Anniversary Eve

Monday was a day off of work for me, and it decided to be sunny and warm! I took the news with aplomb, by meeting my friend Kristin for coffee and a stroll. We were so excited that we pretty much skipped the coffee and decided to go for a walk. The sun clearly made these Seattle-Vitamin-D-deprived ladies drunk in love (SURFBORT) with the warm weather because we ended up walking literally all day. Like, hours and hours. I have been sore for two days from that walking marathon. It was worth it though. I can’t remember the last time I talked with a friend for that long. Good conversation is the best, isn’t it? Even when you’re walking your patoots off so hard that you may regret it later. Shooting the shit with interesting people is my favorite. I need more of that in my life.

In other news, tomorrow is the anniversary of the day Nordic Boy and I first eyeballed each other across a dusty theater scene shop as youngsters. Today I have been thinking about the day before I met that dude of mine. There is a weird suspense to thinking about that day. Young me! I had no idea what was about to happen! I remember that my parents drove me and my stuff to Chicagoland. They kissed me, told me they loved me, and hightailed it back to Michigan, leaving me with my little suitcase. I met up with the Production Manager, Billy, of the theater where I was to start work the following day. The apartment where I was to live was not ready for move in until the day after my work start date, and so Billy said that I was welcome to stay with an actress who worked at this theater as well. I was a little disappointed because although I had lived away from home plenty by that age from dance school dorms off and on since I was 12 years old to college, I had always had a roommate, so this apartment was to be my very first one all on my own like a goddamn grownup. I was excited. I showed up at the actress’ apartment that evening. Her name was Pat. She was a super nice lady who made me feel right at home. She ordered us a pizza and popped in a movie for us to watch for the evening. The movie was “Silence of the Lambs.” Let me tell you something right now. If a fresh faced teenager comes to your house and is about to embark upon her first ever all-on-her-own apartment-living adventure in a new city, DO NOT SHOW HER SILENCE OF THE LAMBS. I mean, the Lotion in the Basket guy alone was more than I needed to see that particular night during that particular time in my life. The whole thing freaked my shit right out. If a movie started to freak me out like that now, I would simply say that I’d love it if we could turn it off. But I was a kid then, and I didn’t want to seem like a kid while trying to pal it up with a sophisticated professional actress. So I watched the whole damn movie, shitting bricks the whole way through.

That night, I got into bed in Pat’s guest room, and I remember I talked to my boyfriend on the phone. I could already feel the two of us drifting apart, even though I had only been gone for one day.

The following morning, I got up and left for the theater, which was within walking distance of Pat’s apartment. It was a beautiful spring day and I remember being so excited to start my new job. I got to the theater and waited for Billy in the offices. He came out and told me that the first thing I would be doing that day was helping put in flooring in the scene shop. He took me on a tour of the building first. We walked through the offices of the directors and production staff, through the back hallways to the costume shop, down the stairs to the prop shop, over to the front of the house to the booth, into the lobby to say hi to the box office staff, across the stage into the wings, and back, back, further back to the scene shop. I was introduced to Mark, the Technical Director, and Ken, the Prop Master, and Steve, a set carpenter. And then Billy pointed up at a scaffolding, and said that that was Nordic Boy. He was up there with a nail gun in his hand, putting up framing on a flat. I will never forget it. He had on jeans, Adidas soccer shoes, and a purple and black plaid flannel shirt. He looked over his shoulder at me. I thought he was cuh-YOOT.

“Hey,” he said, and I smiled back. How could I have known that that was the first of millions of words he would say to me for the rest of our lives? That that would be my favorite voice coming out of my favorite face? To have it start with just a “hey” tossed over a shoulder? It kind of boggles my mind when I really think about how these things start. The biggest thing I know in my life, starting with something so small.

Hey.

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