Happy Thanksgiving Eve! For the last 36 years, my husband and I have attempted to be the first to say this to the other. The reason? Let me explain. From the beginning.
Flashback to 7th Grade: My friend and I were in the foyer on a Sunday evening, having escaped the meeting in the chapel, when David Longhurst walked up to us with two girls from his ward. I'm quite sure it was on a "dare" from the girls, but he knelt down next to the sofa's armrest, smiled at me, and asked me if I wanted to go steady. "I barely know you." I rolled my eyes and we had a good laugh.
The girls who were with him knelt down, too, and we all talked for a few minutes. When one of the girls stood up, she accidentally tore the light blue ribbons hanging down the front of her Gunne Sax dress. That little tidbit is the only thing David remembers about that night. I remember it all because I thought to myself, I would've liked to have said yes to going steady with that guy. There's something about him.
Flashback to 9th Grade: New Year's Eve. Stake Youth Dance. Near the end, before the balloons dropped, my friend said, "Hey, we're invited to my neighbor's house for dessert." At that house, which was only a few houses from where David lived, I sat in a giant bean bag chair with him and talked until 2:00 in the morning. Happy New Year!
Flashback to 11th Grade: According to my class schedule, my U.S. History class was to be housed on the other side of the football field from the high school, in a building behind the junior high called the Annex. A student had to walk REALLY fast to get there on time. Fortunately, a friend was in the same class, so we speed-walked together. When the snow started piling up, my friend said, "David, will give us a ride." I was very aware he was in the class, but we hadn't talked since 9th grade, and now I was climbing into his shiny blue car every day for the five-minute drive to class. The three of us each had a spiral-bound notebook we entertained ourselves with during class. We would each write a paragraph of a story in the book, swap books, and write a new paragraph. Three long-running stories. It was funny and fun, but by mid-November, I felt firmly settled in the friend zone.
In mid-November, a group from our class gathered in the public library to work on a project. We were whispering around a large table littered with reference books when a cheerleader recognized us as part of the student body. In an unsuitably perky loud voice for the library, she asked, "Who's going to the dance?"
I rolled my eyes. We went around the table, answering. When someone would say "no" she would ask, "why not?" The minute she left, I let loose with a whispered diatribe on the cruelty of making someone vocalize why they didn't have a date. It may have been because I didn't have a date.
The next week at school, I stood at my locker, spinning the combination, when David walked up and leaned against the locker next to mine. "I was wondering if you have a date to the dance."
I turned to him, my eyebrows raised. "Very funny. I'll play along. No, David. I do not have a date to the dance." I waited for him to deliver the punch line and ask why not?
His forehead wrinkled. "I wasn't trying to be funny. I was wondering if you'd go with me."
My hand fell from my lock. He looked serious. "Seriously?"
He took a small step backward. "Well, yeah."
I mentally regrouped through the heartbeat pounding in my head. "I'm sorry. I thought you were making a joke about that whole library discussion from the other day. I'd love to go to the dance with you. It sounds fun."
Flashback to the night before Thanksgiving, MORP 1981: When David came to the door, my parents stood behind me, smiling. He was polite, assuring them he'd have me home by midnight. He was probably afraid they'd come looking if we were late. He escorted me down the sidewalk and to his car while my parents watched from the porch. My palms were sweating. I had jumped into his car dozens of times to hurry to class, but this time he guided me to the passenger door by placing his hand on the small of my back. My mind went blank. He opened the door and waited while I tried to remember how to enter a car. When I finally gathered my wits and sat down, he closed my door and ran around to his side while my parents waved from the porch. "Good grief. Get it together, Jana." I gulped loudly before he opened his own door, realizing too late that the "double" part of our date was already seated in the back seat. David scooted behind the wheel and began backing out of our driveway when I blurted out much louder than I'd intended, "Happy Thanksgiving Eve!"
The girl in the back seat asked, "Is that even a thing?"
David looked over at me and smiled deliberately. "It is now."
I fell just a little bit in love with him in that moment.
The date included playing Asteroids at the local convenience store, eating pizza in a building shaped like a steamboat, playing tag in a grocery warehouse, and attending the MORP dance (prom spelled backward). It was a casual dance--opposite of prom. The theme was the enchanting song, "Working in a Coal Mine" by Devo.
The school had obviously cut corners, because they had one of the yearbook photographers, a student, taking the dance pictures. I was on the yearbook staff with him, so when we approached the backdrop, he teasingly pushed the two of us together, shoulder to shoulder, and prepared to take the picture. There was no finicky arrangement of our gangling teenage extremities, as is usually necessary at a high school dance. I was in the middle of warning, "Don't you dare!" when he snapped the shot. Recorded for history. Probably the most awkward dance photo. Ever. EVER.
There were many other awkward occasions during our dating years, but we ended up married, anyway. And ever since, no matter where we were, whether it was in a minivan stuffed with kids on our way over the river and through the woods to Grandma's house, or in the midst of feast preparations in our own home, one of us always remembers to tell the other, "Happy Thanksgiving Eve!"
This year, my husband was first on the draw. I just received a text that said, "Happy Thanksgiving Eve Anniversary!!! Love you, Beautiful!!!"
I don't know if texts officially count, but I'm thinking they should because when I saw his words on the screen, I fell just a little bit more in love with him.
Thanks, David, for 36 years of putting up with my awkwardness. Happy Thanksgiving Eve!
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