Flyboy: A Love Story

Chapter 1

I was a baby, just 17 years old and it was the week before graduation.  My longtime boyfriend gave me the boot - just opened the door to his Thunderbird, and kicked me to the curb (figuratively speaking), leaving me devastated and all alone.  Because we'd already bought the tickets to grad night, we went together anyway and had a thoroughly rotten time.  It was an all-nighter at a local country club that felt like it was two weeks long.   For the next couple of weeks,  I tried to look ahead to the future, having plans to leave for college at the end of the summer, but I struggled to get out of bed in the morning, feeling rejected and abandoned.

Shortly thereafter,  my 11-year old brother and I boarded a plane for Texas to visit our cousins and even in my depression, I knew that a change of scenery would be good medicine. We landed in San Antonio and drove, and drove, and drove…three hours from the airport to our destination.  We passed miles of nothing and it felt like we were driving to the end of the world.  What could possibly be at the end of this road?  Our uncle was a park ranger and we had grown up visiting some of the most amazing National Parks (wherever they were currently assigned), but west Texas was no Mesa Verde, that's for sure.  We finally got to their house, after a long day of traveling, and despite the desolation of my heart (that was now surrounded by nothing but barren terrain), we were swallowed in hugs, gulped down sweetened iced tea and our visit began.

The first few days of that visit included a quick trip to Dallas, lots of ice chips (who knew it could be so HOT this side of hell?!?) and lots of therapeutic laughter.  I was breathing again.

Just in time to get the wind knocked out…

My cousin PJ was all set to go on a date with her student pilot boyfriend one evening.  When he rode up on his BMW to pick her up, my aunt said to him, "PJ's cousin is in town - do you know somebody who could take her out?"  My aunt is one of my favorite people in the world, but at that moment I wanted to take HER out.  Going out with anyone - let alone a complete stranger - was the last thing on earth I wanted to do.  PJ's boyfriend picked up the phone and called a friend.  I wanted to die a thousand deaths.  I could only hear one side of the conversation:  "PJ & I are going for a bike ride and her cousin is in town.  Wanna come along?.....It's a date…..with a GIRL…..how many times do you get an offer like this?.....Yes…..No, no problem there….Yes - right now - come on over."

Here's the other side I couldn't hear and wouldn't be divulged until much later:  "I can't, I have a test tomorrow….not very often that's for sure since the ratio of eligible women to eligible men around here is about 1 to 20….Is she a Christian?....Is she so fat she'll break my motorcycle?.....Right now?.....oh, okay, I guess."

So after drinking iced tea and waiting and waiting and waiting, suddenly the waiting was over, and in rumbled Flyboy on his Yamaha 650.  How had this happened?  What was I doing here?  I had never ridden a motorcycle, and I'd never been on a blind date, and I wasn't even interested.  I began to feel a bit woozy and leaned against the back of an overstuffed recliner, hiding behind it, just wanting to disappear.  PJ ran to the door to meet him but I didn't budge.  All I wanted to do was throw up.  And then he walked in the door...

Chapter 2

Introductions were made, and ever the people pleaser, I did my best to smile without being forward, appear self-assured but not self-centered, demure but not coy.  Just cool, calm and collected here, no I'm not dying inside.  Flyboy didn't have to be wearing a uniform for me to imagine how good he would look in one.  He had thick, coarse, coppery  auburn hair and a well-trimmed mustache,  blue-green eyes and bulging biceps.  I wondered if he was as nervous as me.

Flyboy looked at my feet and pronounced that sandals were not proper footwear for a motorcycle ride and suggested I find something more appropriate.  Being a California girl, I only owned sandals, and after finding some tennies that fit, we were ready to roll.

We walked out to get on the motorcycles and as I climbed on behind Flyboy,  I was instantly panic-stricken.   It was not the fear of riding for the first time.  It was the realization that there was no backrest and I had nothing to hold onto.  Except for Flyboy, and even though this was the 70's, there was no way I was wrapping my arms around the waist of some guy I'd known for five minutes.  As he revved up the engine and started to pull out of the driveway, I quickly looked for options, fearing  that if I didn't hold onto something, I just might slide right off the back. There was only one thing to do - I stuck my index fingers through his belt loops and prayed I wouldn't die.

