The Hand of the Lord in the Fog:
When we last left our hero, he had listened to my late night revelation about how I belonged with him, and threatened my life with silence if I was not serious. Oh, I was more serious than I had ever been about anything. It was late fall, and we talked some about what we should do. He was living over 1200 miles away from where I was in Northern California, and we agreed that he should come down at Christmas and spend it with my family.
To say that I was a nervous wreak is ridiculous. I could not even function as the day of his arrival came closer. My nerves were shot, I couldn’t sleep, and I was panicked about this giant step I was about to take with my best friend. I know he felt the same way. There was 9 years of history bearing down on us, and we were crumpling under the pressure. When I picked him up at the airport, there was nothing natural about anything. How could two people who had seen each other through so much and love each other so much be so awkward?? We had always been affectionate with one another, but now we were afraid to even touch hands, let alone hug. There was uncomfortable silence, something we had never know. How bad could this suck?
Looking back, we just put way too much pressure on ourselves, not only with deciding to try something that had been simmering on the back burner for almost a decade, but by doing it at the holidays with all the family pressure that ensured too. Christmas night we sat in my living room after being at my mom’s all day, and we both cried our hearts out as we discussed how awful this had been. It was as if our friendship had disappeared and neither of us knew where to. My worst fears were coming true. Early the next morning, I took him to the airport and dropped him off. I didn’t know if I would ever see him again, and I drove to a friends house and sat on her couch and sobbed for two hours. My heart was breaking, I just put the man I thought I belonged with on a flight far away, and I was heartsick with how bad things had gone.
All cried out, I went home and there was a message on my machine. When I had taken him to the airport, it was a little overcast and grey, but nothing unusual. But by the time I got home, the fog was so thick that they had to close the airport. (Let me state: that particular airport had not been closed due to fog in over 20 years, and has not been since.) He had taken a cab to his brother’s house in San Jose, and was going to be staying there that night until he could re-book a flight. If I wanted to call him, I could. This was mythical second chance and I knew it. All I wanted to do was see him. Immediately I called, and went to pick him up. He didn’t belong with his brother, he belonged with me! And all the pressure was gone; we were just friends again, how it should have been all along.
That night we went out to dinner with my cousin Michael, and we had a ball. We were relaxed and easy and comfortable. After dinner we all went back to my house and just hung out and talked in the kitchen until the wee hours. During my dating years, Michael had often been my “date” when going to clubs or to see bands, and he was making some joke about how I liked bald guys (true). DFM looked at me and said if that that was all it took, give him a razor! At the time he had long, beautiful hair- and he promptly cut it all off right there at my kitchen table. We were laughing and having fun, and Michael and I were leaning on the counter while DFM sat in a chair at the table, clean shaven. I leaned over to Michael, and wryly commented about what I should do now. He put his hand on the small of my back, pushed lightly, and said “You are going to marry that man, Tracy”. And with that, DFM and I kissed each other for the very fist time.
That was my third proposal. Thank the good Lord for the fog, and for giving me a second chance. DFM left the next day to go back to Washington; it was December 28th. On February 1st, he was down in California with an apartment two blocks away, a job, and a family diamond in his pocket. You think he was motivated? We were married in September of that year, ten years after we met. I was 27.
It was the first time in my life I was absolutely sure that the hand of the Lord intervened on my behalf. Who waits ten years for some crazy chick to pull her head out? I count my lucky stars that he did. I think it’s a pretty good Love Story, but then it’s mine!