A Brief History

I don't know when it was that I first "knew" I wanted to marry Curtis Romjue. On some level, it was probably before I even knew him very well at all. I was drawn to him like a moth to the flame. Or as Curtis would say, "Like a moth to the female moth." A friend had told me a couple years before I even met him that we would end up together. So when I met him I was already attempting furtive glances into his soul. Why would she have said that? I had to know!

We met during my junior year, waiting for a professor to confer with us during his office hours. Due to his chronic (and fortunate) tardiness, we were able to converse for almost half an hour about travel, faith, life. I left feeling like... "WOW!" Curtis later told me that he barely remembered anything about that conversation because he was trying to concentrate on what he had hoped to say to our professor. He did, however, remember that I had long hair at the time.

I had a crush on Curtis for the better part of a year. The kind of crush that drives a woman to "accidentally" leave her sweater at his house after a party so that she has an excuse to go back the next day. Curtis vaguely knew that I existed. Over time, and after repeated visits to his house to retrieve forgotten articles of clothing, I got to know and love the young men that lived in that house and the myriad friends that might as well have lived there. Gypsy Hall. It was a hub of social activity - the kind of social activity I craved and had seldom found previously. "Story time" in the evenings. Impromptu jam sessions and dance parties. Art nights dedicated to showcasing and enjoying our friends' talents. Philosophical and theological exploration over potluck feasts. I had found my community.

The more time I spent with Curtis in the context of his community (which had become my community), the girlish crush faded and simultaneously blossomed into a genuine friendship. There came a point when I was able to honestly tell my girlfriends, "I'm over him." It was true. I was no longer doodling his face in my class notes. He was a real person now. I could no longer idealize (or idolize) him.

My senior year ended. I graduated from Seattle Pacific University with degrees in Theology and Spanish, went back to Texas for a month to spend time with family, and then spent two months traveling around Europe with my friend Eliza, sleeping in a car, sneaking into campsites to take showers, living off of the complimentary bread from restaurants. When we returned to Seattle at the end of the summer, we brought with us pictures and memories from a dozen countries, tanned faces and the fresh confidence that comes from having undertaken an exciting adventure. Maybe it was a combination of these factors that caught his eye, or maybe it was because I was always meant to be the one to catch his eye. It just took him longer than me to figure that out, I guess. *wink*

It took me about a week after being around Curtis again to realize that something was different. This time, he had some furtive schemes of his own. By Christmas, I was fine with re-developing my crush. And the rest, as they say, is history.