harder to put out those fires.
One Sunday afternoon, we were napping in Tim’s room and I roused to hear him on the phone with his best friend from high school. I picked up the conversation just as Tim was speaking in a hushed tone, “Of course, you have to be here. I need a best man, don’t I?” I froze. “Well, she has a birthday coming up, so…” Breathe slowly. I willed myself to keep my eyes closed. I didn’t hear another word of his conversation. My brain was spinning. I was so relieved when Tim, thinking I was still asleep, quietly left the room. I lay there for some time trying to gather my composure and not let on what I now knew: Tim was going to propose on my 19th birthday which was just around the corner. Now, all I had to do was wait.
The few days before leaving, he all but ignored me completely. I was amazed. Here he had spent a year in college and almost “fallen out of love with me” while I lingered faithfully and yet now, he couldn’t manage to trust me for one week. He knew better than anyone else that I was “a good girl.” He also knew that the girl I was traveling and staying with (one of his ex-girlfriends, in fact --not one previously mentioned in the story but still somewhat ironic) was the captain of an anti-drug and alcohol performance team at our school. But neither this nor anything I said would allay his fears. So, I did what a loving and loyal girlfriend should do.
I went anyway. One week of worry wasn’t going to kill the boy. And I had a great time. No alcohol, no life guards, not even a notable sunburn. (My girlfriend and I laughed as we had complete freedom from our parents but still spent an hour every day slathering on and reapplying sunscreen. Our moms would’ve been so proud.) I returned to my sweetheart just as I had left, only heavily freckled.
The months passed and we continued to fall deeper in love; deeper in like; deeper in…what’s that other “l” word? Oh yeah, lust. That’s the one. Suffice it to say we were steadily heading toward the moment of truth. Time to sink or swim. Fish or cut bait. Hitch up the wagon or put the horse out to pasture. Um, I believe Paul said it this way, “It is better to marry than to burn…” And it was getting harder and harder to put out those fires.
One Sunday afternoon, we were napping in Tim’s room and I roused to hear him on the phone with his best friend from high school. I picked up the conversation just as Tim was speaking in a hushed tone, “Of course, you have to be here. I need a best man, don’t I?” I froze. “Well, she has a birthday coming up, so…” Breathe slowly. I willed myself to keep my eyes closed. I didn’t hear another word of his conversation. My brain was spinning. I was so relieved when Tim, thinking I was still asleep, quietly left the room. I lay there for some time trying to gather my composure and not let on what I now knew: Tim was going to propose on my 19th birthday which was just around the corner. Now, all I had to do was wait.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)