Yesterday was October 27th, and even though I wish I could have posted this yesterday I would like to take the time now to tell you why October 27th was a day worth remembering. It makes sense that one would hold dear the day that changed their life forever, but it will never cease to amaze me that what changed my life was a simple date. But I guess what's more important was not the date but the man, the man I'll always love. So I decided to share the moment I first fell in love with Spencer. This past summer I did a lot of writing...actually I amend that statement the first couple days of summer I did a lot of writing. In one day I wrote 20,000 words about our love story. Here's the prologue:
“And that’s how it happened…” I said as I concluded my story. I looked up at him expecting him to be upset or at least a little annoyed at my actions. I mean I felt like he had deserved an explanation and wouldn’t have been surprised at some sort of a rebuke, but with a smile in his voice all he said was, “What are you getting yourself into?” Without a second thought, I burst out with, “A whole lotta great!”
At that, his smile broke through and he couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe he thought I was funny, or cute, or something silly, but as he smiled at me I could see contentment. I was glad I could make him smile that way. It was one of my favorites. The kind of smile he gave me when it was obvious how much he adored me, the kind of smile he gave me when I would pray that maybe this time he’d kiss me for the first time…the kind of smile that peered into my very soul and gave wings to the secret dreams of my desperate heart.
And I never looked back.
And this is the beginning of our Continuing Love Story...
Spencer and I had just arrived at the Maesar Building and stepped into the world of "Ghost Stories." There were four rooms and in each was a character that embodied one character trait. Like living ghosts, each obsessed, were hollowed out by, and all consumed by this one idea. In the first room, the girl was surrounded by clocks and ran around in nervous twitching at each defining tick of the clocks. She was whispering, “Not enough time, not enough time.” And compulsively winding and rewinding each clock. On a chalkboard at the front of the room was a list of things many of us all hope to accomplish before our time runs out.
In another room, the boy was seated at a desk and surrounded by bits of ripped pieces of paper. Each bit of paper had a secret written on it and he seemed to just rock back and forth in the company of a million secrets.
In another room, the girl looked a lot like an Alice in Wonderland. She was in a pretty dusty rose dress and was talking to someone none of us could see. She was surrounded by mirrors and empty picture frames hung from the ceiling. By this point, I was quite confused as to what we, as the audience, were supposed to do. But then out of nowhere, Spencer stepped forward into a picture frame. The girl jumped at his sudden “appearance” and he began to talk to her. He just kept it casual asking how her day was and I think trying to gauge anything about her that he could. At first, I was slightly alarmed not knowing if we were supposed to jump in like he had just done, but then I was impressed because he’d understood and acted. He had just broken down the fourth wall of performance. He eventually came back and after a minute he nudged me to walk up. It didn’t really occur to me that I should feel uncomfortable, because if he could do it then I knew I could. So, without a thought, I walked up to a picture frame and waited for her to “notice” me. She acted a little startled, but eventually, she started talking to me. Our conversation didn’t really get anywhere but Spencer says this is where it started.
The last room had a girl standing on a desk. She was dressed in white ripped clothes and she was covered in works scribbled and scratched in black eye-liner. Phrases like, “not guilty,” “I didn’t do it,” and “innocent” covered her arms, face, and clothes. Something about the scene disturbed me but I couldn’t tell what it was.
What was it on her face and in her eyes that pulled at me so much? Somehow I understood her, the feeling of being trapped; searching for escape and solace from my mind and my expectations. Then I noticed a projector with a stack of slides sitting next to it. Without even really meaning to I walked up and put a picture up. She jerked. Then it clicked. She would respond to the pictures! Perhaps I could take the slides and manipulate the meanings, colors, and emotions to get through to her. Much like my own mind, I felt like if I could just work backward fast enough then I could unravel the person behind the mask of her mind.
I proceeded to show her pictures of the blue sky, Ferris wheels, flowers, and strictly avoided the pictures of bars, solemn staring statues, and crosses over graves. I tried to talk to her about anything but I couldn’t seem to break through. In that split second, I didn’t know what to do, I realized it wasn’t about luring her outside of her mind with the “happy things” of the world but rather, showing her that “happy things” can belong in her mind. I know it sounds crazy but I started telling her all the wonderful things she could think about; I started telling her about color.
