“Doesn’t she have a name?”
Yes, she does. Thanks for asking. It’s just that there’s this minor detail of her not wanting me to refer to her by name on the blog, or when I reference her in other online forums. She probably doesn’t want her name associated with her like the name “Margaret” has been associated with an amazing ability to argue about anything. I started calling her the wife because it annoyed a co-worker to hear me refer to her that way (several years ago in a previous working life) So, being the considerate person that I am, I’ve used no other reference for her since. She has always referred to me as her significant other, which I find clever and cute at the same time. Probably why we are still together after all these years.
That is the difference in 9 years passing (the time since I first wrote this narrative, and now) I no longer think that the 3 years before we tied the knot matter that much anymore. The proverbial “I can’t remember when we weren’t together” moment has occurred for me. I know those moments existed, and that they mattered at the time. My life is now defined by the beautiful woman I’ve been married to for over a quarter century. Defined by the two children we’ve raised together. Well, not really children anymore. One of them is an adult, but we can’t seem to get her out of the house (teasing you, don’t bridle) the other is in high school. That fun age. Does this mean that I’m old? The children keep me young. That is the truth. They keep me young, while reminding me just how old I really am. Reality is a bitch like that.
Twenty-six years ago today, we got married. Well, actually, that’s not the half of it. She graduated college on Friday, we got married on Saturday, and we moved to Austin on Sunday. It was a weird weekend. The wedding was planned by several friends. It was beautiful, right up to the point following the kiss, when they realized that they hadn’t planned how to exit the arbor we were in. “Weddings over, see you at the reception.”
Did you notice the ‘arbor’ reference? Yes, we were outside. It rained. Not much, we were dry before the ceremony was over. But still, it did rain on our outdoor wedding.
My best man and my brother the bridegroom went out for donuts right before the ceremony. In their tuxedos, on the way to the wedding, they stopped for donuts. Of course, there was a delay getting the breakfast, so they were late. The-soon-to-be-Wife paid the final gas bill in her wedding gown while waiting for them (remember, moving next day?) I was instructed to aim for his head (brother or best man, who knows?) when opening champagne later that day.
When my brother was married a few years later, we wrapped their wedding present in donut boxes. I don’t think either one of them appreciated the joke. The Wife and I laughed for weeks. Joy is in the ears that hear, or maybe revenge is a dish best served cold. Like donuts.
Is that all? Not really. The batteries on the stereo gave out before the wedding march ended. Her garter fell off (more than once) and had to be retrieved, so that it could be removed properly at the reception. I could go on, but I’d like to save some blackmail material just in case I might need it.
We met four years prior to that day. Like most people, we met at work. We both drove test cars. Yes you read that right, but it’s not the job you think it is, trust me. Every tire on the road today was tested on the route that we drove. From San Angelo nearly to Del Rio and back; and then North of San Angelo to Robert Lee and back. Some of the most tedious work I think I’ve ever done. Convoys of four cars, maintaining correct 4 second spacing, traveling at a dead level 55 mile an hour rate, for 8 monotonous hours 5 days a week. If I can point to a job that broke me of my love of driving, it was that job.
My best friend at the time drove lead (the car in front, the guy in charge) on the convoy that I drove tail on. (how we ended up working at the same place at the same time is a story in itself) Some of the areas we drove through were pretty remote…
[One night, down on the Devil’s river, we came across a jeep that looked like it had been on the loosing end of a bear fight. Blood, bullet holes, no windows, dented, etc. On another night we came across a wreck in the clearing stages. Car hit head on with a tanker truck. As I’m sitting next to the wreck waiting to be allowed to go, the cop wanders over and casually kicks a shoe, with the foot still in it, back over towards the wreck. Won’t be forgetting either of those nights.
At least I never hit a deer. The wife hit three. Well, technically she ran over one that jumped onto the road in front of her and fell down, got hit by one that ran into the side of her car while she was passing, and then actually hit one in the test car she renamed ‘rocky’ because they had to wedge the headlights back in with rocks so that she could make it back to the shop. Ask her about the cow sometime. That’s a funny story]
…And since the vehicles traveled 800 miles a day 7 days a week, they tended to break down unexpectedly; and if you were the lucky one you were stranded with a broken down vehicle until the tow truck could come and get you. Some of us were a little edgy about this situation and would carry weapons with us on the off chance that we might need them. I didn’t want to hassle with a gun myself, so I carried a decent sized butterfly knife which I barely knew how to use.
Well, my buddy who ran the convoy got to talking one night and discovered someone that I needed to meet. Our follow-on teams lead driver had a larger version of the knife I carried, and she knew how to use it. The next night, he takes me over to introduce me to her as we are trading cars at the end of the shift. She whips out her knife with a gleam in her eye (have I mentioned that I’m a bit skittish around knives? There was a reason I didn’t know how to use it) and proceeded to flip it around and demonstrate how you gut your opponent with one smooth motion. All the while grinning like the proverbial cat with the canary.
What did I think of her, I hear you asking? She scared the living shit out of me. I thought I was a dead man. If I ever got away from her, I was not going to be looking back. I told my buddy as much afterwards.
Never did manage to get away from her. Drove in her convoys a few times after that when one of her drivers failed to show up. San Angelo is not a big place, so we ended up running into each other outside of work as well. So I married her instead. True story.
30 years ago today, babe. Happy anniversary.
(This was originally posted here. I’ve edited and expanded it a bit)