I walked up to the glass doors of Dorman Hall that summer day in 1988 as I had a million times before on my way to my part-time job. As I stepped into the lobby, I hesitated at the sight of a group of college boys hanging out waiting on their first summer forestry camp classes to start. I held my breath as I pushed my way through the crowd. The sheer awkwardness of feeling like I was on a stage with a spotlight shining on me made me want to choose a different entrance, but instead I kept my head high with the same fake confidence I had learned a few years earlier when we moved from TN to MS and I was the new girl in school.
“Just keep walking, just keep walking,” I whispered to myself.
And just as I passed the last guy, my heart sank in embarrassment when someone whistled at me.
My greatest fear was confirmed – I felt like I was on display when all I really wanted was to get to my office. I guess for some girls, being whistled at was flattering. To me, it was insulting because I despised that kind of attention. Day after day for weeks, the routine was the same. I entered the building. The boys parted to let me through. And as I would walk past the last guy, the whistle came. It was always just one whistle, and I’d learned to just ignore it and keep walking. I always wished for some witty words to say in those moments, but I wasn’t much good at quick, witty come-backs.
One day, I looked up at my office door to see this guy in boots and Wrangler jeans standing there holding some papers. He asked to borrow a paper clip. So I handed him a small, pink-coated one — that was about as witty as I could be. He gave me a crooked smile, thanked me and left. The next day, he was back at my door asking to borrow another paper clip.
I thought, “He’s not very prepared for class.”
However, this time he lingered a little longer, asked a few questions, and eventually rejoined the rest of the guys. But when he came around a third time for a paper clip, it finally occurred to me that this was all a game.
He introduced himself as “Steve…Steve Brown from Macon!”
I thought, “Fine, I’ll play along.”
“Macon, Georgia?” I asked with enormous curiosity and emphasis on Georgia.
“Uh, no. Macon, Mississippi,” he proudly replied. I had never heard of Macon, Mississippi and in my mind I was thinking, “Who IS this guy? He sure is bold.”
My supervisor/co-worker — and now dear friend – Cindy piped in, “Steve, do you really need those paperclips or are you just here to see Kristi?”
I died. A million times, I died in that one instant. He laughed. Cindy laughed. And I stood there in shock, with my thoughts screaming at me,
“HOLD ON. What is happening here? What have I missed?”
A week or so later, standing inside the door of my office, Steve finally borrowed enough paperclips and persuaded me to go out with him. And when I accepted, I walked through a new door that changed the whole trajectory of my plans for my life. I had plans to go to a different college. I had plans for going to law school and moving to Dallas one day. I wanted to live in an exposed brick loft apartment. Before SB, that’s about as much as I knew, but it was enough.
Sometimes doors close. But sometimes they open to new places and experiences, new people, and new moments that become years. And dreams change – for the better.
***
Four years later, I walked up to the wooden arched doors holding a sweet bouquet of light pink and white roses and tulips. My dad asked me if I was nervous.
As I grabbed his arm and my dress was being fluffed, I lied and said, “Not really.”
In actuality, I was a complete bottle of nerves, and it showed. I had planned out every detail of the day’s events and knew what should be happening on the other side of that door, but I couldn’t see how any of it was playing out. I had to fully trust everything was just as I had hoped it would be. And that made me nervous!
Our wedding was held at the Chapel of Memories on the campus of Mississippi State University, and we’d planned for an outdoor reception complete with blooming wisteria and a harpist. It rained for days leading up to the wedding, but on that Sunday, May 31,1992, when the doors opened for me to walk through, the sun beamed so gloriously at that moment, all I could see were sun rays like a spotlight in front of me. I held my breath as I walked past each familiar and unfamiliar face in the crowd. It was nerve-wracking being the center of attention with all eyes on me. And I could finally see “Steve Brown from Macon, Mississippi” down front waiting for me.
His grandfather married us that day in the sweetest of ceremonies, and we stepped out of the chapel doors into a life together.
There are memories of our apartment and home rentals doors, doors to cars and homes purchased. We’ve walked through doors of new jobs, despised jobs, jobs lost and won. We’ve walked through doors of watching our friends get married and have children and doors of broken and shattered dreams for our own family. We’ve marched through doors of opportunities and stepped through airplane and hotel doors into dream vacations and weekend get-aways. There have been some slammed doors and locked doors. Together we’ve walked through church doors, hospital and veterinary doors and funeral home doors.
In retrospect, I remember every single door we’ve walked up to in these years together. Some have been glass doors that have given us a clear picture of what would be before us. Others have been wooden and heavy and have hidden the journey on the other side forcing us to trust in The Plan and that we would be there for each other. We have run up to and through some doors holding each others hands. Some doors we have reluctantly stepped through together. Some doors we’ve had to walk through individually, and some doors we have been shoved through without either of us wanting to cross the threshold.
Twenty-five years later, it’s impossible to capture every memory on paper. But as any couple who has traveled the road of marriage would attest, that is one of the greatest blessings because some things are fun to share, and some things are just too sacred for anyone but us. In some ways it’s mind-blowing that I’ve had SB in my life longer than I haven’t. As crazy and wild as our days and lives are at times, he still melts me with his crooked smile. He still believes in me, claps for me, and he still holds my hand. He still opens the car door and makes me feel like a million dollars when I walk into the room.
And all these years and memories are held together because I had the courage to keep walking through doors and he had the courage to ask for paperclips.
To my SB – Happy 25th Anniversary! These years together have made me a better person, and I wouldn’t be the same without the point at which our lives intersected. Thanks for believing in me when I haven’t always believed in myself, for taking care of all the details in our life, for greeting me each morning with your contagious smile and knowing just when I need a little extra space. The shelves of our years together display many bottles of tears; thanks for knowing when I need to rearrange those bittersweet memories. And especially thanks for sharing constant laughs because the seriousness of life weighs heavy some days, and your ability to tell me stories and make me laugh is one of the greatest things I adore about you.
You always say, “Thanks for marrying me!” And I say back, “Thanks for asking, and I hope those paperclips were worth it!”
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