Our Story, Part 3...

This is Part 3 of Our Story.  To get the complete story, read in order starting with OUR STORY PART 1 and OUR STORY PART 2.

I've been feeling for a while that I need to write down Dean's and my story for our family history books, for our children and grandchildren to know and understand how their parents/grandparents ended up together.  But I realized that I needed to give some back story because there are some key people along the way that set me on some necessary paths to get to Dean that will help you to understand who I am, how I've changed over the years, and why Dean is the best man I've ever met and how he's perfect for me.  I didn't want to write a short love story "We met at church, dated, married, had a baby 3 years later....", that's too vague for my tastes.  I want my posterity to know WHY I love Dean, and why we go perfectly together.

Our Story, Part 3

My beautiful friend was in a horrific car accident on her way back to Pullman to Washington State University.  She was lucky to be alive, but her fish that was going along for the ride wasn’t so lucky.   She was unable to walk due to her injuries so once she was out of the hospital she ended up going back to live with her parents to have them take care of her at their home in Federal Way. 

She was a resilient and headstrong young lass so she ended up developing these Madonna-esque ripped arms from pulling herself around on the floor, her arms making up for what her legs could not do until much more healing took place in them.  Her house was a split level and there must have been no less than 14 stairs to make it from the bottom to the top floor. 

 I remember going over there for the first time since her accident and we had to go from the bottom to the top floor and I thought I would have to pick her up, she weighed probably a buck twenty, and I would just wisk her upstairs lickity split.  But she looked at me like I was crazy and just put her back to the bottom step, put her palms flat behind her on the next stair up, and hoisted herself up until her bum was on that step. She basically did half of a dip 14+ times over to make it to the top step and then she continued to pull herself to her couch, bed, table, etc. and could pull herself up and onto them.  Pfffft, who needs legs?  

I was having quite a rough week, one of those weeks where everything that could go wrong did. I was done and I just wanted ONE day to myself where I didn’t answer the phone, I didn’t have to see anybody I didn’t want to, I didn’t have to deal with any drama.  I just wanted to be alone.  So I selfishly chose to make that day Sunday and skip church and just hunker down at home.  

Then my friend called on Saturday.  “Hi, Michelle.  I was wondering if you could give me a ride to church?”  Well crap.  Who am I to say no to my invalid friend who now has no car and couldn’t drive even if she did and needs to go get her church on?  “Sure.  I’ll be there 20 minutes before to pick you up.”  It was Sunday, May 30^th, 2004. I got all cutesy and ready for church and went and picked her up, folded up her wheelchair and put it in my trunk, and we were off.  We got to church, got out her wheelchair, she hoisted herself in, and I pushed her into the building and into the chapel.  

We sat on the right hand side a few rows from the front, my friend in the aisle in her wheelchair and I was right next to her sitting on the very left hand side of the pew.  We were actually a few minutes early.  That’s a big deal for me because rarely am I ever early to church.  People were milling around my friend asking her how she was doing and I chitty chatted with some different people but I was still in a grumbly mood in my head and just kept wishing everyone would go sit down.  Didn’t they know that I’d had a bad week and that I wanted to be left alone?!  I look over and this guy in a suit is bending over talking to my friend in the wheelchair asking her how she’s doing, and glances up at me for half a second and gives me a half hearted I’m-just-acknowledging-you-because-you’re-next-to-my-friend-that-I’m-talking- to smile and then resumes talking to my her and walks away a minute later and goes and sits up on the stand.  

“What a pretentious little jerk!” I thought.  I remembered him!  How did he not remember me?!  I turned to my friend and said, “He’s back?  Is he giving a homecoming talk?”  “Yeah.” “What in the world? He didn’t even say hi or talk to me!”  “I don’t know.  Sorry.”

The meeting got underway and I was still in a bad mood.  Speaker #1, meh.  I’ve heard better.  Speaker #2, snore.  The congregation sings a song.  

Next up was the pretentious man in the suit. Dean.  

He started to give his missionary homecoming talk since he had just gotten back from his mission a couple of weeks before.  He served in Switzerland and Germany for 2 years teaching the Gospel and suddenly my ears perked up and I started paying attention because he could actually speak well and he was sharing some interesting and funny stories from when he was on his mission.  I was wrapped up in my own little world listening to him speak and in the middle of me looking at him and smiling because he was telling a funny story, he looks over at me from behind the pulpit, and without breaking stride he got the biggest grin on his face midsentence and I knew.

 

He finally recognized and remembered me.  

And he thought I was smiling at him, not realizing I was smiling at his story.