There in front of me, Flyboy was completely aware of my dilemma and was wondering what I would do about it.  While he knew I had nothing to hold onto, he was really hoping I did NOT grab him around the middle.  He could hear the wheels turning in my brain as I examined my options and quickly narrowed them to one.  And when he felt my fingers in his belt loops, he grinned a secret grin, was charmed by my ingenuity, and to this day says, "that's when I was hooked."

It was a night of firsts - first blind date, first real motorcycle ride, first time out with a REAL MAN (as opposed to a high school boy), first time to see a falling star (in southern California one can barely see the sky…never mind the stars), and first time to see a bat.   We stopped by a lake to watch the sun go down and there, right overhead, flew a bat.  While PJ and her boyfriend were off kissing somewhere, Flyboy and I talked about what was important to us and desperately hoping he wouldn't figure it out, I tried to avoid any reference to the fact that I was only 17 and had graduated from high school just a few weeks before.

Next stop, Pizza Hut.  And then we went home. And I wondered if I would ever see him again.

Chapter 3

We said our good nights, and it was fun, and thanks for the ride.  Flyboy turned to walk away, and as he climbed back on his Yamaha, he said, "Wanna go to a Bible study on Thursday night?  A bunch of us go."

"Sure," I said, and just like that, a blind date had turned into an invitation for more.

When we pulled onto the street of the house of one of the instructor pilots from the base, I immediately realized that "a bunch of us" was quite the understatement.  There were 40-50 people milling around visiting with one another when we walked in, and almost immediately, Flyboy got involved in conversation, leaving me standing there by myself.  Feeling a little lost, I busied myself getting a Coke, and sat down near where Flyboy was chatting it up with a fellow student pilot.   A guy sat down next to me and introduced himself.  I pointed over at Flyboy, indicating I'd come with him, and that I was new.  It seemed to me this guy might be new, too, because he wasn't really talking to anyone else, and I felt a little less obvious.  He asked me Flyboy's name and I told him.  He asked me  Flyboy's last name, and I pronounced it correctly (all 4 syllables, 9 consonants and 3 vowels).  He asked me how to spell it, and again, I flawlessly recited each letter.  I reached over and tapped Flyboy on the shoulder to tell him there was someone here who wanted to meet him.  He turned to New Guy, stuck out his hand to shake, and before I knew it, New Guy was on the floor at my feet, pulled there by Flyboy.  Mortified, I gasped, and then turned white and then red as Flyboy casually explained, "oh…that's my roommate…"  Gotcha.  They laughed and laughed, and even I had to admit it was pretty funny.  Once I quit changing colors.

Later that night, Roommate said to Flyboy, "Buddy, you're in trouble…she can spell your name."

We had made no further plans to see each other.  And time was growing short.  It was Thursday and my brother and I were flying back to California on Monday. On the one hand,  I tried to not read anything into two little dates , while at the same time hoping against hope he'd call.

He didn't.

Sunday came, and we went to church.  PJ and I slid into a pew with her boyfriend and about 15 other student pilots.  I saw Flyboy at the other end, but he made no attempt to come sit by me, and in fact, never even looked at me.  Instead, he had his head in his hands for the entire service.  I was puzzled by his unusual behavior and didn't know what to make of it.  But afterwards, I decided I was going to walk right up to him and say goodbye, even if he had ignored me all morning.  So I did.

"Hi, Flyboy."  (He saw me coming and looked for a way to duck out.  There wasn't one.)

"Hi." (Hmmm…looks pretty nervous.)

"How are you?" (Safe enough question.)

"Fine." (Now this is going to be a quick conversation.)

"I'm leaving tomorrow, and I just wanted to say thanks - it was a lot of fun."  (I looked him in the eye and smiled.)

"You wanna go to the base and see the airplanes this afternoon?" (He had a tongue after all!)

