You and I and a Memory from Long Ago

(Author's Note: Diabetes-inducingly sweet, I know. And it only gets increasingly flowery as you go along, but whatever. I needed to write something and the hopeless romantic in me is forever chugging out tooth rottingly sugary shit that would make Nicholas Sparks cringe.)

He first greeted his future wife with a hawked up wad of saliva to the face. The young girl of twelve, dolled up in a purple silk dress that complimented dark brown curls beautifully, stood stunned for a moment, the spit slowly sliding down red tinged cheeks that grew ever more saturated with color by the second. Mortified mothers and fathers of the future to-be-weds cupped their hands over their mouths, as if the slightest utterance would shatter this precious, precious silence they'd all grown so safe in. That was an inevitablility, of course, for just as suddenly as the spit hit her face, the young girl's shocked expression contorted into one of uncontollable rage and she pounced upon the offender, a young boy of the same age who stood level to her chin. They scratched and bit and screamed expletives at each other, rolling around in the dirt, ruining their specially tailored outfits all the while.

Oh, what they would come to mean to each other in the coming years. Oh, how they would look back on this momentous first meeting, laughing.

While being scolded by his very furious mother, after finally having the girl pulled off of him, the boy of the spit pistol cradled a sufficiently painful sore jaw, contemplating exactly why he'd done what he did. Was it because of his natural boy instincts that dictated every female inferior to himself and thereby subject to his exploitation? Was it rebellion against his parents for dragging him to yet another useless social function of theirs, defacing the face of the nearest family friends' child with his salivation to get the point across? Or did he know? Was it possible he knew, in that one glance upon his love's pre-adolescent face, that this was the woman he was fated by the gods to spend his life with?

Unlikely.

Though, for better or for worse, they'd both left a lasting impression on the other. Impressions that would stay with them long after they had both gotten their first girlfriend and boyfriend, and only grew stronger after they had both subsequently broken up with them. Of course, they first refused to acknowledge such feelings, feelings for a person they'd shared their first real skirmish with years ago, who had probably grown up and forgotten all about that unruly child of their parents' friends. They never did forget, though. It would be years before they spoke to each other, at first not recognizing the other until a heavy make out session fueled by a shared bottle of vodka roused memories and feelings and a softly synchronized utterance of the word "You".

Life after that was blissful. Blissful in only the way another person by your side could make life.

They went everwhere together. To new cities, across oceans, to the next room, it did not matter at all. Anywhere the other went was a home and anywhere the other was not was not where they wanted to be. Where he traveled, she was sure to follow one step beside him, hand in his. 

For a long while they were happy together. But, like all loves old and new, there were tough times. There were occasions when one of them stared too longingly at another, at least in the eyes of a jealous lover. Other instances when they diagreed on which couch would go better with which wallpaper. Silly, inane arguements that evolved into much more, with shout matches, pointed fingers, and the tearing down of boundaries, leaving all doubts and insecurities out in the open for all to attack. When all was said and done, one of them would leave and one of them would stay alone and both of them would think. One of them would return or go out to find the other and they'd talk at a steadier volume with hands balled up in fists on their laps. They'd talk and then the words would turn into tears. Apologies exchanged, promises of change made, and love rekindled anew. Then they would embrace and kiss as if for the first time.

It was on the morning of the day after their wedding, lying in each other's arms, when they first lost track of the time. It did not matter much to them anymore, for time passed quickly like a light shower, leaving flowers blossoming in its wake.

Even after endless days without being apart, after countless fights without point, they still found new reasons to love each other. From each new wrinkle that found its home on his face to the relief that washed over everyone by the hospital bed after she almost left him and this world for good. And when they looked back on it all, when they recalled their disasterous first meeting sitting together on a porch bench and laughed. As with everything, they laughed together as well.