2003-07-28 - 8:34 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "Summertime"

This is Part V of "Evelynne & Poindexter: A Love Story". It's the final part of how we met and became a couple. I may continue the story and talk more about our long-distance relationship, but this is the "how we met and fell in love" story.

If anyone is just joining in, you'll want to read Part I (bottom of entry), Part II (bottom of entry), Part III, and Part IV first. I highly recommend you at least skim the tail end of Part IV before you read this one, even if you read it before. They were supposed to go together, but my lazy ass didn't get around to doing Part V until now.

Stacey and Kelsey and I all flew out to California on a Saturday morning. Predictably, I could not eat breakfast, and I had belly troubles at the airport. I think I managed to eat some pretzels on the drive up to Poindexter's parents' house from the airport. He was staying with his parents on weekends and working in Portland (Oregon) during the week.

Understand that by this time I'd had two long-term relationships, a very close friendship with a guy, and many other casual guy friends. I'd been attracted to some, had the connection with others. I knew what guys were like. I knew what was out there. I knew what I wanted.

Within a day of being there, I was elated and terrified to realize that Poindexter was it.

I could qualify that and say "probably it", but the situation in which we'd met and gotten to know each other -- with our respective family members all around -- meant that there wasn't much room for hiding our true selves. There was a chance that some unresolvable issue might come up, but we'd spent a lot of time talking about our beliefs and who we were as individuals, so it wasn't very likely.

I can't begin to describe how terrified I was. It was such an enormous realization. The rest of my life -- potentially, anyway -- was standing right there in front of me. What if he didn't return my feelings? Even more scary, what if he did?!

So what happened was, I stopped eating. I was queasy twenty-four hours a day, and at that point in my life, I couldn't eat when I was queasy (I've since learned, thank GOD). I was desperately hungry, and I remember sitting there trying to force myself to eat, and being unable to swallow for fear I'd throw it right back up. On the rare occasions that I managed to swallow a few bites, the sudden activity in my digestive system sent me straight for the can. It was awful. Meantime, everyone around me is utterly convinced that I'm anorexic AND bulimic, and they're all gossiping amongst themselves about it and yelling at me to eat. It was not fun.

Poindexter went back up to Portland on Sunday night, and Stacey and I spent the week running around California in our rental car. Stacey teased me a lot about my obvious crush on Poindexter. We went to the aquarium in Monterey with P's uncle's wife and her daughter, and the two of them tried to convince me to make a move on him. "You two would make a great couple," they said. I tried to swallow some roll and blushed with embarrassment. And I freaked out even more. People who knew both of us were encouraging us to get together. Do you know how many happily married couples met through mutual friends?!

Friday night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Poindexter and I sat up late and talked. The entire time, I was trying to scrounge up the nerve to plant one on him, but somehow I wasn't getting the right vibes. I was disappointed, and angry with myself for being such a wimp. He went up to bed, and I lay on the couch in the dark, near tears. He came down and put a blanket on me, and I was frustrated that he was being so nice but not seeming to be interested in me, and said grumpily, "What are you doing?" I wished I had the nerve to reach up for a hug. I didn't.

Saturday night was my last chance. Stacey wasn't feeling well, so she stayed home while Poindexter and I went over to Justin's house. I remember I was feeling absolutely horrible from the queasiness and not-eating, but if I didn't go out with him I was going to lose my last chance. So I went. And as we walked up the driveway in the dark and I couldn't see, he grabbed my hand until the motion-sensor light went on, and he didn't let it go right away once it did.

Stupidly, I brushed it off as him just being a nice, affectionate person. He was, after all.

Finally, later that evening, Justin had fallen fast asleep on the recliner while Poindexter and I were sitting on the couch watching TV and occasionally talking. I was sitting sideways with my legs tented over his lap. I remember thinking then that no matter what happened, he would still always be my friend. He wasn't going to ridicule me or treat me differently if I told him how I felt.

So, he was nagging me about my inability to eat, and finally I just blurted it out. "I've had a crush on you since I was sixteen. I've never been able to eat around you."