"Well, my uncle has to patrol the river and we're taking the park service houseboat and having lunch - I'm sure you could come along.  Maybe we could see the planes after that."  (A plan was coming together!)

And so, what started out looking like a lame conversation suddenly morphed into spending the next 10 hours together.   Sometime later, Flyboy confessed that he had had no intention of speaking to me again.  If I hadn't approached him, he would have left without saying anything.  It's not that he hadn't enjoyed our time together - I knew he had.  He was falling for me and he was flat out terrified.  He was a self-professed bachelor, having been jilted by a fiancee several years before.  He was not going to allow himself to be hurt again.  But then I came to say goodbye and before he even knew what had happened, he invited me out.  And then he worked his way a little deeper into my heart on my last day in Texas.

That night, when we said our final goodbyes, he simply said, "I'm no good at long distance relationships.  Don't expect to hear from me."  I replied, "That's okay.  It really was fun, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have met you."  He kissed me on the forehead, climbed on his Yamaha, and for the last time, drove away into the night.

Chapter 4

How does one just go home again?  I woke up in my own bed and it felt like it had all been a dream.  I told my mother I'd met my Prince Charming, but honestly, I believed him when he said he wasn't interested in continuing our relationship.  And who could blame him?  He was doing what he loved, what he'd wanted to do his entire life.  As a boy growing up on Air Force bases around the world, he had stood on many a flight line watching the jets take off, dreaming of the day he would fly one himself.  And here he was, having graduated from college, commissioned into the service, and now over halfway through pilot training, flying a super-sonic T-38, fondly known as the "sports car of the Air Force."  Why on earth would he be attracted to a 17-year-old?  I was a week-long diversion, nothing more.  And really, I was okay with that.  I knew I was young, inexperienced, and didn't have much to offer.

And  he was a MAN.  I was pretty sure no teenage boy could ever measure up.  Even if my ex-boyfriend came back on his hands and knees, I wasn't sure I'd even take him back.  What would I ever see in a teenage boy again?

But I was in California and he was in Texas.  Even if sparks had flown, the distance was just too great.  I convinced myself there was nothing there…it was fun while it lasted, but it was over.  My knight was no more real than a fairy tale prince.

In two short days, I got my first letter.  I had no idea how it got to me so quickly.  He must have gone straight home after our final day together (hadn't he JUST said we had no future?) and written that letter.  It was casual, goofy (some joke about a farmer out*standing* in his field), and warm.  I read it aloud to my entire family.  I couldn't believe Flyboy had written me a letter!  He hadn't even asked for my address before I left.  He had written a letter, procured my address and mailed it all in record time.  I couldn't believe it, but I was holding his letter in my hands.

Two days later I got another letter, before my first letter to him had even had the chance to get to Texas.  And so it began.  Letters turned into phone calls, and before long, we were each amassing $75 phone bills (and this was in 1974!).  As a part of his flight training, Flyboy got to take a cross-country flight to the destination of his choice, and he came to California!  I picked him up at the base, after waiting an eternity for him to land.  His instructor had made him do repeated touch-and-goes, knowing he had a girl sitting in the parking lot.  He was already late in arriving, some snafu having delayed his departure by a day.  By the time he got there, we had less than 24 hours together.  We went to the beach and to  Disneyland and stayed up way too late talking into the night.  And all to soon, he was gone.

Looking back on it all, it seems unreal how quickly things got serious between us.  I'd had a birthday and was now EIGHTEEN.  But he also had a birthday and was now 23, on a career path, and in a position to think about the future.  I, on the other hand, was a very distracted college freshman.  I had been a nearly straight-A student in high school, but made a combination of A's, B's and C's that first semester.  Between the adjustment of living in a "liberated" dorm setting and talking late into the night with Flyboy, studying obviously did not have my full attention.

There were nine girls in our suite.  One had her boyfriend spend the night at least three times a week, another had a nervous breakdown and was hauled out on a stretcher, never to be seen again, and a third got pregnant and had an abortion all in the first semester.  My mother was beside herself and in a moment of desperation said she'd send me anywhere to get me out of that nuthouse.

