Sometime this morning it came into my mind that I haven't told the story of us. The story of how we met, fell in love and started our life. I thought today, on the anniversary of our first date (nine years ago) I would share my version of the story of us. I regret that I don't have Scott's story documented. I'll try to add in the pieces he would always add in whenever this story was regaled.
And so it begins,
I had just started a new job and was told to "call Scott at Northwest and arrange to get this stuff over here." So that's what I did. Our first phone call wasn't just the brief, in passing, type. I introduce myself, inquired about how his day was and instead of the usual "Fine. Thanks." I got a real answer. I wish I could remember the answer but I cannot. I do remember that when he inquired about my day I knew he meant it. He really wanted to know. He wasn't just being polite like I had just been. And so it begun.
For weeks, there were reasons to call "Scott at Northwest". Sometimes I made them up, other times I was actually doing my job. Every time we talked I learned something new. Not a girl to let things happen slowly, I made it very clear that I was single, dating and really hating most of the guys I had met recently. I hinted, pushed, nudged, and stopped just short of skywriting "Ask me out Dumbass."
This is the part of the story where Scott would interject and say "I didn't want to be pushy. You seemed so nice."
Then finally, one day, Scott had reason to come to my office. I was ready. Killer dress, fab heels, hair and make-up done, not the typical attire for a construction office. The moment I saw him through the glass door I knew it. I knew I needed him. He was exactly what I had pictured. What I had imagined. Exactly what I wanted and needed.
Sadly, he came in, greeted me with a polite handshake, dropped off the few items and left. He would tell you that he decided I was to pretty for him to ask out but I never bought that. I thought he was just chicken.
We returned to our conversations. Talking longer and longer each time. After a particularly long weekend where I became so frustrated by the choices in front of me, I laid it on the line. My line was something cheesy like "I could never find a good guy like you to go out with." That was it, he finally got the hint and asked me out.
I couldn't wait! He suggested waiting two weeks, you know that wasn't going to fly and so I suggested two days later. I always did get my way. I finally had it, my date with "Scott from Northwest". Dragging Sere to the mall, we scoured every store (a few of them twice) to find the perfect outfit.
Date night finally arrived. Scott arrived promptly, met my parents and stood waiting for me at the top of the stairs when I finally gathered myself together enough to emerge from my residence in the parents' basement. He and my dad were laughing about something, I have no idea what, but in that moment, I looked at him and knew. That was it. I was done.
Jumping in his truck, we were off to Port Barrington. We closed the doors to the truck and it began. The incessant talking. For the next eight hours we didn't shut up. We talked tv, we talked, family, we talked sports, politics, money, children. We talked about everything and nothing.
We talked so much that the waitress, as the kitchen was getting ready to close at 10 (we got there at 630), finally asked if we wanted her to order for us. Hastily we both chose a dish. I don't remember what we ate, though I know Scott didn't have pasta because as I would find out a short time later, the poor boy had no idea how to properly eat spaghetti and he didn't want to embarrass himself.
We talked as we walked out the door hours later, both forgetting about the bar bill. I didn't know this either until sometime later. Scott felt so awful, he went back the next day and took care of the bill and left a huge tip. Always, the good guy.
Driving back to my parents, we talked. Yup, more talking. We sat outside my parents house and talked until the wee hours of the morning. He told me about losing his mom and his sister. He assured me the doctors said he didn't have VEDS. It didn't matter. Already, it didn't matter.
I got out of the car that night without a kiss. I reached across the truck and scored a hug but Scott, the gentleman didn't even attempt a first date kiss.
I went to bed that night thinking that the man of my dreams thought of me like a kid sister. Turns out Scott went to bed that night thinking "Did I really just meet my future wife?".
The post date phone call late Sunday afternoon went something like Him-"We should do that again some time." Me - "That would be awesome." Him - "How's next weekend?" Me - "I don't really want to wait that long how about Tuesday?" Him - "That would be great."
The second date Cubs game. I've shared the hot dog story from the game. But what you don't know is that we joked on the way down to the game, sitting in bumper to bumper Chicago traffic just outside O'Hare airport, I said "Screw the game let's fly to Vegas." Scott's response "And get married."
There was a pause in the truck. As we both thought about if we could actually just fly off and get married. No thoughts of "I just met this person I shouldn't do that." Just thoughts of "People would really think I was crazy." In the end it was the disappointment that my mom would feel in not seeing her only daughter get married that kept up from jumping on the next flight out of town.
That second date finally ended with a kiss. He asked for permission first.
And off we went. We were inseparable. Spending all our time together. Going on adventures. Enjoying life.
Christmas Eve of that year, we got our first major punch. Scott called from the Emergency Room. He was in incredible pain and wasn't going to make it to Christmas eve dinner. Dropping everything I rushed to be with him. It was in that room that we first heard "we think you have Vascular Ehlers-Danlos." We had only been dating 3months. Scott had a right leg aneurysm and the level 2 trauma center needed to move him immediately to a level 1. Christmas Eve night was spent flying down the road in an ambulance. Snow, apprehension, worry, flying around us.
Christmas morning, my mom took one look at me and said "Go to him." Nothing else mattered. I didn't care about stockings, presents, dinner. I just wanted my Scott.
Scott told me before his first angio, right after the doctor told us he would be lucky to be alive at the end of the day, Scott looked me right in the eyes and said "you can go." I didn't. I wouldn't. I couldn't. I never regretted it. Not even for a minute.
From that first storm to the last moment, we were together. We will always be together.
Photo compliments of Kara Schultz.
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