About a year earlier I remember walking with McKenzie outside and stopping to watch the sunset. It was mostly pink and orange and very lovely but McKenzie was in awe.
“Natalie, Natalie! Look at all the colors!” she cried.
“Yeah, it’s pretty, pink and orange . . .”
“No no no! Don’t you see it? The greens and blues on the edge with a tint of purple on the line of the horizon?”
“Umm…well I really do like the pink and orange…” I said. Honestly, I thought she was crazy but as she explained and got more and more excited I was shocked to realize she actually could see blue, green, and purple where I could only see pink and orange. Well, we went home but that really bugged me for the next month, so every night I’d go watch the sunset and just strain to see the colors she had talked about.
“Natalie, it’s not just a sunset, it’s a painting.” I would hear her say over and over. I tried to imagine a brush stroke or God giddily playing with watercolors and then one sunset it finally clicked. I don’t know what happened but all the sudden I could see the purple, I mean it wasn’t really purple but if I had to duplicate it or move it into my mind I would have to use purple to paint it.
“So color was not a fact but rather in the eye of the beholder?” I remember thinking dumbfounded.
And this is why I was telling this girl about color, of all things. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and color is just one those things that help us define all that is worth seeing and remembering. But being happy for me has always been a three-step process. First, you have to be able to recognize joy. Second, you remember joy. You create a memory to think of when you have no joy to recognize. And third, you find joy in yourself. So I decided to find something about this girl that had beautiful color. Well, I’ve always loved eyes. For me, their like windows to the soul and every fleck reflect the many facets of a person’s existence. And this nameless girl had beautiful eyes.
Looking at her I paused and said, “You know what?”
“What?” she replied hesitantly.
“You have beautiful eyes.”
“Really?” For the first time, her voice fluctuated to a higher pitch.
“Yeah, they have such beautiful color. They’re the color of . . . well . . . you know when there’s a storm on the sea and things have finally come to a calm and the waves have stopped tossing and crashing? Well, there is always a clear sheen of sea foam where the clear blue sky collides with the green undertones of the water and that’s the color of your eyes. Or you know in early springtime when you wake up really early and go on a run and come back and collapse on the wet grass? And out of the corner of your eye, you see the sparkle of dew reflecting the blue sky onto the tender green blades of grass? That’s the color of your eyes.”
She just looked at me smiling. I was so totally lost in our conversation I actually jumped when Spencer began talking. For the past little while, he’d just been looking at me, watching me interact with this girl. But then he joined in, and I was honestly shocked when he picked up the thread of my thoughts and as though he knew exactly what I was trying to do he began talking, saying the exact words that needed to be said. Weirdly, I felt like he was talking to me, telling me what I’d only wished I could hear. Then, while listening to Spencer, I realized why I’d connected so intensely with this girl. In a strange way I felt just like her; trapped in my mind and weighed down by the unfathomable weight of my expectations.
“But how! How could I guy I’d just met know exactly what to say? How could I come to a theater performance and find a glimpse into my own psychological state?” I racked my thoughts. “How did he know what to say? How?”
For me, this is where it started. Because without even realizing it I fell in love with a man who knew how to say what no one else could.
You see it's been a year since that day, and I promise life only gets better. Sometimes life is busy, most often it's difficult, and we learn to become acquainted with the words "C'est la vie." But even so it's always worth it. By taking the time to weave ourselves into someone's story we create a beautiful array of colors in a future of possibilities. And that's what love is, coming to understand that we're not here to escape pain and hardship, we're here to triumph over it. We're not here to waste away in a solitary similitude of apparent spiritual elevation, we're here to live. We're here to marvel and wonder and change the world. And we're not here to do it alone. We're here to love. And as my life keeps turning and I keep trying I'll never stop loving, because from the first moment I met him I knew that Spencer was a man I could love forever.
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-Natalie Cherie
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