He kept speaking but now his glances were directed at me every 4 or 5 seconds and he couldn’t stop smiling.  I remember thinking, “Oh crap, he remembers me. He’s going to ask me out because he thinks I’m smiling at him.  Ugh, I’m just smiling at his stories.  I should have stayed home.”

Dean didn’t recognize me when he gave me that half second glance before the meeting started because I was blonde before he went on his mission.  I don’t just mean a couple of highlights mixed in with my brown hair type of blonde. I mean I was as blonde as Britney Spears type of blonde.  I had since gone back to my natural brown color, and I definitely looked different from when he had last seen me.  Annnnnd maybe I had put on a couple of pounds in those 2 years he was gone.  And it’s not that I wanted or needed his attention before the meeting when he didn’t recognize me, I just thought it would be common courtesy to acknowledge me because we had been casual acquaintances before his mission.  But once he finally saw my big smile during his talk he recognized me and he was instantly enamored and I knew it. 

And just like Returned Missionary Boyfriend had done, Dean made a beeline for me after the meeting was done.  “I’m so sorry, Michelle. I didn’t recognize you until I was speaking.  I’m so so sorry. I didn’t mean to seem rude earlier.”  We then made some small talk between us and some of our friends, and just as we were about to head to Sunday School, he asked me to stay back for a minute.  Internally I groaned.  “Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me this week?”  

Remember, I had been single for a year by choice after Mistake Boyfriend to get a grip of who I was and to work on me and get some self esteem back. Dating wasn’t high on my priority list.  I still had plenty of guy friends, but lately I seemed to be only getting asked out or hit on by complete freaks or nerds.  Was I wearing some sort of perfume that only attracted losers?  I rejected them all.  No dates for them.  I’d had some conversations with friends though who chastised me for being rude and blowing off the asker-outer.  They said, “Michelle, just think how intimidating it is for a guy, whether he be a hunk or a nerd, to ask a girl out.  EVERY guy who asks someone out deserves at least 1 date.  Even if you know it’s not going to go anywhere, go anyways. They at least deserve that.” 

 

Crap.  They were right.  I had that chastising playing through my head while Dean was asking me out, and even though I had no attraction towards him and not 1 iota desire to go on a date with him, I gave a half hearted smile and said, “Sure.  What day?”  I was giving him a pity date.  He deserved 1 and only 1. What a callous she-beast I was. 

We then walked in late together to Sunday School and took a seat next to each other and some of our other friends in the back.  All of a sudden I think something is wrong with Dean. He’s making this high pitched quarter of a second “EEEEEE” sound every couple of seconds while sucking in a huge gasp of air.  What the what??!!!?!   Is he seizing?  Having a heart attack?  He then sheepishly turns to me and in between gasps of air and that annoying high pitched sound he said, “I’m EEEEEEEE sorry.  I get really EEEEEEE bad hiccups and it EEEEEEEE takes a little bit to go EEEEEEEE away.  They’re actually pretty EEEEEEE painful.”  Oh. My. Heavens.  Nerd alert.  That’s strike 1, buddy.

I gave a sideways eye roll glance to my friend in the wheelchair and she was just laughing knowing that he had already asked me out and she could see it on my face that I wanted to cancel the whole thing right then and there.  Thankfully his hiccups stopped 2 seconds later so our date was still on, and I managed to not talk to him for the rest of church due to pretending like I was taking notes in a notebook (I was really just drawing pictures) and having whispering conversations with everyone else but him while the teacher was teaching.  

 

When church was done he excitedly asked for my phone number and as much as I wanted to give him 867-5309, I couldn’t.  I knew I’d see him again at a church function and I couldn’t be that brutal.  So I gave him my digits.  “How about Thursday?” “Ok, that’s fine.”  “Ok, great! It was so great to see you again, Michelle!  I’ll call you, and I’m really really looking forward to our date!”  “Uh huh.  Bye.”  I was already unbelievably annoyed at him, more so than what that maniacal hiccupping spell warranted.

Monday, May 31^st, 2004.  Dean calls me after I’m done at work, and says it turns out he can’t take me out on that Thursday because he ended up getting scheduled to work.  “Could we reschedule for a different day?”  Oh buddy, that’s strike 2.  “Fine.  Whatever.  How about Wednesday?  I can’t do Friday or Saturday. Or do we just need to wait a while and see when our schedules match up?” knowing full well that magically I’d never get my schedule to match up with his.  “Wednesday is great!!!  Sure!!”  “Ok, how about we meet at our wheelchair friend’s house?  I’ll just park my car outside and we can go in your car?”  I just really didn’t want him to know where I lived.  “Great!!  I’m so excited Michelle! Have a great night!”

 

 The week went by way too fast.  Next thing I know, it’s Wednesday.  Strike 3 was only a matter of hours away.