He just looked at me, his eyes slightly widened. Didn't say a word.

I mentally shrugged, and turned back to the TV. Well, I'd done it. Nothing left to regret.

But shortly thereafter, he got up to leave. When we got outside, he took my hand, and this time he didn't let go. We held hands all the way back to his parents' house. I remember being dizzy with how good it felt to hold his hand.

When we got back, I didn't want to disturb Stacey, plus I am a total germphobe, so he let me use the sofabed the open loft office where he was sleeping. It was not at all private -- we might as well have been in the living room.

He put some cushions on the floor for himself to sleep on. I took a deep breath, and said, "This is not an open invitation for sex, but would you like to lie down with me for a little while?"

He told me later that he had no idea what was going on, since I had just ruled out sex so bluntly.

So we lay down, he on his back and me laying on his shoulder, arm over his chest -- the position we go to sleep in now -- and I marveled for a moment at how we seemed to fit together perfectly. And I gave him a little kiss on the neck. Then another one.

Or, as Poindexter puts it, "You attacked me."

Next thing I know, Poindexter has shifted onto his side and is kissing me. And I'm kissing back. And DAMN BUT IT WAS AWESOME!!! I couldn't even begin to describe how incredible and amazing it was. And how sweet and funny and endearing and comfortable. And how dizzyingly exciting. It still makes my breath catch to think of that, of finally being able to kiss him and touch him after all those years of yearning from afar.

I think we kissed for about two solid hours, from 1am to 3am, stopping only for a few sips of water now and then and some big grins. Finally I said, "I am wanting to do things I am not ready to do." Not to mention I had established kissing as the boundary in any "dating" I was doing outside of my relationship with Sam. So we kissed a little more and got in our respective beds and went to sleep.

Every hour or so, I woke up and marveled. Wow. Poindexter. Me. Making out. Holy SHIT. At eight a.m. I went down to the kitchen for some juice, wherein Stacey saw me grinning uncontrollably and said, "What is going on?!", to which I said, "I'm not ready to talk about it yet." Then I went back upstairs. Poindexter sat up and I sat on his lap and we cuddled a little bit. Then we went back to our beds to sleep some more.

That day, we went out to lunch with a big group, and held hands under the table. Grabbed a few kisses here and there. Then we all went to the mall, and I sat on a bench next to Poindexter. All day I'd been wondering where he thought this was going. Mentally I was completely prepared for him to say "That was nice, but I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

So I said, smiling somewhat ruefully, "Well, now what?"

And he said, "Well... long distance is tough, but we can give it a try."

Holy shit.

So Stacey and I dropped him off at the airport to go back to Portland, and I walked him inside. And I came outside and I got back in the car and I sat there and I cried. And Stacey said, "Are you going to TELL ME what's GOING ON?!"

Long story short, she was the matron of honor at our wedding. :)

Just to tie up the loose ends: When I got back, I told Sam I had met someone and that I could not be his girlfriend anymore. That was horrible. It was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I think I would much rather be dumped than have to be the one to break up with someone. Ugh.

It was about nine weeks before I saw Poindexter again. But it was a good time, because we spent hours and hours talking on the phone, getting to know each other even better, and strengthening our relationship without the overwhelming attraction clouding our judgement as it might have if we were physically together. It was fun to reminisce over the previous eight years and all those little moments we remembered.

By our first visit -- the first time we'd ever been alone -- we knew this relationship was going to work. But because of the recent breakup with Sam and our cautious natures, we set a deadline of one year before we would make any big moves.

That was a loooooooooong year. We managed to see each other once a month for about a week at a time. Once I had to go six weeks and that was hard. I remember being in the shower at my mom's, leaning against the wall and crying, thinking I'd never make it.

The amazing thing about it was that a long-distance relationship with Poindexter was more satisfying than any previous in-person relationship had ever been. I had everything I wanted in this man, and his physical presence was almost like a bonus. And it certainly made me appreciate him. To this day I can hardly stand to be away from him overnight, although it's much easier now than it used to be.

