Monday, March 10, 2008

on a heavier note...

Once upon a time, many moons ago, Not Lisa was in love. She was a young girl who was not yet jaded by the ways of the world and was impassioned by the thought that one day she and the boy she loved more than anything else in the world would be together. She was very active in her Baptist youth group and thought that against all odds, she was meant-to-be with her boy best friend. They had the same faith, the same ideals, the same political beliefs, the same family structure, the same dream of an all-bed living room (not for sexing, necessarily - primarily for napping)... what more could a girl ask for?

Young Not Lisa was the young ripe age of 15 when she made this decision, and that boy was the end-all be-all of her teenage girlish dreams. He was an insightful, thoughtful, spiritual musician that embodied everything she thought she wanted. She and this young boy were best of friends and formed a pact deciding that, should they remain unmarried, they were to be each other's Forever After. And they believed it.

I know that everyone makes this pact with their best friend at one point or another, but the thing that set these two apart was their unfailing, unabashed and unapolegetic belief that it would actually come to fruition. They saw the next few years/possible decade as a period of experimentation. This was their chance to experience what was out there and to come back to each other more educated, more enabled to make their marriage successful and happy because of the other dating partners that had crossed their paths - no matter what.

My, how the times have changed.

You may recall a certain post in which I briefly described my first Dallas Restaurant Week as a time to drown my frustrations in vodka. Frustrations that resulted from a certain someone's engagement announcement. That certain someone just now, after four some-odd years of marriage and a 1-year communication hiatus, reached out to me via phone. I answered the phone with "So you guys are pregnant, right?" I was, as I all too often am, correct. While I am as happy as I can be for a friend of mine to procreate ("Do you know what you're getting yourself into? You know they cry a lot, right? And they shit themselves and expect you to clean it up?"), I feel it only necessary to post this handwritten letter that I was sent on 2/8/2001, from the boy I thought to be my very own 19-year-old end-all be-all.

"It's different... writing instead of the clicky-click of the keyboard. I wish you could be here now to sit with me and listen to this CD that has engulfed every musical dsire within me. It takes over the musical side of this boy while you consume everything else. I just spent the day with your dad, and I've been trying to come up with a good way to send this to you. What turned out to be the best way was just to be myself, and miss you like I always do. And allow myself to be completely vulnerable to anything anyone would possibly toss my way. What I wish more than anything is that you were here. As I read back over this, I wonder if someday I will have a son or daughter that might read this as well... and I want to take this opportunity to have a first greeting to them... even though they will know me long before they even learn to read things like this... So... hello, kid(s). I hope that you know how much your mother means to me, and you as well... That I am 19 years old, and addressing you as if you already exist... well, you do in my mind. I hope to God that by the time you read this, I will become a good father. And that will be known. I long to meet you. And I long to be the husband of your mother. She is a wonderful girl. I wish you could know her right now as I do... and no one else does. We've got some interesting stories... So enjoy life... and enjoy your CD, Not Lisa, and save this letter for him/her/them.

I miss you...
- your [redacted]
2/8/2001 11:12 p.m."

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