Really?  Anywhere?  Almost as a dare, I said, "how about Texas?"

Chapter 5

If Flyboy was a little frightened after we first met, he was now fully terrified.  The arrangements were quickly made for me to transfer to a university in Texas, with the goal of ultimately attending the same nursing school my aunt had gone to years before.  Flyboy was happier with this long distance relationship than he'd originally imagined.  As long as we were half a country apart there was no pressure - just an easy opportunity to get to know one another better.  I think Flyboy could have been happy with that arrangement for quite awhile.  And when I brought up the idea of transferring mid-year, I could hear him stop breathing.  He tried to sound positive.  Even I was in a bit of disbelief that my parents had taken the Texas thing seriously - I really hadn't expected that.   Though he tried to exude enthusiasm, Flyboy was in a state of all out panic.

Having extended phone conversations is nothing like being together in person.  I'm sure there would have come a time when the long distance part of our relationship would have run its course, bringing us to a point of decision regarding our future together.  But we weren't there yet.  And as much as the idea of being in closer physical proximity to each other held an undeniable excitement, we both knew  it would cause us to ask the hard questions sooner rather than later.  And though we hadn't said it out loud. neither of us felt we were ready for that.

But here we were, the transfer decision made and the time drawing close.  Flyboy was set to graduate from pilot training on December  19, 1974, and he invited me to fly to Texas to pin on his wings.  His dad and step-mother would be there, too, and it felt somehow wrong  being the one bestowed such honor when it was his dad who had been a part of the whole process from dream to reality.  I was still pretty new on the scene.  But I did it, and I couldn't have been prouder of Flyboy.

I flew to Texas for the second time in six months.  There was a military parade and the ceremony itself, complete with one of the first multi-media presentations I ever remember seeing, but one I will never forget.  I heard this poem for the first time while watching T-38s on the screen screaming silently through the air (and to this day it still makes me cry):

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,

I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue

I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark nor ever eagle flew —

And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

<em>high flight - john gillespie magee - 1941</em>

Later that night was the formal banquet and we danced the night away.  I pinched myself several times wondering if this was all for real or if it was just a dream.  For on this night, no matter how crazy it may have seemed to dive headlong into this unlikely relationship, the stars were aligned, God was smiling, and all was right with the world.

The next few days were a blur as we did a little sightseeing with Flyboy's parents and then headed to California for Christmas.  We drove west together, stopping overnight somewhere in New Mexico and staying in separate rooms.  After spending six months writing letters and talking on the phone, we were together every waking moment for a whole week.  After that whirlwind visit, we loaded up Flyboy's car with nearly everything I owned and headed back to Texas, where I would start my second semester of college one short week later.   Whatever our apprehensions for the future, we were living in the moment and thoroughly enjoying it.  The future would take care of itself.

Chapter 6

When we got back to Texas, I had about a week to spare before starting school. I got settled and met the girls on my floor, who were somewhat awestruck by a transfer student from California. "You're from California? Why don't you have a tan?" I would try to explain that I had better things to do than lay on the beach all the time, and it was January, after all, which was not exactly tanning weather, even in California.

I registered for a light load, just enough classes to be considered full time, to save my parents a few dollars, since I was considered an "out of state" student. The first week was a short one, and since I came to Texas without a car, and Flyboy had a little time before he headed to San Antonio for pilot instructor school, he came to get me for the weekend. Two hundred miles. He drove two hundred miles to get me for the weekend. When it was time to head back on Sunday afternoon, Flyboy suggested that maybe I should just take his car back to school, since he, after all, did have a motorcycle he could drive around. The girls at the dorm were wide-eyed when I drove up in Flyboy's bright orange Maverick with the bumblebee stripe around the trunk.

Being in the Midwest, in a conservative school with Midwest values, was refreshing, especially for a California girl. There were no girl-boy slumber parties in the dorm, no psycho-dramas, no marijuana, just a floor of really nice girls. My roommate spent hours a day on her makeup and never left the room until she looked perfect. I, on the other hand, slept in until the last possible moment before dashing to class without much makeup at all. I had no reason to try to impress anyone. I had Flyboy, and not one college boy caught my eye.

