Feels Like the First Time (16 page)

The concert started at 7 PM, but I wanted them to get to Seattle as early as they could without arousing suspicion. I gave them directions to my place and we agreed to meet there at 4 PM on the day of the concert.

I was so nervous that I wasn’t sure I would make it until 4 PM. I cleaned my room obsessively in anticipation. It had begun to look like a typical college student’s room. By mid-afternoon, I had cleaned every surface I could think of, and sat nervously on the edge of my bed waiting for them.

When 4:30 rolled around and there was still no word from them, I thought I was going to go crazy. Our plan had hinged on one critical element–that Chip could find my place. As it turned out, he couldn’t. Just when I was about to climb the walls, my landlord told me I had a phone call. I took the steps in two strides and was incredibly relieved to hear Chip’s voice. They couldn’t find my place, but they were at the Chevron station by Peaches Records and Tapes.

Ten minutes later, after breaking several traffic laws, I was there. Dawn and I finally had our reunion. Like always, as soon as we were together, everything else around us melted away. Before we headed to the concert, I guided them back to my place. All I had was the one room, but it was important that Dawn at least saw the place. I wanted her to be able to close her eyes and visualize where I was when we were separated again.

Back at my place, I stashed Chip and Lori in the communal living room for a minute while I took Dawn downstairs to my room. When we walked in to my
room,
Always and Forever
was playing on the stereo. I was in favor of ditching the concert in favor of staying home and talking. But Chip, Lori, and Dawn were excited to go, so we loaded into Chip’s dad’s Monte Carlo, and headed for the show.

Once we got to the Seattle Center Coliseum, Chip and Lori headed into the insanity of the floor in front of the stage. Dawn and I found two empty seats at center stage at the very back of the floor. We settled in happily to watch the Brothers Johnson as they performed
Stomp!
and
Strawberry Letter 23
. As soon as we sat down, Dawn wrapped her arm around mine, laid her head on my shoulder, and acted as if she never wanted to move again. That would have been fine with me. Before we knew it, though, the Commodores came and went, and the show was over.

A feeling of darkness fell over me. We had looked forward to this night with such anticipation, and it was already over. We had no idea when we would be able to see each other again. This uncertainty made this parting monumentally sad. We walked out of the Coliseum holding onto each other so tightly that our hands were growing numb. Suddenly, we were greeted by a Christmas miracle, six weeks early. Snow had fallen the entire time we were inside the arena. It wasn’t a typical Seattle snow-tease, either. It was already piled five inches deep. Traffic wasn’t going anywhere. We couldn’t believe our luck. There was no way Walt and Colleen would want Chip driving through this storm all the way to Mossyrock.

We got our story straight. It was the truth anyway, minus my presence. We found a payphone and Dawn called home. Of course, with two kids out in the wilds of Seattle, Colleen was already watching the news. She knew the story of the Blizzard of ’78, rapidly paralyzing the entire city. Chip suggested he drive Dawn and Lori a few miles south to where his brother lived. He was sure they would be safe and sound there until morning, when the snowplows had done their job.

Listening in on the conversation, I could tell Colleen didn’t like this turn of events. What parent would? But, God and the weatherman had outflanked her. This was one situation she couldn’t control, and she had no choice but to give her blessing.

I felt like a death row inmate receiving a last-minute reprieve from the Governor. I had been steeling myself for a separation again, and now the entire night stretched out in front before us, rich with possibilities.

Chip carefully maneuvered the Monte Carlo through the snarl of traffic, and we carefully negotiated the streets to his brother’s house. Chip’s brother didn’t exactly welcome us with open arms. He was married with kids of his own. He wasn’t prepared for four wet, bedraggled teenagers unexpectedly showing up at his house after midnight. As we walked through the door, I envisioned Dawn and me finding a quiet corner where we could canoodle. Instead, Chip’s brother seemed to have missed the devil-may-care gene Chip had in abundance. He took his babysitting duties seriously.

There was a couch in the living room, and all four of us huddled together under a blanket, trying to get warm. Chip’s brother went into the dining room and got an uncomfortable-looking straight-backed chair and sat down opposite us while his wife went back to bed.

One of our favorite songs was The Beach Boys’
Wouldn’t It Be Nice,
which described waking up together after having spent the night together. We had often talked about how wonderful that would be, but we’d never envisioned it like this–Chip, Lori, Dawn and I all crammed under a blanket under the watchful eye of Chip’s brother. We were exhausted by the excitement of the day and quickly fell asleep.

On the way out of the house the next morning, Chip’s brother slapped me heavily on the back and said, “Sorry to be such a wet blanket last night. I didn’t want anyone getting pregnant in my house.”

With that ringing in my ears, I found myself standing beside the Monte Carlo saying goodbye to Dawn again. This day was clear and warmer and the snow was already melting. There was no good excuse for Dawn to remain in Seattle. We shared one last sad kiss, and the Monte Carlo disappeared south.

I had no idea if or when I would ever see Dawn again. I did know seeing her had made it even tougher to be without her again. Spending those few hours together, feeling the connection we always felt, and then losing each other only made the pain of separation much worse.

I stood on the sidewalk outside Chip’s brother’s house, unsure where I was. I started walking, looking for a Metro bus sign that might lead me home to the U-District. I finally found a bus going the right direction. As I rode, I realized I couldn’t go on like this. There had to be a solution, and I felt like I was close to it. As I watched the miles slip by, a new plan cemented in my brain.

