One fine day in January I am standing in the University bus stop patiently waiting for the bus. What was going through my mind at the time? I can’t really remember. At the ripe age of 19 I was probably contemplating ways of procrastinating on my new load of homework. Or considering that I am something of a book worm, wondering what book I should start next since I was anticipating riding the bus one hour daily. While contemplating these deep thoughts, another bus stop patron sits next to me setting his bag of newly bought books next to him where it promptly falls over, onto my foot. I look into the bag and see a Calculus book. I was currently in Pre-calculus and viewed Calculus as much too intimidating. I responded:
“Wow. Calculus. That’s brave of you”
He looks up at me and something crazy happened that has never happened to me before or since. If I believed in love at first sight or destiny then I would say this was it. But since I don’t believe in those things I guess I will just call it a miracle. I looked at him and knew that I wanted to marry him. Keep in mind that at this point all he has said is, “oh, sorry” as he uprights the bag of books. I am sure he said it in a very polite way, but this interaction alone is not enough to base a major life decision. How did I know? Maybe God told me? But I was not left in this delusive state for long because almost immediately after being introduced he says:
“I’m going to be a priest.”
I was not Catholic but I knew enough about Catholicism to know that priests don’t get married. ‘Okay God, if I can’t marry him, can I have someone like him?’
The conversation on the bus just increased my liking for him. And many internal sighs did I make that I couldn’t marry him.
It turns out, my sighs were unneeded. A few years after meeting we were married.
Just for fun, here is the journal page that Joe wrote the day we met:
I remember that day. This is an excerpt from my journal:
Tuesday, January 16, 2001
I met a girl today:
I was sitting on the bus stop bench across from St. Paul’s Student Center, just starting to become angry about the prices I paid for my school books, when one of the two bags fell over onto a girl’s foot. I was busy at the time, with what I don’t remember.
I had seen her come in to the bus stop. She had blonde hair and I don’t remember the color of her eyes. I think they were dark. She had a rather slender neck. She was smiling, or at least her lips were red-enough to make me think so.
Yet, as I saw that they (my books) were on her foot, “Sorry ‘bout that,” I said.
She righted the bag (which had my Calculus books inside), saying, “Calculus? That is daring,” or something of the sort. It is all hazy now.
Readjusting my book, I asked, “and what math are you taking?”
I am not sure I heard what she said but she was smiling so I didn’t care.
I stood up then, reaching out a hand, saying, “My name is Joe.”
“What was that?” she responded. My hand was left out there, empty.
“My name is Joe,” I said again.
She shook my hand, saying, “Danielle.”
I suddenly didn’t know what to say, and the bus was coming at the same time. It was coming and it would be going soon. Then the buses were here and I wanted to keep talking to her but something told me that she would be getting on the wrong one. I felt sorrow.
I started toward my bus, expecting her to go toward the other. However, she kept on toward hers. I slowed to let her on first. There was some hint of graciousness in her body language. I followed her onto that bus. Normally I would have taken a seat near the front, but following her (not about to let her get away), I sat on the seat across the isle from her.
We talked all the way.