Friday came again, and I was on the road as soon as class was out. I commented to Flyboy that I had not seemed to get very good mileage on the way back, and he took the car into the shop on Saturday morning to make sure everything was okay. As it turned out, there was a pinhole leak in the gas tank, the explanation for the reduced gas mileage. There was no way to obtain a new gas tank and get it repaired over the weekend, so rather than have me drive a car that could have who knows what happen to it when I was driving back and forth, Flyboy traded it in on a new car. That day. Just like that. A brand new car. If the girls were surprised last weekend, what would they say now? I was going back to school in a brand new Datsun B210.

I had started out as somewhat of an oddity - I was a California girl without a tan. And I had left sunny California to go to Texas, another inconceivable notion, even with Flyboy on the other end. And I was driving his car. And this weekend, I returned to school in a new car. What would I do next? They would never believe what the next weekend would hold.

Chapter 7

At this point in my life, I had thought I wanted to be a nurse when I grew up. I based this career decision on participation in a co-op program in high school between our campus and a local hospital. I worked at the hospital every day after school for a semester rotating through all the different departments and wound up with enough training at the end of the year to be able to qualify as a nurse's aide. My favorite rotation was the emergency room. I loved the variety…the having to think on your feet to adjust to whatever came your way, never knowing ahead of time what that would be.

And here I was, taking nutrition and microbiology and allied health in preparation for the day I would be accepted into nursing school. Okay, so maybe that's not exactly what was happening that semester. The real truth? I was an 18-year-old college freshman who spent more time dreaming about a certain dashing young aviator than just about anything else. And why not? He was handsome, he was driven, he was living his dream, he was a man of integrity and high moral standard and strong faith. What else could a girl possibly want?

And while I was dreamily floating along, Flyboy was seriously contemplating his life, in which he, by the way, was well-positioned to pursue the future. He was not the type to string a girl along if he didn't think he had a future with her. He may have been happy enough for a while longer the way things were, if the arrangement had not so dramatically changed in such a short period of time. In the beginning, I was in California and he was in Texas and there was only the getting-to-know-each-other-over-the-phone part to deal with - not the face to face realities of a relationship. But this wasn't just about expensive phone bills any more. We were together (though 200 miles apart) and the fact that I was in Texas, in the flesh, in his life meant he had to do something about it. As he prayed through the circumstances of our meeting, our instant attraction to one another (though neither of us believed in love at first sight…until now, that is), our shared values and beliefs, and more, he was further convinced that he had a decision to make. It was not in his nature to casually date. It was all or nothing.

Meanwhile, back at the dorm, playing princess and white knight, I was busy dreaming about living happily ever after. In my fantasy, I imagined myself baking chocolate chip cookies in my own kitchen, wearing an apron, kissing my prince at the door when he came home from slaying dragons at the end of the day. It was all so romantic…and besides, for me, in my dream I got to skip the drudgery of college and career altogether and just dance to the altar and into the life of a grown up. I was in love with the idea of being in love, and at the age of 18, I had no idea what it was like to live on my own, much less with another human being, and much, much less with a husband.

This was all happening way too fast. It was like a runaway train careening down the track, headed for disaster. Flyboy knew I was too young. He knew it was too soon. And he knew that there was no way he would make it through one more weekend without proposing, because in his heart, he knew we were meant to be together. Did he wish I was a bit older? Yes. Did he wish I had some more life under my belt? Certainly. His parents had been divorced and his last fiancée had betrayed him with another man. He had spent the last four years believing to his core that he could never trust another woman. And yet he knew this was it. And while the timing wasn't the best, it was what it was and he had decided.

Friday finally arrived, and I packed the car for the weekend trek to see Flyboy. In a few short weeks he would be on temporary duty in San Antonio learning how to be an instructor pilot for the next three months. Then, he would only be 40 miles away, instead of two hundred. My driving days were almost over, and then, we would find reasons to see each other during the week instead of just on the weekends. I sang to the radio as I drove, remembering the first time I made this drive. The miles of desolation had mirrored the desolation in my heart as west Texas seemed to go on forever. Now, watching the sunset, I was lost in the pink and orange sky, seeing the purple of the sage and the yellow wildflowers along the road, and the miles flew by.

