But with big things, I know. My decision to go to BYU was stressful until I finally just said to myself "I know it's right. I'm going to do it, and the confirmation will come." So I did, and it did. Big decisions are a cinch for me! I don't understand why that is. But it is. I just know things. I knew I should stay home and not leave on a mission. I just felt it. I just feel things. I can feel them in a calm part of my soul, where the outside world and my self-doubt are kept out by the essence of who I am. I can trust myself when it comes time to make decisions. Those decisions and impressions are always right and good when I trust myself and don't waste time arguing inside my head.
That being said--maybe you'll believe me now. I knew the first time we went out that Alan and I would be together for a long time. Maybe it wasn't knowing specifically, but I felt it. I certainly wasn't thinking about marriage, but I felt something strong. I opened the door and he was right there, smiling at me with his hands in his pockets and a new haircut. My heart got all warm and tried to jump into my throat as I looked at him.
I didn't know him very well at this point; we'd only had a few classes together, and I had only started talking to him a few weeks before this night, before our date. I called him on a whim. My mother insisted that if I didn't, I would always regret it, that I would always wonder if I should have. It was with her encouragement that I picked up the phone, dialed his number, and shakily left the worst message in the history of the world.
"Hey, it's Rachel, from your English class. Call me back when you get the chance. If you're free. When...just okay, bye."
Or something like that. He called back later that afternoon. My phone started ringing, and I never expected it to be him. Standing in between racks of skateboarding jackets, and shoes, my heart started beating at full speed and didn't stop as I answered. He was gracious and hesitated a few seconds before accepting my invitation, sounding almost surprised with himself. I was surprised.
As he walked through my door, I felt it. Mixed between the warmth of my heart and the uneasy butterflies in my belly, there was the feeling of right-ness. We walked to the museum in awkward-but-strangely-companionable silence. My heart was beating fast again. He asked to hold my coat once we were inside, and I declined, but secretly flushed in appreciation of the fact that he offered. We strolled through the exhibits, and the questions started. He would ask and then wait, stepping back and tilting his head, a studious but kind expression on his face, his hands clasped behind his back. I would look at him as he asked and then blush as I tried to answer the questions as best I could (I mean, it's my life--why wouldn't I know what my favorite book is and why?) while he was looking at me. His stare had the ability to melt my insides, even when he wasn't smiling.
Once, as I stood outside the room of a video exhibit, he stepped up right behind me, leaning his face close to my ear and whispering, the warmth of his words and breath transferring to my cheeks and then down to my toes.
"Do you want to sit down?"
I did. We did. Then came the whisper again, asking if I wanted to leave. I did. We did. He kept his hand on my back as we maneuvered through the small crowd of people. I wished he'd never move it. He did. We went back to my apartment and had ice cream and soda. He was gracious even when I spilled all of mine in his lap, jumping up to find napkins, leaving me in a puddle of my own embarrassment and the eternal smell of Sprite in my dress. He was gracious when my roommates began to talk about the dance the next night that he hadn't been invited to and I blurted out the invitation to him awkwardly. I hoped he would come, but felt a sinking fear that he wouldn't. We played games the rest of the night and he said he'd let me know. Finally, he walked out the door, turning to give me a warm hug and to whisper his thanks in my ear. I felt giddy all night.
It's difficult to pinpoint the thing I loved most about that night, the thing that made me feel it. It was the easy manner in which conversation flowed between us. It was the little, half-smile he gave me whenever I finished answering a question. I was enamored with the warmth of his hand as he rested it on my back, my shoulder, my arm. The perpetual dilation of his eyes made them look dark and so warm as he stared into mine. He moved shy and quiet that night around me, never teasing, never really laughing, but exuding a confidence so strong it made him seem several inches taller. I loved the curve of his fingers as they held onto his cup of ice cream, the way his hair hugged the back of his neck in such a straight line. I really couldn't have loved him that night because I didn't know him yet, but I felt the beginnings of it in my soul.
He came to the dance the next day.
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