An Ode to the Love of my Life

Four score and twenty years ago, we were not even concepts on the horizon of reality. Two years ago, I met her. There she was, copper hair glinting in the Sturm hallway light. Moana was playing in Lindsey Auditorium, and we were there for the Hawaiian rolls and the Disney sing-along. This is the night that changed all subsequent nights.

“Should I get four Hawaiian rolls?” I asked my friend. “No,” she said, “Limit yourself.”

I settled for two. As we settled into seats near people we knew, I was introduced to her. Her smile was infectious, and her hair was brighter. Around the song “Your Welcome”, watching the beautiful animated ocean, the two of us realized we needed water. We were parched after all those Hawaiian rolls (she had five, my hero).

So, we set out on a quest for hydration, two relative strangers in the darkened corridors of Sturm Hall. Instead of going to the drinking fountains, as the average individual might, we decided to descend the stairs to the first floor. Outside the art gallery, we hit the motherload. There, in all its glory on the table was water and a stack of cups.

We could not just take the water and leave (there were witnesses). So, we did the only thing we knew at the moment: we walked through that art exhibit and we feigned interest with the best of them. We strolled so casually through that gallery, all the while communicating with our eyes how uncomfortable we were. Where went the days you could steal a glass of water and get away with no consequences?

Eventually, when we had paid our dues to the social occasion, we grabbed our haul and hauled ass. The very next day, she hit me with that “wyd” text. I was flavor-blasted that our water quest was not a one-time thing. We began spending more and more time together until we merged into the same soul. The past two years have included so many adventures and laughs and more recently, a home. The rest, as they say, is history.