Moving day
It’s no secret that I snatched The Boy directly from a very comfortable life and into “mild poverty”, when he was the tender age of 20.
I was 25. I can honestly say that at 20, he had his shit so very much more together than I did. His maturity was leaps and bounds over my own at that age. He had his finances in order, an exquisite vocabulary and a sweet baby face that whittled its way into my dreams more often than not.
He was very very sweet. He dealt with the most absurd 4th of July picnic you can imagine (think peacocks running across the table and a bird shitting onto our food from the trees above) and my father talking to him for hours about fiber optic cable.
He held my hand and kissed me while we watched fireworks sparkle above us. It became our anniversary. I digress.
He showed up on my doorstep, two months ahead of schedule, having driven all night to get to me. My little doorstep, with my tiny front yard, in the middle of the ghetto. He appeared and kissed me again. He was ready to start our life together. I had to work, and I left him alone in my 450 square foot apartment. He slept.
We had to go retrieve his things. He was in college, living at home. His parents were on vacation….and there is the rub.
I cannot begin to tell you the guilt I felt as we drove endless hours to get to his house, in a stupid 86 Ford Bronco with a kill switch problem. We had to stop for gas every 100 miles or so. It would lurch at slow speeds. It smelled like ass. It was borrowed from my boss and it was HUGE. Every lurch, every weird noise, every gas stop I wanted to ask him if he was sure.
Are you sure?
Are you?
His parent’s house, huge and beautiful in a gated community seemed somehow besmirched by my presence in this giant truck. The clock was counting down on our time to remove him from this place.
I could see his heart tearing, and it killed me.
We packed quickly, he quit his job (another tear in his heart) and piled everything into that damned Bronco. The radio played Madonna’s “Music”, but…
It refused to start.
Crap.
We were strapped for cash as it was and decided instead of getting it fixed we would get a moving truck and tow the thing back to my house. We did, we got in turned it on and the radio played Madonna’s “Music”.
It wouldn’t fit on the trailer.
Craap.
We drove around in the moving truck, me trying to fight off mild hysteria, he trying to fight off mild anger. The radio played Madonna’s “Music”. I started crying.
Craaap.
We found a mechanic, who fixed the truck fairly cheaply and quickly. We returned the house, exhausted and smelly. I waited for him in another room as he composed his farewell to his parents. On the TV, Madonna’s “Music” played. I listened to him cry.
Craaaap.
He emerged, teary, with a bag slung over his shoulder. “Let’s just go.” I nodded, unsure I would be able to say anything around the lump in my throat. We started on the drive down to San Diego, the ancient radio playing the omniscient Madonna song. We both laughed and sang it together. In mocking, teary, new voices. New in the blending with eachother, new with the life we were just starting to make.
On this moving day, it was more than items of clothing and small bits of furniture that we carried from one place to the next. It was the beginning of our lives, forever entwined together. The moving of hearts and the moving from boy to man, from girl to woman. From one to two.
With him, I remain moved.
May 5th, 2008 at 11:36 pm
that is so beautiful!
May 5th, 2008 at 11:51 pm
awwww…..my precious clayford, ripped from the burbs into the barrio to be with the fair maiden flutter. my cockles are still warmed, (ewwww!) even if i have heard this story before. here, it seems especially beautiful.
May 6th, 2008 at 12:03 am
There is no greater test of a relationship than moving. Well, that and child birth. And learning to drive a stick shift. And having a blog and writing down all your private feelings for consumption by strangers. Yeah. I use to have someone like The Boy. Now he is The Husband. And I loves him muchly.
May 6th, 2008 at 12:32 am
Man, what a beautiful story. My wife and I moved so many times and places when we were young, it seemed like we would never get rid of that moving truck! We did become accomplished truck packers, though, and had a lot of conversations and laughs over how we moved some items of junk so many times that we thought we would someday use again…
May 6th, 2008 at 3:12 am
And you said a few posts back that your writing is slipping. Shame on thee.
