Mrs. Deja Vu

For some reason I felt like I had met her before, yet everything about her felt so new. I met her this weekend inside of a log cabin in the mountains above Park City as big thick rain drops pummeled the tin roof.

I learned she loves drinking hot chocolate and curling up on the couch. She loves to snuggle up to you and share your blanket. She likes her bacon crispy and her eggs scrambled. She is more than happy to relax and watch movies all day. If there's brownie mix in sight, she'll cook it.

I met her again shopping. She holds up two shirts and asks me which one I like better, even though she knows I like how everything looks on her.

"Which one do you like out of these two?"

"Umm . . . the blue one." I hoped she wouldn't ask a follow up question. She did.

"Why the blue one?" She asks slyly, like she knows she's got me trapped.

"Honestly? Because it has seagulls on it," I say pointing to the white birds. "I like seagulls."

She's patient with me when I want to buy dark brown socks to go with my light khaki pants. She smiles. "Those don't work," she explains. "They are too dark for your light pants. The color of your dress socks needs to match the color of your dress pants."

I met her again when we watched the nature movie "Earth." She seemed to know the name of every waterfall or mountain that was shown along with its location. She wants to go to all these places, and has a journal where she plans a trip around the world. She has every stop and adventure listed. She likes planning it, even though she knows we might not ever afford it. She's beautiful like that.

I fell in love with her this weekend.

And then it hits me.

I had met her before. She walked into my apartment and started talking about the college football game on TV. I find it ironic that the most important conversation of my life wasn't started by me.

"Do you think we'll win?" she asked me.

"I don't think so . . . we never seem to win these games." I replied.

"That's not the attitude to have! Where's the positivity?!"

She said my kitchen was dirty and I invited her to clean it. Surprisingly, she did. I asked her on a date. Surprisingly, she accepted.

We met again two months later on a drive through Grand Junction, Colorado. We stopped at a Texas Roadhouse to eat, and with peanut shells on the floor I stammered what had been in my heart since the day I met her.

"Listen Kristi, I want to tell you a story. It's about a guy and a beautiful girl. The guy is in love with the girl, but he doesn't know how to tell her. Kristi, that guy is me, and that girl is you." There was a pause that lasted for what seemed like forever.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . I love you." I was shaking. The next words out of her mouth would be make-or-break.

She looked at me calmly. "Thank you."

She honestly didn't know if she loved me back and wasn't going to tell me until she felt sure. I was grateful for that. We saw a huge falling star on the way home. I wished she would fall in love with me. She wished we would get home safely. As she likes to point out to this day, "Both of our wishes came true!"

I met her again at the spot where we'd shared our first kiss. She was bundled up for winter. I got down on one knee. I honestly don't remember what I said, but before I knew it I was holding a ring up to her with my heart thumping. She whispered, "Yes."

Kristi, my conversations with you are my most cherished memories. It's amazing to me that my life, literally my whole world, hinges on the one conversation that you started with me about a football game in my apartment. No matter who I meet for this blog, you are the only person I wake up with every morning . . .

and feel like I'm meeting for the very first time.