Young Love

I had briefly met a married couple in passing several years ago and their love story was so beautiful that it stuck with me. I wrote this in their honor.

He straightened his tie as best he could without a mirror and shifted slightly in his chair so as to not wrinkle his freshly ironed shirt. Today everything had to be perfect. He didn't want her seeing him even with one hair out of place. Not that she'd mind, of course. She never seemed to care about the little imperfections that always bothered him. She had a way of laughing off gray skies, spoiled plans, and his perpetually unruly hair. His face cracked into a smile as he thought about her twinkling eyes that  always managed to make every problem seem insignificant. When she laughed he completely forgot there was anything wrong at all.

He thought back to their first date. It didn't seem so long ago. It wasn't really anything special, just a group of friends enjoying dinner together in a crowded dining room, but he knew he was with her. And she knew it, too. How quickly their hearts connected. He knew she was meant for him the first time their eyes met across the table. She told him later that she knew she was going to marry him from the first moment she saw him, nervously flattening down his rebellious hair and checking his watch every few seconds. How did she know that then? he wondered. Well, she had been right, as usual. He fingered the little black box in his lap, resisting the temptation to open it yet again and polish the simple gold band that was snugly secured in dark velvet.

She had wanted simple. She never needed much to make her happy. He had wanted to give her a ring that somehow started to express how lucky he felt every time he realized that she actually wanted to be with him. To live out the rest of her life with him. But neither of them had much by way of material possessions. He tried to think of a way to get some extra cash to get something a little nicer for her, but when she heard about his plans to sell his high school ring she promptly scolded him for being ridiculous. It was their first and only fight. He had hated every second of it.

"When you've been through what we've been through, you don't just throw out your past like it's a cheap bauble and nothing more!" Her voice had been raised and he could see his next door neighbor craning his neck trying to get a good view of the quarrel. "You listen to me, Paul," she went on, "we promised that we would never say we were starting over. We promised to always hold on to the lives we had before we met each other. That was the deal. I'm not willing to forget my life before I met you and you better not be willing to throw away even the smallest connection to your past either!"

He remembered the way she had cried after her outburst. He felt so foolish. He should have known better. He knew how much it meant to her to be able to reminisce about every small detail of her life before she had met him. They had both been through so much that it made sense. Both of them had seen their share of heartache and yet she always told him, "Every day I've lived has turned me into the person I am now and I'm happy being this person." He knew how much her past, the good times and the horrible times, meant to her and he never mentioned selling his ring again.

He cracked open the little lid and caught a glimmer of light bouncing off the smooth, golden surface. He felt butterflies fluttering in his midsection. Not that he was nervous at all; there was nothing to be nervous about. He realized the feeling he was experiencing was happiness. Pure happiness. Oh, it had been such a long time since he'd felt truly happy. But life is full of second chances. He'd had to learn that the hard way. And what a second chance this was! Her face shimmered in his mind's eye. No, that hadn't know each other for very long, but he already had memorized every curve of her face, every slight imperfection that somehow made her look even more perfect. The lines that stretched from her eyes when she laughed looked like wings and they made him feel like he was flying. The butterflies in his belly started up again.

A head peeked around the door to his room. "Good morning, Mr. Roberts! I hear today's your big day! Are you ready to head down to the chapel?" She said it in the overly cheerful manner in which everyone around here spoke. She walked around to the back of his chair and grasped the handles firmly. "And off we go!" As she pushed his wheelchair through the halls she kept up the chatter with the people they passed. "Mrs. Carson, you sure look fancy today! Oh, Mr. Mells, you'd better stop flirting with all the girls in here!"

He tried to shut out the prattle. The attendant was pleasant enough, but today he wanted peace and quiet. He shut his eyes and pictured her face again.

"Here we are!" The chapel door creaked open and he saw in the few sparsely filled pews his family and the few friends he had left. His great-granddaughter, Sophie, (was she sixteen already? Seems only yesterday she was turning six) got up from her pew and planted a gentle kiss on his wrinkled cheek. "I'm so happy for you, Papa," she whispered. He smiled up at here and patted her hand. His throat didn't seem to want to let any words out.

He was rolled up to the front, right next to the reverend who would be performing the ceremony. He looked down again at the ring box, still clutched tightly in his shaking hand. He wished for a brief moment that his hands would be well behaved  like his legs. They didn't move anymore. They just sat there useless and still, but at least they didn't shake uncontrollably.

The piano behind him started to play and suddenly there she was. The chapel doors had opened once more and his bride, his love, was being wheeled slowly down the aisle. Her chair was narrower than his and slightly lighter. They had often joked about having "his and her" wheelchairs, but at that moment he didn't see a chair. She looked beautiful, her silvery hair was freshly styled and gave the appearance of a halo. The look suited her. She had picked out a pale lavender suit to wear and her delicate hands held a bouquet of baby's breath and forget-me-nots. His eyes traveled down to her feet and the bright, ruby red heels that bedecked them. "These feet aren't any good for walking anymore so they may as well look pretty!" She said this every time he noticed a new pair of glamorous and terribly impractical shoes on her feet. He realized he was grinning like a fool.

She finally met him in the front. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. How was it possible for an eighty-seven-year-old man to feel so light? He almost got up from his chair right then, but he caught himself just in time. That's what she did to him. She made him forget his worthless legs and his withered hands. He didn't hate his colorless hair when he was around her and his faded eyes grew brighter when he looked at her. How can people call these my twilight years? He had wondered this every day since that  first dinner date. Life didn't seem boring around her. Every day seemed brighter and full of possibility.

The reverend shuffled his notes. In the brief pause he caught her eye. He slowly raised his trembling hand and gently grasped hers. "Hey, baby, " he whispered softly, taking in the sparkle of her eyes and the way her hand gripped his tightly, "after this, you want to go dancing?"