In May, I moved out to California. For a couple of months I rented a room, so I had a place to call mine. But by July I was living with him unofficially, and in August I called my (conservative Catholic) parents and made it official. And we've been inseparable ever since.

As for the not-eating part, that has a funny footnote. This section is TMI about pooping, although it is not graphic.

As I said, the entire time I was out there, Poindexter's family was talking about me behind my back. "She's anorexic," they said, because they never saw me eating. "She's bulimic," they said, because I would sometimes disappear into the bathroom after a meal.

Now, anyone who has read enough of my journal knows that a) I hate puking and b) when I'm nervous, I have what we euphemistically call "belly troubles". Given that I was a nervous wreck the entire time I was around Poindexter, it's not surprising that I had belly troubles rather often, sometimes after whatever meager portion I could manage to eat. But his family didn't know that, and didn't bother to try to sit and talk to me about it. They just nagged me to eat, which made the problem worse, since it made me more nervous.

Apparently during our visit to Justin, Justin asked Poindexter if he thought anything might be happening between us. "I don't know. There are issues," Poindexter said, meaning the alleged eating disorder.

So. During the nine weeks between our first makeout session and our first visit alone, Poindexter's mother warned him about girls with anorexia/bulimia. She mailed him articles about anorexia/bulimia. She was utterly convinced that I was anorexic/bulimic. One of her pieces of "evidence" was the fact that I cut my food into very small pieces. (I have a small mouth, dammit!)

Meanwhile, Poindexter's getting to know me better, and realizing that it doesn't seem terribly logical that I would have an eating disorder. But he's waiting-and-seeing.

So, February arrives, I'm in California, we're having a wonderful time, and we go to his sister's house for dinner. By this time I'm very comfortable, and she made a delicious pineapple-soy chicken thing for dinner, and I totally pig out. True to form, my digestive system needs to make a little room at the exit, so off to the can I went.

"Glances were exchanged," Poindexter says.

And I'm sitting in the bathroom all embarrassed 'cuz I gotta poop at my new boyfriend's sister's house.

After dinner, we got back to Poindexter's apartment, and I was hungry again (must've been my hungry week, when my metabolism is never happy for longer than 2 hours), so I ate a small plate of angel hair with pesto.

Finished, I took my plate to the kitchen, returning to see Poindexter sitting on the couch, looking very serious.

"We need to talk," he says.

I went into a complete panic. Is he not having a good time? Does he not want to pursue this relationship after all? Is he mad at me? What did I do?

He told me, in halting words, about how he noticed I didn't eat the last time he saw me, and now I'm eating, going to the bathroom after dinner, eating more when we get home, etc.

About halfway through the little monologue I realized where he was going with it and started to grin. I let him finish, and then I started laughing out loud. It was just too funny. He thought I was puking in his sister's bathroom, and while in actuality I'm sitting there being embarrassed about having belly troubles while everyone else is eating dinner.

I explained everything, mentioning that I hate, hate, HATE throwing up, so while anorexia might be a possibility, bulimia wasn't. And clearly, here I was, eating like a normal person.

I suppose he still had a few doubts, but they were dispelled as he spent more time with me. His mother, on the other hand, had had breakfast with my parents two weeks earlier and had a very enlightening experience.

During that breakfast, my father had a danish. He proceeded to surgically excise the fruit part of the danish, put it aside, and then cut what was left into small pieces which he ate with a fork.

MIL says, "If I'd seen him do that first, I would have understood why Evelynne eats the way she does and would never have worried!"

And finally, a couple years into the relationship, during a visit to his parents' house, she was happy to see me eating like a normal person. Eating a lot, in fact, since she had cooked up a storm for our visit and had all kinds of goodies readily available. And she said, "If you don't stop making that girl so happy, she'll blow up like a blimp!"

Although honestly, she's the one to blame. The only time I've ever gained weight when I wasn't consciously trying to do so is when I'm at her house, eating fruit tarts and raspberry-cream cheese coffee cake. :)

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