It’s my college graduation weekend and my parents are joyful, proud – and a bit relieved, I think.  And we’re out celebrating with my roommates and their families – fancy dinner and drinks to follow.  I’m drinking scotch and water with my dad.  Not because I like scotch.  At all.  But I’m a silly 22-year-old, high on life and telling him how I’m going to be like the son he never had and drink scotch with him.  He could honestly care less about having a son or my scotch drinking.  But he (and my mom) do seem interested when I get the text from Tim, informing me that he’ll be making the 4 hour drive from Minneapolis tomorrow to be there for my graduation. 

Now, things with Tim are… complicated.  He’s been my “on again, off again” boyfriend for all the years that’s been a possibility.  From the time my family built a house next door to his, through many bad hair cuts and school dances and math “tutoring” and all the beautiful and ugly and exciting and terrifying parts of adolescence and beyond.  And my parents have been close to most of it… so they know.  They know that him deciding to show up for graduation isn’t just a casual whim.  That it has the potential for great joy – or great heartbreak, likely in equal weighting.

They can remember the first time he joined us for pizza – when he was 11 and I was 9.  Now, in my family, we used to eat 1 twelve-inch frozen pizza between all 4 of us.  My mom would add extra cheese and maybe onions or olives to that basic pepperoni Tombstone pizza on the cardboard-thin crust… and we’d all split that 1 pizza: Mom, Dad, my little sister, Mel, and I.  On our first “date” Tim proceeded to eat ¾ of the pizza himself, while my mom watched in awe – having only raised daughters. 

During high school Tim helped me fall in love with The Doors and U2 and Alanis Morissette. He challenged me with ideas and Shakespeare and the pain and beauty of films like Apocalypse Now.

And throughout our university days – me in Madison, he in Minnesota… we enjoyed our independence, but we always came back together – that connection between us, undeniable.  Now, don’t get me wrong, we dated other people too.  I remember there was this ironic trend where it seemed like many of the other guys I would date just happened to also be named “Tim” and so my friends would have to clarify… “Band Tim” or Tim with “the laugh” …and it got so ridiculous that I distinctly remember being at a bar and meeting a new boy who wanted to buy me a drink.  I asked his name… Tim.  And so, I tell him, “I’m sorry – I just can’t do another Tim.”

And my parents and college roommates were there with me through the ups and downs.  My mom invited me to join Tim in Spain following my sophomore year.  I’m not sure Tim (or his mother, for that matter) was exactly on board with that plan at first, in fact he even had another girlfriend at the time… but let’s face it – she was on her way out.  And we did adventure in Spain together – and it was beautiful and exciting.  It brought us closer together in many ways, but there were still ups and downs, especially after Spain.  At one particularly heated point, Tim had sent me an email with 5 points about why this wasn’t the “right” time for us to be together.  And I promptly replied, “Fuck You and Your 5 Points…”  And we didn’t talk or email or text.  For months. 

For basically my entire college years – during the peaks of these ups & downs with Tim, I shared a bedroom with my good friend, Morgan.  And these were the days when you’d play a mixed tape as you fell asleep.  Now Morgan was used to the volatility of things with Tim and would check in with me regarding which mixed tapes or songs were currently off limits, based on our current relationship status. Because one thing that always connected Tim and I was music.  We traded mixed tapes (and eventually CDs) for years and there were many staples that became the soundtrack for our relationship.  Songs like “In Your Eyes” from Peter Gabriel or “The Ship Song” from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds.  “Always a Woman” from Billy Joel, “One” from U2.  But “Anna Begins” from Counting Crows held a special place for me – it spoke to me about understanding & denying love and a sort of “knowing” that goes beyond what we can comprehend.  “She’s talking in her sleep, It’s keeping me awake, And Anna begins to toss and turn.  And every word is nonsense, but I understand, And oh, Lord, I’m not ready for this sort of thing…”

And now here we are… the night before graduation and Tim is coming.  And my parents and roommates were supportive.  Cautious but supportive.  And we all had a great weekend – BBQs and drinking and flirting and dancing the night away.

A couple days later my roommate Morgan and I head out to do the stereotypical “backpacking around Europe” trip with a couple friends.  Sort of a last hurrah of sorts, before we all head separate ways, including my move from Madison, WI to the San Francisco Bay to start my first job.  And the trip is everything you could expect – biergartens in Munich and churches in Spain and rafting in Interlaken and loads of glorious wine and gelato and art and adventures.  And that lingering energy and connection that I’m still grasping at from the graduation weekend with Tim. 

At one point towards the end of the trip we end up in a hostel outside Rome – almost a commune of sorts, with little cabins and a swimming pool and its own restaurant and bar.  We’re in that little bar on the outskirts of Rome drinking and talking – about life and love and what comes next… and before I know it, “Anna Begins” starts playing.  And it really is this sort of surreal experience.  This is not a new song – at this point it’s nearly 10 years old.  And it was honestly never a hit.  It never got radio time back when it was new and it’s not the sort of song that’s found on a jukebox.  Bottom line, this is not a song I have ever heard in a bar – or anywhere, outside of the quirky mixed tapes from Tim.  And I get goosebumps – and I just sort of “know.” 

We get back from the trip and that moment in the bar still haunts me.  I feel like my mom can even sense it… And even though she’s always been a strong feminist – intent on ensuring that I chase my dreams (and even her dreams, for that matter), my mom tells me, “Alissa, it’s okay.  If you want to stay here and be with Tim and not move to California, that’s okay.”

And so, what did I do?

I moved to California, of course.  I moved into my own bedroom, in my very own apartment.  I learned to cook homemade chili and I had my own swimming pool, and I bought my first brand new car.  But from there on out – the “on again, off again” approach with Tim was over.  He joined me in California the following summer and we fell in love with wine and hiked in the Muir Woods.  We bought our first tent and camped in Yosemite and drove along the coast to Monterey and Carmel.

And when I came back to the Midwest for a visit that following September, he asked me to be his wife.

17 years & 4 kids later, we still love music and finding our way on this crazy journey of life.