I arrived at Flyboy and Roommate's trailer just in time for dinner. The three of us settled in front of the television with steaks pan-fried in butter, baked potatoes, and sweet corn. The evening was easy and relaxed and perfect. Then, rather abruptly, Flyboy announced he had to make a phone call and quickly disappeared to the back of the trailer. I couldn't imagine what that was about and why he closed the door and spoke so as not to be heard. I shot a questioning glance to Roommate who sort of shrugged it off without saying anything. I tried to push away thoughts of "another woman" or something terrible happening that he couldn't share with me. A few long minutes passed and he returned, not offering any explanations.

What west Texas lacks in flora and fauna, it makes up for in magnificent starry nights. Flyboy suggested we take a walk in the moonlight and we left Roommate with the dishes and headed out into the open field nearby. I was starting to forget the earlier mysterious phone call and relax again. He was holding MY hand and we were walking in the moonlight at HIS suggestion and so things between us MUST be all right again. He pointed out a constellation, stopped walking, turned to face me, took both of my hands in his and said, "You're probably wondering who I called tonight." I nodded. "I called to talk to your dad to ask for your hand in marriage. He wasn't there, but your mother said they would both give their blessing. And so, I'm asking you now…will you marry me?"

In that instant, I realized that it was he who had been carefully calculating this decision while I had never given it any serious consideration; for me, it was only a romantic notion. He was asking me to be his partner for life and I hadn't even begun to think this through. Sure, I'd thought about chocolate chip cookies and even candlelit dinners but what did I know about this man, really? What did I know about being married? I had wonderful role models in my parents, but…me? Was I ready? Could I commit to him forever? I was panic-stricken, and for all the dreaming I had done about my white knight, I was so very glad he couldn't see my face on that dark night, because I had no idea what to say.

Chapter 8

What on earth was I doing here? I was just a teenager dreaming about being a grown up and I was suddenly feeling very small. I had encouraged every conversation about commitment, welcomed every notion of a future with this man and now that the moment I had dreamed about was here, I didn't even know what to say. Any response was a risk - a "yes" was plunging headlong into the unknown while a "no" was an admission that I was really just a naive 18-year-old after all who really had no clue... and would he think I had just been playing him? Even a "can I think about this?" seemed the wrong response to this man who had just laid it all on the line. For me.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I threw my arms around his neck. I had dreamed about this moment and imagined myself squealing with delight and exclaiming, "Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!" And now that it was happening, I couldn't get a single word to come out of my mouth.

Flyboy was understandably somewhat puzzled by this response and said, "Well, I'm hoping this is a good sign…that even though you're not saying anything it still means yes."

I nodded and squeaked out the most confident "yes" I could muster.

We walked back to the trailer, gazing at the stars, a little giddy, a little serious all at the same time. Our relationship had just taken a major turn. It had become permanent. A simply asked question and a single word response sealed the deal and we were committed to one another forever. Even though I was scared to death, there was something amazing about having someone say to me, "YOU are the one for me. YOU are the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. YOU are the one I love." There was a safeness, a settledness, a security that felt like maybe, just maybe, everything might be all right.

I returned to the dorm the next night with the story of my moonlit proposal. We had all crowded into one room as I recounted the story and they responded with screams and sighs. It was all so romantic…the California girl with no tan follows her Flyboy to Texas and within a matter of weeks he proposes under the big Texas sky. Ahhhh…..

That next week back at school, I laid wide awake in bed every night pondering this turn of events and looking at it from every angle. I weighed out the pros and cons and tried to imagine what it would be like to be married, or what it would be like to forget the whole thing and just focus on being 18 and in college. But mostly, I prayed like crazy. I begged and pleaded with God to give me a sign if I had just made the biggest mistake of my life by agreeing to marry this man.

The heavens were silent.

