An Early Morning Flight

I wrote this as a "radical revision" in my English Comp class. I radically revised the first paper I wrote for that class, which was a compilation of How I met the husband. This paper is written from my mom's perspective. Since I'm feeling lazy and worthless and thought I'd better post something on this poor blog, here you go.

***

I sat and blinked, bleary-eyed, as a sipped at my cup of coffee. It was nearly 6 o’clock on a warm Friday morning in June. The sun was already up, and I could hear my daughter in her bedroom, stuffing things into her suitcase and zipping it up. I was trying to wake up enough to drive her to the airport.

In a moment, she came down the hall, dragging her suitcase and small carry-on with her. She saw me and smiled.

“Are you awake?” she asked.

“Almost,” I replied, giving her a wan smile.

She grabbed the keys to my car and went to the garage to load up her luggage. My smile disappeared, and I stared into my dark pool of coffee. She needed to be at the airport by 6:30, and her flight was due for take-off at 7:30. I would be driving her to Indianapolis International and then seeing her off as she flew to Arkansas to stay for a week.

I wasn’t sure exactly how I felt about it, but I think “dread” was the best term to use. She had met a man over the Internet nearly five months before. I had met the husband, and I liked him immediately, but he lived almost 600 miles away. I could tell that Kelly adored him, and while I was happy for her, it also scared me to death.

“We need to go soon,” Kelly said as she came back into the house.

I nodded and finished up the rest of my coffee. She followed me as I took the empty cup to the kitchen sink.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I nodded and fought back tears. I slipped on my shoes and held out my hand to her for my keys.

***

We were quiet during the drive to the airport, both of us listening to early morning radio. I glanced over at her and saw how young she looked, radiant and excited. She was young, too young, but she was eighteen, graduated from high school, and by all means, an adult. I wanted to tie her up in her room and never let her leave, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I knew I had to let her make this trip.

I helped her check in at the airport, and we went and found the gate she would be departing from. We found seats, and she offered to get me a cup of coffee while we waited. I handed her a couple of dollars and watched as she walked away from me.

She was happy, and in turn, I was happy for her. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this trip, this small, seven-day trip, was the beginning to so much more. I had already thought about all of this before; she was in love with this man, he seemed to love her, they lived 600 miles apart. Not all of the math added up, and ever since Kelly had been young she had always wanted to move away and explore the country. And while I’m thinking Arkansas was never really at the top of her list, I knew her well enough to know that she had a decent reason to go there anyway.

Kelly came back with my paper cup of steaming coffee and handed it to me as she sat down. She kept glancing over at me with a worried look on her face.

“Really, are you okay?”

“Mostly,” I answered.

“You’re not acting okay.”

I sighed softly. How could I tell her? She was so happy, so excited. Why should I ruin a trip for her? How could I tell her I didn’t want her to go, not even for a week? That I was afraid that after this week long trip she would decide she wanted to stay there with him? How could I tell her it would break my heart if she left and moved away permanently?

“I’m just…sorry to see you go,” I offered.

“Oh, it’s only for a week!” she cried, smiling. “It’s not like I’m leaving forever!”

***

I knew I was worrying her by being so quiet, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t tell her everything I was thinking. Even though she was eighteen and fairly mature for her age, I knew she wouldn’t want me blubbering in the middle of an airport about how sad I was. I could also tell she was holding back some of her excitement for me. She was thrilled to be flying by herself for the first time, and she was excited to be seeing the husband again.

Our relationship had been a bit strained for the past year. She met the husband online a few months ago, and since then it had been a whirlwind. He had flown to Indiana to take her to her prom. She had been staying up into the wee hours of the morning to chat with him, either online or over the phone. If I questioned her, she was prone to blow up at me, using the good old standby of “You don’t understand me!” as a line of reasoning. And since our relationship was strained, she was kind of right. I had a pretty good idea of what she was feeling, but nothing was ever confirmed. I wasn’t sure what she was planning or what she was exactly thinking. All I knew was that she was in love, and kids in love can do crazy things, like moving far away from their parents.

They began announcing boarding for her flight. She stood up and grabbed her carry-on.

“Well,” she said, “I think this is it.”

I looked up at her. Eighteen-years-old, young, impressionable. My baby. I finally let the tears that had been threatening to escape flow.

“Mom! You can’t cry!”

I stood up and gave her a hug. She hugged me back fiercely.

“Can you call me when you get there?” I asked.

