I was minding my own business at Jane’s house. We had been celebrating that she passed her nursing exams. I was ready to go home when Paul La Grand caught me on the front walk. Someone was coming over and I, in Paul’s words, needed to be nice to him.
And Paul wasn’t kidding. Right behind him coming up to the house were four guys who had apparently just played a gig. The one I was supposed to be nice to was wearing a chambray shirt and white jeans (please, forgive a hipster, it was 1994!) and a baseball cap. When I pointed him out to my brother that I was supposed to meet him tonight, Chris said, “the one who looks like he’s twelve?” Yep. That was him.
We ended up meeting shortly after Chris’ comment. Parked ourselves on the north-facing front porch, and stayed up talking so long we ended up watching the sunrise. Because, you know, facing north on an urban front porch is perfect for that.
Paul’s brief foray into the match-making business that night was highly successful. Fifteen years later Mark and I have our own north-facing front porch. And I like to think that I’m nice to him. And though he couldn’t pass for twelve anymore, he still looks way young to me.
Happy anniversary, honester, best friend, gentle keeper of my heart.