And the preparations were taking shape. The next weekend we went shopping and bought rings, the grand finale of the "what will she do next?" saga. We set a date, we started making plans, and my mother got to work. As I was in Texas and our wedding was to be in California in June, there was much to be done, and since I wasn't there to do it, my mother (the mother of all planners) took the bull by the horns and made most of the arrangements.

In hindsight, we were so very unprepared. Not for the wedding (my mother did a fine job), but for marriage. We came from completely opposite family upbringings and we had never considered the impact it might have on our lives. Flyboy's parents were divorced when he was 12. He lived with his alcoholic father and put him to bed most weekend nights. My parents were Ward and June Cleaver and my two brothers were Wally and the Beav. My mother had cookies and milk on the dining room table on a plate with a folded napkin next to it every day when we came home from school. Flyboy watched his parents' marriage disintegrate before his eyes and I had never even seen my parents fight. They had some serious discussions behind closed doors, but never gave us any reason to feel insecure or to doubt their love for one another.

Flyboy was a black and white thinker and I was a people pleaser. We had no idea how the other felt about spending and saving money. He thought I was a "jock" because I had participated in my high school's fledgling gymnastics team and he was utterly disappointed when he realized I'd rather sit on the sidelines and talk than participate in a group sport. I had come to learn that even though he had a guitar that did not make him a musician, which had been right up there on my top-ten-wish-list for a husband. We were both learning right up front how much we didn't know about each other and how soon we would both have to rethink was really non-negotiable and what was just a matter of preference.

But even though we didn't know what we didn't know, we were filled with high hopes and as the time drew closer, I had come to appreciate beyond measure my good fortune in falling in with this man. He was educated, he was driven, he was an officer and a gentleman, he was a man of integrity, and I knew that he would do whatever it took to make this marriage work. And most importantly, he was a man of faith and we shared the same values, including waiting until we were married. Really now, what more could a girl ask for?

When school was out, I headed back to California, stopping first in Oklahoma to pick up my wedding dress, made by a longtime family friend who also happened to be a professional seamstress. And every day for the next three weeks until the wedding, my mom and I spent and hour or two soaking up the rays on the beach. I may have gone to Texas without a tan, but by the time I went to the altar, against the white satin and organza, my skin was golden brown.

Chapter 9

The excitement was building as relatives and wedding party members began to arrive from out of town. The house was abuzz with laughter and hugs and bridesmaids dresses and military dress uniforms hanging everywhere. The kitchen was a busy place the day before the wedding because, in the absence of any of Flyboy’s family, a simple BBQ rehearsal dinner was planned at the house. We headed to the church for the rehearsal, and then home for an evening of singing and storytelling and reminiscing.

The guys headed back to their hotel, where my brother was expediting an espionage operation, dressed in a hardhat and carrying a toolbox, having somehow broken into Flyboy’s room to do his dirty deed. After instructing Flyboy at the rehearsal to walk down the aisle pointing his foot, toe down first before each step, and then placing his heel next, my brother had painted “Why” on the bottom of Flyboy’s left shoe and “me?” on the bottom of his right. Not born yesterday, Flyboy discovered the graffiti and scrubbed his shoes before show time.

Mom and I headed to the beauty shop first thing on the morning of the wedding. I’d gone for a practice run a few weeks before, but the stylist I’d used was not there for the final performance. The new stylist said that my hair was too heavy for the style I had chosen and recommend a trim. I was looking down, lost in thought about what the day would hold, and felt the scissors against my neck and heard the clip. By the time I realized what had happened, it was too late. My former shoulder length hair was now not even to my chin. This was a disaster.

Flyboy’s idea of the perfect hairstyle was (and still is, for that matter) Farrah Fawcett in the 70s. He had dreamed about long bouncy curls under my veil, and was not going to be happy with the new me. When we got back to the house, I put a sweater over my head and tried to walk right past him. He was washing the car. “Let’s see,” he said with anticipation. “That’s ok,” I said, as I kept on walking. His voice got more serious, and I knew I couldn’t wait until walking up the aisle, so I pulled the sweater off, smiled a little sheepishly and said, “What do you think?” “Your hair!” he cried in despair. “It’s all gone! What have you done?” No explanation was good enough, and time travel was out of the question, so we were stuck with it. I headed upstairs to get my things together and he sat with the men in the living room in a state of disbelief. An uncle said, “I think you should shave off your mustache. That would show her.”

