The Beginning, Fall Semester- 1999
One sunny day in September, after I had been
familiar enough with the campus for the summer, I recognized a fellow senior
coming towards me. He held his head high. He was clearly a football player
(grey shirt that said “Drake Football.” He didn’t hold a trace of fear or doubt
on his face.)
I noticed his dirty blond hair in contrast to his
very ruddy and tanned face. His knuckles and hands were covered in red and
purple bruises and cuts. His stroll was purposeful, confident. In the few
seconds it took to get to me, I noticed and then realized he was strutting to
speak to me. I thought he looked strangely like a man-child. A beautiful face
of a boy.
A tiny nose perfectly symmetrical, placed between
his eyes. They were kind, soft and brown. Almond shaped and surrounded by long
eyelashes. His face spoke purity. The bedrock of Midwestern boys that I had
noticed in my short stay so far.
His body however was huge. Standing at six foot
three, and a chest so much bigger than my own, he confirmed the corn-fed
generalization. Legs are what I remember, thighs that would crush a person,
quadriceps not meant to push through denim, but they did.
The first thing I thought when he slowly came to a
stop facing me at the lone table was: “There is no way in hell this level of
confidence is founded in something real. No way.” and that thought came only
from my deep knowledge of how to produce the same projection. And, also, how
thin and fragile the contents of it’s under surface can be.
He sniffed, in this strange alpha-male animalistic
way that announced he was about to speak.
“Hi. You’re new here, right?”
Not a soft landing.
“That would be true.” I said unamused.
I was not acting. At a young age I had lost the
excitement or novelty of a man approaching or engaging in a conversation.
“I’m “Josh Andrews,”
A massive and crusty hand reached out and I met it.
Shaking harder than he expected I would, I saw the surprise flash past his eyes
than quickly recover.
“Lulu.”…..”Salavegsen”
I said in a monotone voice, putting a fry into the
ranch dressing before biting off an end of it.
“Is that Italian? Are you from Italy? You aren’t
from around here, that’s for sure.”
He said with a small but unintentional smile
breaking through.
“Nope. Not Italian.”
I was playing now, because he asked a ridiculous
question in my opinion and then made a statement. I suffer no fools, so he
would be no exception.
“Ooookay”
He chuckled and sniffed again, accepting the
challenge.
“So where are you from Lulu
Salavegsen?”
He was pleasant then. The confidence and boldness
was melted more into conversation and genuine interest. That I respond to.
“Well, Josh, I just moved here from Sydney, but
before that I lived in Boston, Houston and I was born in Saudi Arabia to a
Danish mother, so I can’t really nail down from where I come.”
I was smiling back, a little inflection used to
punctuate and confirm my participation in the banter.
“Wow. That’s quite a story.”
He was a little awkward for a flashing moment when
he realized he may be out of his league and in foreign territory.
“I didn’t even tell you the story.”
I laughed waving the partial fry in my hand.
“Well, I came over because I’d like to ask for
your number because I’d really enjoy having a drink or dinner with you, if you
would be OK with that.”
He was fully attentive, bold with no trace of
feared rejection.
“Sure.”
I answered almost too quickly as I tore off a piece
of napkin to write down my number. His face was getting red, more red than
before, but I found it rather cute to see his face betraying his somewhat
pompous attitude.
He grabbed my number on the napkin and smiled, for
a second I saw his eyes dart over to something further in the distance behind
me, only to pull his look back just as fast.
“It was nice to meet you Lulu Salavegsen. I look
forward to learning about you later.”
“And I, with you.”
And there we were, two people from the most
unlikely of back stories in a small college town full of mostly Midwestern,
(bland, not bad not worse, just very myopic) American young adults. One
of the leaders of a perceived pack having just left my table.
Later I find out that he had a “gentlemen’s
bet” about who could get the “new girl’s number.” Those same guys put me
through the ringer, because of their love for him. True “Spanish
Inquisition Style” all while Josh, asleep in a drunken stupor, was none the
wiser.
Also memorable in the early days was one weekend
he and the team were in Florida for a game. I stayed up through the night and
wrote a song for him. A song I then performed for him in front of at least
eight of his football-team friends and fraternity brothers. (Me barefoot,
cross-legged with an acoustic guitar.) The song, below, is fifteen years old.
To listen to the song click here: “Sign Me Up.” is a
mortifying, but sweet display of love and affection. Next time I'll tune the
guitar.
We had (no surprise,
here) volatile discussions about our doomed future, and my plans to
move to NYC and his plans to go with the first banking job he could get.
(and he got one before graduation.) We, none the less, ended up moving to
Chicago together, but in different places. We were engaged for the first time,
at twenty-one, that summer of 2000.
Upon reflection of what we saw in each other it
is not any different than what we still see. We dually acknowledged the others
sordid childhood experiences, and we saw in the other’s eyes that we were
survivors. We were striving for the exceptional. Egos as big as ours would
not become a victim of how our lives started. We were in control now, and we
were going to show everyone how “grown up” we were. That was cute, in
hindsight, a far cry from most of the youth we see now, living at home
lingering in dependency. Not us, we ran to autonomy, together.
We were best friends first. We held each other up
and in our arms in the storms and trials of learning real life together. We
made promises to learn. Always to learn and never yell, and always, always be
as gentle and understanding as possible. We succeeded, there.
There is no way, and under no circumstance in
which I would have ever thought for a second, that he, the sniffing alpha male,
would be my best friend for fifteen years, and my betrothed for
over twelve. I could not have dreamed he would be the amazing father of my
three children. They are the best and most beautiful thing we have ever created
together.
There is even slimmer a chance I’d have thought I
would not only marry him, but find myself on the wrong side of
marital success, about to become a single parent. But here we
are.
More specifically, here I am in shock and fear. I
write with three realities right now, his spitting image-son climbing on my lap
and swatting at my hands, sullen tears welling in my eyes and constricting my
throat...and the deepest of respect to commend him and us for all we have
achieved in this beautiful life we built together.
We have grown up, gone through
hell, bunkered in together and brought new life into this world. We have been
blessed.
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