ten-years

I didn't think that I would meet my husband on a random summer's night at a putt-putt golf course. I didn't think that because the real reason I was even there was for a guy that I liked. Like, really, really liked. So, I wasn't thinking about my future, even a minute into the future, but especially not into the future that held life with another, different guy. Not having a second thought about the future is probably why I was wearing a blue crop top over an orange t shirt. But he was there, unbeknownst to me. I said exactly zero words to him that night but I did an awful lot of judging his blue and red Adidas Superstars.

I think about that Evan. The one with the crazy mop of curly hair and the goatee and the unfortunate shoes. I think about the Evan who told me every single part of his life, only for me to respond with, "What?! Me too!" and to be struck with utter disbelief that our paths had never crossed before that moment on the putt-putt course. And I wonder if that Evan knew me when he saw me. If I was just another girl his friend was dating. Or if he felt something when he looked at me. It wasn't immediate or love at first sight. It wasn't anything probably because it took several days for me to even say one word to him because I was seventeen and full of attitude.

It was ten-years-ago that I met him. Ten-years of knowing him all because I fell for the wrong guy who pointed my heart in the right direction. Ten-years of buying him shoes and clothes and making him get rid of those Adidas and all the other shoes that filled his closet. Ten-years of looking at him and noticing him. Ten-years of friendship turned love, which is the best kind of love. Ten-years of him, which is almost a third of my life. Ten-years is a lifetime but we've lived several lifetimes in these ten-years together. We've dealt with tragedy and joy and walked uphill both ways blindfolded to get to the top of mountains we never thought we'd climb. But he's my person. I always wanted to marry my high school sweetheart. And I did.