May 6th, 2008 at 3:28 am
So glad to learn more about you and your love. What a story! Any person that’s ever been important to me has always come with a story that has tested us, like this one. I’m quite certain your love began to live when he moved in with you, despite all of the comforts of living with his parents. I’m happy you have each other, honey.
May 6th, 2008 at 3:47 am
That’s quite a story! I love to hear those kinds of secrets.
May 6th, 2008 at 4:10 am
lovely.
May 6th, 2008 at 4:56 am
From one to two and, in a sense from two to one. That was beautiful
May 6th, 2008 at 5:09 am
Lovely
May 6th, 2008 at 5:24 am
Your writing is fine, what a heartfelt, touching story…
May 6th, 2008 at 5:48 am
What a lovely homage to the love of your life and your relationship with him. I have to admit, though, that I have this perverse desire to know more (that’s just how good your writing is, how it completely draws me in), even if that may seem nosey. But that’s neither here nor there. Bottom line, Im so glad you have each other still, today.
May 6th, 2008 at 6:22 am
Gorgeous post, Flutter. Just gorgeous.
May 6th, 2008 at 6:25 am
I have to commend you on your writing and style content. It is remarkable and I am spending a fair bit of time reading your newly discovered (for me) blog.
thank you for this treat!
May 6th, 2008 at 6:28 am
You and your writing, your life. Gorgeous.
May 6th, 2008 at 6:42 am
Oh, my timing is so bad. To go from 100 guys I’ve been “matched” with but who just won’t suit to this story of true love. Are my eyes wet because of the writing, or sadness that I may never have my own version of this story to write?
May 6th, 2008 at 7:22 am
damn girl. you almost made me believe in love again……nah. that was simply gorgeous. you are a painter with words.
May 6th, 2008 at 7:42 am
Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous.
As usual.
May 6th, 2008 at 7:43 am
Dear Husband is 6 years younger than me. I got him when he had just turned 21. He was 25 when we married 10 years ago. Our moving experience was a tad bit less dramatic though.
May 6th, 2008 at 7:52 am
he truly is the love of your life, huh?
i am so glad you have him
May 6th, 2008 at 8:10 am
gorgeous writing.
May 6th, 2008 at 8:12 am
How many times have I asked you not to make me cry before 9 AM?
Gorgeous writing, and it’s a moving story. (Yes, pun intended. I couldn’t resist.)
May 6th, 2008 at 8:15 am
so very romantic. from such beginnings are life-long relationships made.
May 6th, 2008 at 8:16 am
You write in pictures. I’m thankful for this. It’s so delectable and easy to swallow, but slowly, like chocolate. And I ache to be in love with him – your him – (sorry) or at least in that love again with my own young husband. 12 years ago he came to retrieve me from a small patch of lawn in Canada and drive me down to Ohio (Oh my, I started writing San Diego.) No crying then though. Only wonder and laughing over dripping Taco Bell breakfasts. I’m glad you had this, have this.
May 6th, 2008 at 8:31 am
Your boy is a keeper. What a tender heart; you’re a perfect match.
May 6th, 2008 at 8:32 am
It could be a metaphor for your life together – all the struggles, all the things that go wrong, are all just side dishes to the main dish – your love for each other.
Damn cradle robber!
(I’ve always said: “Get them young, train them right.”)
May 6th, 2008 at 9:21 am
What a tribute to the two of you, what a beautifully-expressed post.
May 6th, 2008 at 9:27 am
Aw! AWWWW! I love love stories so much.
May 6th, 2008 at 9:27 am
awwwww I love that story. Maybe more because I know exactly what that’s like.
May 6th, 2008 at 9:41 am
Never stop writing.
May 6th, 2008 at 10:17 am
Wow.. what a story… but now I’m curious about the aftermath of his parents coming home from vacation to find their son moved out of the house…
May 6th, 2008 at 10:34 am
There is nothing richer than a beautiful love that feels right.
