a writing from my husband

Currently there is a contest going on for the magazine "Real Simple" that asks readers to write the most important day in your life. It's a chance to win $3,000 and since my husband enjoys writing so much, he wrote what you're about to read below. I'm constantly amazed with how incredible he is. Thank you Lord, for the most amazing man in the world! Enjoy!



Catalyst

I can only relate so much to you because the weight of that moment fell full only upon us. And it fell profoundly, a catalyst we could only see later. I myself wouldn't realize it until we shared our memories the night before Isaac was born, when we looked back to the point where our lives, twisting around each other in spatial proximity, at last intersected.

That night, before the C-section, we stepped back in time through Central American journeys and romantic Spanish plazas, back to the night I returned from Mexico to lie under the stars next to her in the National Park, and even further back to the spark that arched between our joined hands in my car on the boulevard back from her cousin's. I had thought that was the beginning.

It certainly wasn't our first meeting when all this started, an anticlimactic suggestion by the same cousin that brought me to her midtown loft with a concrete floor and a bright red microfibre couch. The Roots rang through the thick and humid air and I noticed my foot keeping the rhythm; still I was only mystified and warily curious, as a person out of his element can sometimes be. She bought me a beer at Hand-in-Hand and gave me her phone number once she saw me ask for her friend's.

A couple of weeks later, at an indie rock hideaway on the second story of Smith's Olde Bar, I bought her a ticket to the show out of obligation. I hardly saw her at all as she rounded amongst friends while the local band shook the air from its stillness. I retreated to my coy posture in the back, but I could sense something deep within coming alive. Music was the sway of her hips in her walk, and hence the culture to her soul. Her allure was melodic. And as though drawn to some celestial phenomenon, I found myself, rather unexpectedly, a contemplative neophyte quietly observing the rites in that smoky establishment.

The set closed, then there was a narrow stairwell, then a grouping of tables and acquaintances surrounded by pool tables and concert posters. I sat at one end with several others, some I'd hardly met. She lounged directly opposite me, fully at ease in the company of friends, in this culture of esoteric melodies and kaleidoscope passions. She seemed at the time like poetry in a foreign language and I was still trying to learn to how to ask for directions.

So there we floated unengaged across the length of a table, she centered in the attention of most, myself in a fitful conversation with a recently introduced acquaintance. I was explaining my decision to rule out alcohol for the forty days of Lent before Easter when I heard her remark, "what did you just say?" Across the table, I restated my intentions. I'm not sure if anyone else heard our conversation, but a shift occurred in my world. "I'd like to join you in that," she stated matter-of-factly.

Our phone conversations grew more regular and longer. She called me from the Blue Post in Wilmington, NC and lamented the ban from beer, relating to me the wooden post where she recorded her taste-tally of every beer they served in that place. I brought my favorite Cuban sandwiches to her roof, hot tea to her door, flowers to church, my best shoes to her loft the night I came over to cook for her. She would wear this corduroy jacket with slogan-bearing buttons, her hair styled and funky, drawn into cohesion with vibrant flowing fabrics for her top, the kind other main-stream girls started flying months thereafter. She had a mysterious, creative, passionate edge that left an impact my family began to notice. They say that I had begun to mention this name much more frequently.

Finally, at Lent's end on Easter Sunday, we met at a restaurant near Piedmont Park and I scribbled a little poem on the back of a receipt that was lost when her apartment flooded. She claims that was the night she first looked at me and felt the gravity of attraction. But from that point forward, we never left the same page through our dating days, marriage, and the birth of our son. It is as though someone were writing our love story and weaving our lives together in space and time, for me and a woman whose name is star.