I needed to do something, and now I knew what it was.

I would ask Dawn to marry me.
 

Wanting to marry Dawn and being able to marry her were two different things. She was under sixteen, which meant we would need her parents’ permission. I was an optimistic person, but I didn’t see that happening. Even so, I was convinced the answer was somewhere behind the impressive brick walls of one of the many University of Washington libraries.

In the weeks leading up to the Christmas break, I blew off my classes and spent the time trying to answer the question, “how can Dawn and I get married?” I hadn’t even asked her if she wanted to get married, but I would cross that bridge once I found out if it was possible.

If I had possessed more common sense, I might have realized that if it was this difficult to arrange, it might not have been a good idea. Whenever I saw a brick wall standing between me and something I really wanted, I lowered my shoulder and hit it harder. There were times that this stubbornness served me well, but I’m not sure this was one of them.

At least spending all those hours poring over microfiche and dusty stacks of books served a couple of purposes. It distracted me from the pain of being separated from Dawn, and it made me feel like I was accomplishing something.

When I was finally getting close to admitting the loophole I was searching for didn’t exist, I stumbled across a book that showed the minimum age to get married in every state in the Union. As I ran my finger down the list, I saw that every state had a minimum age of at least sixteen to get married without consent. There was only one exception.

The great state of Mississippi allowed girls as young as fifteen to get married, as long as you could pay for the marriage license and pass a blood test that showed you weren’t first cousins. Since I knew Dawn and I could scrounge up the twelve bucks for the license, and there were no common branches in our family tree, I believed I had the answer.
At least I had found one answer in one book out of the hundreds I had looked through. I didn’t even want to give credence to the idea this book might be wrong. The most important feature of the book was that it agreed with me.

With this new information, a clearer plan emerged. I would buy a wedding ring and ask Dawn to marry me. If she said “yes,” I would buy two airline tickets to the garden spot of Biloxi, Mississippi. Once we were legally married, I figured no one would be able to separate us again. As immature as it sounds, that was all I thought about.

What did I think the two of us–an 18-year-old college freshman and a 15-year-old high school sophomore–would do once we returned from Mississippi? Where would we live? How would we live? Even with a diet of Top Ramen and mac and cheese, I don’t know how we would have managed, and I didn’t give it much thought.

Instead, my first thought was about buying a ring. I hopped on a Metro bus to the U-District and walked into the first jewelry store I saw. I had seen enough commercials to know the rule of thumb was to spend two months’ salary. Since my income in any given month was roughly zero, I wasn’t sure where that left me.

I started by looking for the cheapest wedding set I could find. I had somewhere between $80 and $90 to spend, and I was hoping they would throw in the little box. I knew I was in trouble when all the rings I saw were at least $1000.

Eventually, I found a sympathetic salesman and told him exactly what I was up against. I must not have been the first dirt poor would-be groom to walk through the door, because he gestured for me to follow him as soon as I began telling him my story. He led me to a dimly lit corner of the store where he showed me a small tray of inexpensive rings. Then I saw it. Like in a Hollywood movie, I could hear a choir of angels singing and a bright spotlight shining on the most beautiful ring I ever saw. The wedding and engagement rings were both yellow gold. The wedding ring had a diamond chip that was barely visible. The part of the engagement ring that showed at the top of the finger had a wave design. The wedding band had exactly the same wave to it, and it fit snugly together with the engagement ring. It looked like Dawn and me. It was a perfect fit.

I was afraid to ask how much it cost, certain it was going to be more than I had. When the kind-hearted salesman took it out of the case, I saw a little tag with a price on it: $110. I was torn. On one hand, I did have that much with me. But with tax, it would take everything I had. In fact, if my Metro bus transfer slip expired before I could get to the bus, I would end up walking home. But none of that mattered. I had to have that ring.

I asked the salesman if I could bring the ring back if things didn’t work out.

“No, son. I’m sorry, you can’t. We can guarantee the ring but not the romance.”

I was sure he had delivered that line many times before.

I stepped out of the jewelry store, fingering the velvet blue box they threw in. I stood under the awning as rain poured over the side, splashing noisily onto the sidewalk. I waited for the light to change so I could cross the Ave, and heard music coming out of an overhead speaker. It was The Talking Heads’ version of
Take Me to the River
. The words to the song didn’t mean much to me, but ever since that day, I have associated that throbbing bass line with the feeling I had when I first heard it. It was an unsteady mixture of anticipation and dread. Fortunately, my bus transfer was still good, so I didn’t have to walk home in the rain.

The next day, I put phase two of my plan into action. First, I dug around my room to find enough money to buy another Metro bus ticket. It was only forty cents, but that was more than I had in my pockets or my bank account. Once I had enough change for a bus ticket, I rode the bus south to Kent, where Terri worked. It was clear I would need more financial support if we were going to find our way to Mississippi.

Once again, I could have followed a more logical order. I could have made sure I had Terri’s support before I blew my life’s savings on a wedding ring. Luckily for me, Terri was not a typical older sister. She spent the first half of our lunch trying to talk me out of my crazy scheme. Then she relented after I showed her the ring and convinced her I was going to get married with or without her help. She even offered to let us take over the bottom floor of the house on Aaby Drive until we got on our feet.