The Conversation

Thirteen years ago*, Chris & I met at a party.

We were both 18, just a few weeks into our first year of college. The party was one of those over-crowded, noisy, sweaty dorm parties thrown by freshman who don't know any better. It was there, over random concoctions involving Peppermint Schn*pps for the girls and cheap beer for the guys, that we had our first conversation.

I can't remember everything that we talked about. I'm sure we covered all the typical "Where you from? What's your major?" questions before moving on to more important topics, like how optimistic we were about the football team's new coach (Bob Davie, an absolute disaster) and how cool it was that Chris's friends were able to sneak a whole keg into their room (by senior year they'd moved to an apartment and acquired a keg-a-rator, strobe lights and a fog machine).

At the end of the night, moments after Brown-Eyed Girl came on and I shrieked and forced Chris to dance with me while I belted out the lyrics, he kissed me. I quickly told him I had a boyfriend (fine, I may have kissed him back for a minute or two first). He walked me home anyway and boyfriend or not, from that night on, he was the first person I wanted to talk to when I screwed up yet another chem lab or heard a new song on the radio.

We didn't officially start dating for another two months. A lot happened during that time.

The crisp beauty of fall became the dreary gray of winter.

My high school boyfriend and I self-destructed.

The football team completed the first of five mediocre seasons under Bob Davie.

And Chris & I, with student center hot chocolates in hand, spent night after night walking around campus, building on the conversation we had started that first night.

I often wonder what the 18 year old versions of ourselves would think of who we are today; the pre-med student and the history major who became the stay-at-home mom and the businessman. I like to think they'd be pleased. We may have swapped out the hot chocolates for Starbucks and we may be frequently interrupted by the two children we are pulling in the wagon behind us, but that conversation we began 13 years ago ,with Van Morrison blaring in the background, is still going strong.

*Technically, it was 13 years and 8 days ago, I've been a lazy blogger this week.