We somehow survived the next few hours and slowly started staging our arrivals at the church. The girls got there first and began the long process of make-up and hair. The guys dressed at the hotel and showed up later. Just before we were ready to begin, my dad took Flyboy aside for a little fatherly advice: “Tonight, when you get to the hotel, and you start to undress, and you take off your pants…” (Flyboy started turning white.) “…hand them to her and tell her to put them on. When she observes that they are too big, you tell her to remember that.” Saved by the punch line! Flyboy was never more relieved than to be at the end of THAT conversation!

Our organist was involved in a fender bender on the way to the church and we had to find a last minute stand-in, but other that that, everyone was present and accounted for. It was time to begin, and my dad and I stood at the back of the sanctuary, minutes before our entrance. He handed me a butterscotch lifesaver, and we were ready to walk. Never before was a simple stroll with my daddy so poignant, so laced with meaning, so final. A chapter was closing and a new one was about to begin. Was I ready?

Chapter 10

As is the case in all weddings, the months of planning culminated in a beautiful ceremony that was over in less than 45 minutes. Just like that. Being a California girl, I had always wanted to get married barefoot on the beach, but the logistics of it all made it seem too impractical. The best wedding spot was in a secluded cove at Corona del Mar, but it required some climbing over rocks to get there, which was not the way to treat older guests. And, it only seemed right that "holy matrimony" should take place in a church.

The other plus to a formal church wedding was getting to see Flyboy in his dress uniform, which I had first enjoyed at the banquet following his pilot training graduation. He was absolutely yummy and when I saw him waiting for me at the front of the church, all doubt disappeared and I was confident that he was the one for me. I think I was the only one who didn't cry and I was as calm as I'd ever been.

Roommate, the best man, pretended my ring was stuck on his pinkie when it came time to hand it over. He didn't fool anyone, and quickly relinquished it. Flyboy gave me a vision of our future together when he extemporaneously preached a mini-sermon during our exchange of vows. We had each written our own vows and had memorized them so as not to have to "repeat after me". Roommate had the cue card in case Flyboy forgot something, and having heard the vows at the rehearsal, I had a pretty good idea of what was supposed to come next. Roommate looked at the card and then at Flyboy and then back at the card again. Flyboy was winging it, and it was all good stuff, and years later I looked back on that moment and realized I should have seen it coming. Flyboy may have started out as a pilot, but he would one day wind up in the pulpit. It was inevitable.

Before we knew it, we were husband and wife, and we were being enveloped in hugs from the people who loved us most. Flyboy, who never thought he could trust a woman enough to fall in love was shedding tears of wonder and disbelief, and I was beaming.

And a few short hours later, we were off! The groomsmen had stuffed the back seat of the getaway car with balloons, so in my first bossy wife command, I ordered, "Get in the front seat! I'll sit on your lap!" Roommate was driving, so Flyboy obediently jumped into the passenger seat of my parent's Datsun, and I (dress and all) climbed in on top of him. I had not accounted for the fact that the car would not start without the seatbelt being fastened, so more finagling was required before we could take off. We headed back to the house to change clothes, get our suitcases and travel an hour to the L.A. Marriott, where we would spend our honeymoon night before flying out the next morning.

As we drove down the freeway, the wedding party tailed us for a good ten minutes…just long enough for us to wonder if they would ever turn around and head back. We got to the Marriott around 10:30, and as we pulled up to the front door in our decorated car, no one had to wonder why we were there. The valet began unloading our suitcases from the trunk and out fell Flyboy's chest expander – a piece of exercise equipment that looks like an oversized spring with handles. As the valet picked it up off the ground and held it for the small crowd waiting for the airport shuttle to see they broke into laughter, followed by applause. Flyboy turned bright red and I rolled my eyes.

<em>To be continued...</em>