She told me she would call as soon as she landed and that she’d call later with her hotel room number. They announced her boarding row. She shifted her bag on her shoulder and grinned.

“Really, I have to go. That’s me.”

I grabbed her one more time and hugged her, telling her I loved her and to be careful and to call me and to be safe. She squeezed back.

And then I let her go.

***

How I met the husband, The Finale

Part I here.
Part II here.
Part III here.
Part IV here.
Part V here.

After leaving my parents house again after Christmas, I probably didn't stop crying until Missouri. When they came to visit us in Arkansas the following March, I was a weepy mess for weeks. And on one of the nights that the husband was consoling me while I sobbed into my pillow from the homesickness, he mentioned the idea of us both moving back to Indiana. Permanently.

Here's where I gush. This man, whom I had known for a little over a year at this point, was willing to give up his family, his state, his comfort. For me. This is why I agreed to marry him.

We wound up moving back in July. I had stayed in Arkansas for a whole year. The husband's parents were crushed, and I'm pretty sure his mom was more than a little irked at me for stealing her baby boy away, but I didn't force the boy at gunpoint. It was his idea, dammit.

We moved in with my parents. I got the job I had before I moved, and the husband found work shortly after. We saved up enough money to buy a used car in September.

And here's where I admit we kind of decided to get married when we did so that we could save on car insurance.

When I called to get quotes, the agent admitted that there would be an obscene amount of money saved if we were married. This still makes no sense to me. Do people become suddenly become awesome, responsible drivers as soon as the marriage license is signed? I'm here to tell you Internet and Allstate that it's not true in the husband's case. Woo boy. Still a crazy driver.

Since the husband and I weren't (and still aren't) very religious and had no want for spending ungodly amounts of our or our parents' money on a huge wedding, we decided to head down to the city county building to visit a justice of the peace. We got the marriage license on Monday, and on Saturday September 19, 1998, we were married. My parents, sister, K and her fiance were there. It was quick and simple, but I meant every word of those vows I said. Despite being urged a little at the thought of saving on insurance, it was the exact right time. I still don't regret it.

The husband and I moved out a few weeks later. My mother-in-law was tickled pink that we were A-OK in the eyes of the Lawd and were no longer living in sin. She was still a whackadoodle, but at least she wasn't calling every so often spouting bible verses.

The husband and I will celebrate ten years this year. We've had ups and downs, of course, but I don't think there's anyone else in the world I could be married to. In a lot of ways, the husband is my exact opposite. He's the quiet one. I'm not. He's great at math. Um, I struggle with that. He tends to be easy-going, and I enjoy a good freak-out from time to time. How we met and ultimately got married was perfect.

And really, could a story be any better to blog about and tell our grandchildren? I think not.

How I met the husband, Part V

Part I here.
Part II here.
Part III here.
Part IV here.

We stayed in the husband and his roommate's apartment until October, when the husband and I got our own apartment together. In the meantime, I scrubbed that little two bedroom, one bath within an inch of its life. I cooked dinner for the both of them. I made it homey, and I'm pretty sure the roommate was a little wistful when I left.

Back in the day, I wasn't big on keeping jobs for very long. I suppose if I sat down and really counted, I could give you the number of jobs I've had since age 15. In Arkansas, I worked as a telemarketer twice, I was hired on at a assisted living facility but never went, and I worked at Wal*Mart. It was a sad day when I was hired on there. And it was every bit as bad as you can imagine.

Looking back on it now, I liked the little town of Conway. It was a college town, it was quaint, mostly quiet, clean. But oh wow, I missed my people back home. The parents, who up until that point I usually looked down on in disdain, my dork of a baby sister, my best friend, K. I cried myself to sleep most nights from homesickness while the husband patted my back and whispered soothingly.

The facts that we were dirt poor and his mom was STILL a whackadoodle helped nothing. We barely had reliable transportation half of the time, and his parents just insisted on dropping by unannounced all. the. time. It's hard to hump like rabbits when you're constantly on the lookout for company popping in, and now that I write that, THAT WAS PROBABLY THE WHOLE IDEA.

But things between the husband and I couldn't have been better. We really got along well, and the relationship grew. We meshed.

That Christmas, we saved up enough money to drive back to Indiana for the holiday. We stayed with my parents, and it really hit home how much I missed them. We had an absolute blast those few days.

And on Christmas morning, after everyone had opened all of their presents, there was one small box left. For me. The husband, shy and quiet and generally not good at being center stage, got down on one knee in front of my immediate family and proposed marriage.

I obviously, without a doubt, said yes.

How I met the husband, Part IV

Part I here.
Part II here.
Part III here.

Over the 4th of July, the husband drove up. He spent the weekend. We hung out with my friends, saw fireworks. When he left that Sunday afternoon to drive back, it wasn't nearly as sad though. We had made a plan.

Our plan was for me to get my crap together, he would fly up at the end of July, we'd go to Lollapalooza (I'm not sure why this was in the plan, but it was fun) and then he'd drive me, himself, and my crap back to Arkansas in a UHaul where I would live with him and his sweet roommate until we could get our own apartment.

Yeah, it was fucking insane.

The parents thought so. You've never seen four people lose their minds like that. Understandably so.

But it was the only way he and I would be able to work. To know if we were meant for each other. To know if we could get married so his mom would FINALLY shut up about the freaking premarital sex (that was kind of pushed aside once I moved down though. Because then all she talked about was LIVING IN SIN.)

The next few weeks I spent getting all my ducks in a row. Packing, reserving a truck, saving money like mad. I know at one point my parents called the husband behind my back (score one for mom!) and talked in depth about me moving down there with him. I'm not sure what the husband said exactly, but apparently it was good enough to ease my parent's minds a little.

We left on a Sunday afternoon. I'm pretty sure my dad threatened the husband's life if he didn't take care of me. My mom and younger sister sobbed uncontrollably while we tried to say goodbye.

As much as I adored the husband, and as much as I wanted to be with him, I don't think I quit crying until halfway through Illinois.

How I met the husband, Part III

Part I here.
Part II here.

Around the second week of June, I flew down to Arkansas. It was only the second time I'd been on a plane, and the first time I'd done it by myself. My mom took me to the airport early Sunday morning and waited with me until I boarded. Um, if you ask my mom now, she remembers none of that. Not driving me to the airport, not the week I was gone, not the time they picked me up afterwards. Nothing. It scares me how the mind can totally erase things it wants to.

I checked into a motel, I met his roommate, and then we drove to meet his parents for the first time. I guess this is where I mention that his mother, my now mother-in-law, is a total whackadoodle. Even now, eleven years later, I still think so. She insisted that I not stay with him at his apartment. She insisted it wouldn't be prudent. My parents said that yeah, you're 18 and 21, but be prudent too, sure. But more on that later.

We had dinner at his parents house, and for the most part, it was uncomfy. His mom talked a lot about sin and God, woo-boy, the sin, and I was young enough to ignore most of it. I didn't get warm, snuggly vibes from her, but she didn't out-and-out call me names, so it was okay, I guess. In the car, I told the husband that I wasn't so sure his mom dug me all that much. He grabbed my hand and said, "Yeah, it's okay though, I still love you." (Yes, that was the FIRST time. But you know what? The husband doesn't remember it!)

Okay, so yeah, I suppose it looks a little bad to have a sleepover with a boy in his apartment when you've just met, blah, blah. So I did get a motel room. His mom thought it'd only be right. My mom sort of agreed. But no one said anything about him spending the night with me! Specifics, people! They change everything! So sometime that night, around 3 in the morning, while we were honestly sleeping, the phone rings in my motel room. I answer in my sleepy voice, and it's his MOTHER. (Just to clarify again, I'm 18 at this point and he's 21. That's 18 plus 3.) I really can't remember exactly what she said, but it was something along the lines of "Don't be a whore. You're being a whore! SIN SIN SIN! Premarital sex WHORE!" Then she asked that I pass the phone to the husband where I imagine he heard something like, "She's a whore. You may be a whore PREMARITAL sex WHORE sin sin." You know, something like that.

She actually wound up calling my mom the next day and asking her if there was anything they could dooooo to stop all this sinny whoring around. Dude, we were of legal age. Legally, there wasn't anything stopping us from getting our whore on. That didn't stop the mother-in-law from trying to break us me down mentally though. She tried several times just that week to talk us out of...I don't know what she wanted us to stop doing. I mean, from what I gather, she was just really worried about us boning without a marriage license.

Despite his mother, I still liked him. A lot. So much so that I sobbed all the way home on the plane. And at my layover in St. Louis, I called him. Because I had forgotten to tell him at the airport that I loved him.

How I met the husband, Part II

Woo! Part II! You can read Part I here.

I skipped school that Friday, because well, I skipped school a lot back then, and it was prom night later. My mom wasn't okay with it, but went along anyway (and yes, I'm fully aware and thankful and even apologetic for the heartburn I caused my parents back then. I wasn't a complete hellion, but I sure did give them a run for their money). I picked up the husband the next morning, and we made a day of doing last minute things. Picking up his tux, getting corsages, picking up my paycheck at work, that kind of stuff. By then, some of the awkwardness had worn off, and it was really pretty comfortable just hanging out all day.

We drove my 1986 Ford F-150 to the prom. Well, I let the husband drive it. I hated that truck with a passion, but the husband thought it was great. If I have any regrets, it's that we didn't dance nearly enough at prom. He wasn't really drunk enough to dance, and I wasn't nearly forceful enough to make him, so we kind of just sat around looking pretty and chatting. I have my prom dress still, and I think I could still fit in it. I want a re-prom.

After prom, we grabbed Taco Bell and headed back to his motel room. I know, right? But it was okay, I promise. Yes, there was that first kiss and some making out, but really, we just sat and talked and watched TV. Until 5 AM. I didn't really have a clear cut curfew that night, but I'm thinking 5 AM wasn't it. It was almost daylight when I tried to sneak back in the house. My mom was waiting up. I think I may have told her hi before slinking back to my room. I don't remember her saying anything.

We spent Saturday and Sunday morning together. By Sunday afternoon, when I had to drive him to the airport, I was hooked. I knew I loved him, I knew he was as sweet and intelligent and funny as he was online. I knew I didn't want him to go, and I knew that I would miss him. He promised to call me as soon as he landed, and I went home cry.

Luckily, I had enough to keep me busy. I graduated a couple of weeks later, and we had a huge graduation party to plan. The husband and I still chatted online and called whenever possible. And then I had to plan when I would leave Indiana to visit him in Arkansas.

How I met the husband, Part I

I've been meaning to type out the whole story of how the husband and I met, moved in with each other, and married. Then I get all overwhelmed and post something else. I might have to do installments of this, but we'll see. Are we ready? Here we go.

Sometime in February of 1997, we were on mIRC in a chatroom called chaos. Or #chaos, I guess. It was a game run by a bot and it was like the board game Outburst. My screen name was aenima because Tool had just released that album, and I may have been slightly obsessed. The husband was flowwolf, which I thought at the time (and still do, sorry babe) was pretty lame. He private messaged me one night, saying that he liked Tool and that album and my screen name. Innocent, no?

I played #chaos just about every night, and most of the time the husband did too. We would chat and play for hours. We learned everything about each other during those chats. He was in college, living with a roommate, working full-time. I was a senior in high school getting ready to graduate in May, living at home, and working part-time.

Eventually I was logging onto #chaos nightly, but not so much to play the game. The husband would be there to meet me, and we'd do the chat thing for hours and hours. I'm not sure how I managed to function back then, because there would be some nights I'd only get a couple of hours of sleep before having to go to school. Oh hell, that's not true. I know how. I skipped A LOT of school that senior year, and study halls were just MEANT for napping.

We chatted nightly for a couple of months, and at some point we started talking over the phone. I don't remember who or why or the specifics of it though (sad!), and I know at some point I mentioned that prom was coming up and I didn't have a date for it. He mentioned casually that he'd love to take me. I pshawed him, because hi? you're 600 miles away? The husband was persistent though. We sat down and chatted about logistics. He went to a local tailor to have his measurements taken, and I took the emailed numbers to a place to rent his tux. He bought a plane ticket and I procured a motel room for him.

In the meantime? My parents FREAKED the fuck out. Which honestly, I can't blame them right now. I was 18, he was 21. He could've been a murderous, stalkery asshole from hell from the Internet, no less. They calmed down once I promised the could meet him and talk to him and judge him.

Prom was on a Friday night, and he flew in that Thursday afternoon before. I made my friend K come with me to the airport to pick him up. Now, I'd love to sit here and tell you that I soon as I laid eyes on him it was love at first sight, but honestly, the whole thing was slightly awkward. Ask K, she'll tell you. K dropped us at my house, and it was more awkwardness as he met my parents, some more awkwardness when we went out to eat dinner and see a movie.

I dropped him off at his motel room that night with the promise that I'd be there to pick him up the next morning to pick up his tux and the corsages. But as I drove home, even with all the awkwardness, I knew I adored him. He was cute, well-mannered and sweet, but had a smartass side too. He was everything he seemed online and over the phone, and as it all turned out, he wound up making a fine prom date.

Yep, we're doing installments.