I told Stephanie that I was writing about how we met and enjoying the mental stroll down memory lane. She said that she had been writing about that topic herself lately. And now I am intensely curious; no doubt her version is a significantly different perspective than this:

Stephanie and I both started out in college at Southern Methodist University in Dallas, Texas. We lived in the same freshman dormitory, or more correctly, adjoining dormitories. It was collectively referred to as Cockrell-McIntosh Hall; I lived McIntosh while she lived in Cockrell. We were both music majors that year. She was a vocalist majoring in Music Therapy, and I was a Music Performance major playing the saxophone. Neither of us had a strong background in music theory, so we were put into a remedial music theory class that met at eight in the morning, five days a week, and that had only about five or six people in it. In addition, we both sought out the Baptist Student Ministry on campus that was at that time housed at 3220 Daniel, on the opposite side of campus from our dorm. All of this conspired to bring us to many of the same places at many of the same times.

My high school girlfriend and I broke up during the winter of my freshman year in college. For many of my own dysfunctions – a legacy of my parents’ marital histories, no doubt – this breakup was a crushing blow. I hurt and I hoped for a long time.

In the spring of that year, Stephanie and I had a Business Statistics class together. We sat next to each other and labored together through that class. Over time, we simply fell into spending more and more time together. We were very good friends, even before there was any romantic component to our relationship. I was always too busy crushing on just about everyone. Stephanie and I had many mutual friends, and we engaged in many group activities.

During our freshman or sophomore year, students from the BSM drove to Glorietta, New Mexico, for Student Week. At one point on the very long drive in a crowded fifteen-passenger van, Stephanie and I were bickering on and on about something when another friend of ours declared, “You two are going to end up getting married.” I was embarrassed and wanted to deflect the attention away from myself, and so I insensitively responded with, “No way. She annoys me.” She cried. I was such an asshole.

We continued to spend time together and continued to build on our friendship through innumerable shared experiences. I remember going Deep Ellum together late on a Friday or Saturday night. Deep Ellum was a (less and less so all the time) risky, edgy, somewhat dangerous part of Dallas neighborhood that only came alive at night (it’s as tame as Disneyland now). She and I walked down the street, past bars and tattoo parlors, with her wearing a bright sweatshirt with Disney characters and a large bright bow in her hair. It was and still is her personality that says, “It’ll be fine.” We ate at Café Brazil on Central late at night many times. We picked up Taco Bell and carried it to a park in Highland Park where we swung and talked late into the night. We spent many, many hours together on the phone, almost every night, talking about everything.

We both dated other people on and off. We also dated each other on and off. I know she loved me and was heartbroken whenever we were off again. I pushed her away so many times. She cried each and every time. After a while, I’d come around again. I was such an asshole.

How many times have I caused her to cry? Only she could begin to say, but I’m sure that many tears came and went without my knowledge. Thankfully, many of her tears have passed quickly out of her memory.

To be continued…