May 6th, 2008 at 10:38 am
Right on! Right. On.
Beautiful, Flutter…no surprise there.
I remember everytime I left home (college, Japan, California), I cried like a baby…And even this last time, when Will and I pulled out of that frozen driveway in Warren, Ohio with dogs in the backseat, I cried…
May 6th, 2008 at 10:41 am
Sniff.
I love these stories you share.
May 6th, 2008 at 11:04 am
Oh…just lovely.
May 6th, 2008 at 11:06 am
And now you’ve moved me. At work. Where I have to remain composed. Well, kind of.
What a beautiful story. And beautifully told.
May 6th, 2008 at 11:12 am
Your love together is just beautiful.
May 6th, 2008 at 1:09 pm
What a lovely story…sigh.
May 6th, 2008 at 2:23 pm
Look, if you’re going to write that well – that vividly – you’re going to have to get those little fingers of yours moving faster. You always make me want to know more!!!
May 6th, 2008 at 3:25 pm
These memories must rush back every time you hear “Music”. What a great guy!
May 6th, 2008 at 3:42 pm
Really, that was wonderful AND sublime. Tear and lump-inducing and I just may use this is my comp class, if you would permit me.
My love is 2.5 years younger and I made him fly back to our home town of Montreal from Seattle in December so I could stuffas much of my life as I could into my crapity VW Jetta with him for a 5-day trip through white-out condition, in a car that leaked oil and blew spark plugs, back to Seattle and our new life. 16 years ago. Oy.
May 6th, 2008 at 5:04 pm
okay i have to ask- do his parents talk to you now? great post
May 6th, 2008 at 5:21 pm
I know about moving…yeah. If you can get through a move, you’ve got a keeper. Reading this I smiled remembering how Madonna’s “Music” was playing constantly on every effing radio station.
May 6th, 2008 at 5:52 pm
I want to know what Urban Urchin asked. Are you guys on good terms with his parents?
May 6th, 2008 at 6:32 pm
*sigh*
Lovely. I fell in love with love all over again just reading this. Life is bittersweet; but mainly sweet.
May 6th, 2008 at 6:55 pm
Love this.
Last line, especially.
You are a goddess.
May 6th, 2008 at 6:55 pm
what a story. like others, I’d like to hear more.
May 6th, 2008 at 8:44 pm
I loved, loved reading this!! I don’t know if you’ve blogged about it before, but I’d love to hear about how you two first met…
Beautiful story
May 6th, 2008 at 9:33 pm
“With him, I remain moved.” OOOOhhhh, GIRL, you know how to end a post. Stop! Lovely. Images everywhere. Thank you for telling this sweet story. You were babies!
May 7th, 2008 at 9:41 am
I’m not a huge fan of the post-80s Madonna, but somehow, I imagine “Music” was just the peppy song needed to keep everyone from a total breakdown (for goodness sake, could you imagine if the song that kept coming on was “Everybody Hurts” by REM? Exactly.)
May 7th, 2008 at 9:56 am
Awwwwww. my heart, it fluttered (no pun intended).
May 7th, 2008 at 10:16 am
Very romantic and sweet and raw and purty.
Loved this.
May 7th, 2008 at 10:32 am
OH, how I love this. Right down to the Ford Bronco that smelled like ass.
May 7th, 2008 at 11:08 am
man, this was beautiful. sounds like he made a good choice.
May 7th, 2008 at 1:10 pm
beautiful. be YOU ti ful.
May 7th, 2008 at 2:55 pm
what a nice pair you must be.
May 7th, 2008 at 6:33 pm
Beautiful post, dear Flutter….
May 7th, 2008 at 9:02 pm
what a great love story
May 8th, 2008 at 11:21 am
He loves you. So loves you.
I want that.
May 11th, 2008 at 7:05 am
wow.
June 3rd, 2008 at 6:15 pm
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