It was dusk, outside Union Station in Portland, Oregon. We had been dating for less than a month and saw each other once a week, usually meeting in the middle between Cannon Beach and Tacoma or Seattle, which was Portland. Sometimes we would go all the way to the other, but after one harrowing drive when I deciding I couldn't miss our once a week meeting even though my fever was so high I was hallucinating (You remember this, Chelle? You kept coming into my room and playing B.O.B. and dancing for me.... or maybe that was part of the hallucinations....) but I decided not to mention that to Jesse and drove all the way to Cannon Beach. I really don't remember much of that drive. And on the way back I fell asleep at the wheel and miraculously only hit a curb and blew out my tire. At 3am. Right after I got off the freeway at Mercer. Anyways... I think I mostly took the train to Portland or he came to me after that.
Which brings me back to the train station at dusk. That was where he first told me he loved me. And I promptly cried. See that face up there? That is the face of a very patient, and persistent man. For the next three months (which doesn't seem that long but you have to understand, they were all long distance months and we were married less then a year from the day we met) he faithfully said 'I love you' in a thousand different ways every single day. No really, this guy set an alarm for himself for the wee hours of every single night just so he could send me a novel of a text that I would wake up to. Just to prove how much he loved me. They didn't simply say I love you... Oh no. That would be far to mundane for my guy.
“Soon you will have more milk crates than all the other girls!”
“Let’s blow up the center of the earth so Seattle and Chicago are nearer.”
Or things like assignments for the day: find the coolest thing you can for 50 cents and tell me all about it when we talk tonight. (I think I found a cigar box of old matchbooks at a garage sale.)
“Thanks…” I would reply to the I love yous at the end of phone calls… Chilling, I know.
So this went on for a few months until, finally, I came and visited him in Chicago. And I was pretty sick. And his friends called me the mute cause I was in a lot of pain and didn’t know anyone but Jesse. But there was this one afternoon and a windmill. And I suddenly knew I loved him back. For real. And probably had for awhile (surprise! This is the first Jesse’s hearing of that! But I actually didn’t know for sure… cause I was a bit afraid… anyways).
All this to say, that afternoon was a sunny one in mid October, so this is a bit of an anniversary of our mutual love.
There we are ridiculously happy on a Sunday afternoon... four years later. I have no idea why Jesse's face looks like that. It reminds me of my brother Rhodri's "princess" face. A remarkable resemblance. Here are a few other tries: