“This will be the best experience of my life, as long as I don’t fall in love!” was one of the last things I said to my best friend after we loaded my mom’s van. The day was June 26, 1999. I’d been a high school graduate for approximately two weeks and was more than ready to begin my culinary education. The move from Cleveland to Pittsburgh was only a 2-hour drive, yet it somehow felt as if a whole new world was before me. As I stepped my foot on the ground of a brand new city, I couldn’t believe that this was all real. Standing in the registration room with dozens of kids who shared my same dream, I felt kinship and camaraderie. I was gleefully taking in the sights and sounds of my surroundings when I saw him.

He wore perfectly relaxed jeans, a white t-shirt, and running shoes. Standing several inches above most of us, I guess you’d say he was hard to miss. Yet, my feeling of awe had nothing to do with height or stature. I’ve spent years trying to describe this moment and have fallen short each time. It was like I was staring at a foreordained future I knew not of. As if ethereal words spoken before I was formed were thundering down on my present. Like he’d always been with me, I was just waiting for reality to catch up! Internally, I sought God for clarity but could only focus on the savage pull in the pit of my stomach. He casually turned towards me, and I somehow knew the same thing I still know these 20 years later; I had just looked upon the only man I’d ever truly love.

I had to know if this was real. How could it be?! Your whole being can’t just love someone before you even know them! This was utterly ridiculous, and I set out to prove it. I had to see him again. I was just caught off guard before. I was sure that if I saw him, fully prepared for our meeting, I would be fine. Thankfully, my best friend and new roommate were just as crazy as I and made no objections to my idea of knocking on every dorm door until we found mystery man. When we got to the third door, there he stood… and once again, I spun from the violent crash of my perceived reality. I learned his name, and it seared through me like a brand on my soul. Maybe there was a rip in the time-space continuum, or I accidentally crossed the streams, but this was actually happening!

There was only one logical thing to do… try my best to avoid him at all cost! I worked hard not to be wherever he might. Yet somehow, inexplicably, we always wound up sharing the same space. And, as fate would have it, his roommate became friends with my roommate, so they would often visit our apartment. If that wasn’t enough, we wound up on the exact same class schedule, assigned to be seated directly across from and facing one another. I spent most of our lectures trying not to stare at him, still holding on to the illusion that I could somehow avoid our connection. He seemed intent on starting conversations, which was difficult because he intimidated me. No one had ever done that before.

His presence was dominating, without any effort on his part. The outspoken, confident, charismatic woman I’d always been would puddle whenever he was within eyeshot. It wasn’t merely physical, although he was quite the specimen – six feet and five inches of awe-striking construction. His rich, chocolaty locks, worn in a bun, flashed natural flecks of gold when hit with perfect light. Freed from their restraint, his soft, thick strands fell past his shoulders and sometimes, when I was lucky, swept over one eye in the most appealing way. But his eyes were what arrested me. Deep, dark, and heavy with pain, yet there was always love and a boyish hope to be loved at their surface. They were honest, strikingly so. More honest than any eyes I’d seen before – or since. The skin surrounding them betrayed his youth at times. It bore an exhaustion proving that the years, though few, hadn’t always been kind. He was beautiful. 

It’s impossible to explain the feeling of being afraid to get close to someone while your entire being is drawn to them. My yearning to be near him couldn’t be classified; far beyond words, it was visceral and unrelenting. Before I knew it, a friendship began to form. The atmosphere created when we collided allowed us to be our best selves. As I warmly navigated through the pain of his past, I watched sadness melt from those eyes and hardness soften in his heart. We were simply better when we were together. Our love for one another swelled each day – not romantic love, nor platonic love; simply love. A love like neither of us had known nor believed existed.

Our communication was a shorthand of looks and touches that the other always understood and respected. Although not particularly religious, he honored my beliefs and highly regarded them as part of my splendor. He fortified the space around me, shielding the innocence within. He wouldn’t even allow others to use foul language or smoke in my presence. While he was great at recognizing my fragility, he was even better at fostering my strengths. I learned to value myself more because of the worth I saw reflected in his eyes. I’d always been the giver, never the receiver, but he requested nothing. He simply loved me – I was enough – we were enough. No labels, no expectations, just profound respect and appreciation for one another, and that was enough!

By February of that next year, I realized I had allowed myself to do the thing I swore I’d never do, fall in love. The weight of my affection mixed with my almost suffocating desire to spend my life with him hit hard. I was not prepared and had no idea how to handle that. So, I began to pull away. Suddenly the fear of getting hurt shone far brighter than anything else. He was so patient with me, years of patience that I disgraced with constant avoidance and unjustified self-protection. He fought for me a long while, seven years long, but eventually accepted defeat. I guess I won.

I miss everything about him. His unwitting grace. The sincerity through which he expressed emotion; unhampered by shame or false bravado. You cried when he cried and laughed when he laughed because it was all so genuine, bare, and honest. His laughter filled the space as if each “ha” was its own spark of joy that landed on each of us in the room. I try to find solace in the fact that I once felt that spark – once lavished in that joy. But I’m not yet mature enough to be grateful without the well-deserved guilt and shame.  

Last we spoke, I could still hear the pain and uncertainty in his voice. I understood; he’d had the rug pulled from under him before and couldn’t risk that shock again. I suppose there are some wounds that only God can heal. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to bring love into other’s lives, only to hurt the person who brought the most into mine. I’m still waiting for the lessons learned to overtake that heartache. I allowed my fear of the unknown to rob me of the joy I knew. And now, 20 years later, he walks around somewhere, in his perfectly relaxed jeans, carrying my heart in his back pocket.