I’ve not been particularly lucky in life evidenced by this. Nor have I been lucky in love evidenced by this. So it is with great joy that I report to you that I have found the one.
I first met the man of my dreams at a keg party…obviously. At the time, I had a broken leg and a D.U.I. and was ready for a big night out on the town. I was walking into a party – held in a Midwestern garage – when I saw him. He was fast asleep (passed out) next to the keg and I thought, “You are the man of my dreams.” And he was. I spent the rest of the night saddled up next to him. He slept like an angel. I wasn’t going to let his slumbered state deter me from making a connection. I had some nail polish in my purse so I painted his pinky nail fire engine red as he dozed. I reasoned that once he woke up, whenever that may be, he would be sure to seek out the woman who had marked him. Just to be sure, I also stamped my name on his hand (because I was carrying around an Alison stamp that I had come across at a Phish show…naturally).
A few weeks later my moment arrived. I was off to another garage party when I came across the angel from that other night.
Angel: Have we met?
Me: Ya, I painted your nail at a party.
Angel: Are you Alison?
Angel: Dude, you really freaked me out that night. I woke up in the morning with my nail painted and a stamp on my hand and thought I had been raped.
Me: I love you.
As usual, I had made a stellar first impression. Luckily, his weariness wore off as we partook in several beers, a bag of weed and a fifth of whiskey. By the end of the night he was clearly smitten and, lucky for me, I had a D.U.I. and needed a ride home. Thus began our torrid love affair.
I was only 18 when I met the Angel but it was clear that our love with real. We spent romantic nights in his parents’ basement, we devoted countless evenings to road-loading on the most mystical of country roads, and we constructed every object found along the way into a pot-smoking apparatus. It was beyond romantic.
When I was 24, I quit drinking and moved to
– putting an end to our love affair. For the next few years, we talked on
occasion but our lives took us in opposite directions… until last week. Boston
After 8 torturous years apart, he quit drinking too and we decided to rekindle the old flame. I was uncertain whether or not we could truly reconstruct the heartfelt feelings of our youth but was willing to give it a try. I asked God to send me a sign so that I could be sure that this was the one. For once, God came through.
The Angel and I spent 10 glorious days together in beautiful
Los Angeles. On our last night, we watched the
sunset. It was heavenly. We spent the evening, arms wrapped around each
other, standing on the lip of the Santa
Monica pier. In
the distance, we could hear a street musician’s smoky voice singing Simon and
Garfunkel tunes. The sound of the waves
hitting the sand had me in a meditative trance and I was perfectly at
ease. Eventually, the Angel and I
meandered down to the beach. As we walked
along the shore, he put his arm around me and said, “This is perfect.” It was at
that moment that a seagull shit all over his head and all down the back of his
shirt. And it was at that moment that I
knew – this was the man for me.
Love is a funny thing. For years I thought I needed a man who would fix me. Instead, I’ve found a man who is just as broken. Instead of being in a perfect relationship, I get to be one half of an imperfect couple. I imagine our life together will be fraught with vandalized Daewoos and numerous burn holes. We’ll likely always get lost when we’re in a hurry and I doubt we’ll be able to cook dinner without breaking a plate. But I find great comfort in the fact that my imperfections are mirrored by his. After that seagull shit all over Angel, we walked back to the car and I realized I had a hole in my pants. Angel didn’t judge me. He smiled. And as I wiped away the bird shit from his head, we embraced, and I knew what love was.