(This is a story that my roommate Silver wrote, i hope you enjoy it.)
I've always been a boy, but for quite a long time in my life, I was considered a little girl. My warm, friendly brown hair was kept so long it reached my mid back. Most of the clothes given to me were either dresses or adorned with lighter colors and themes. Instead of my deep, blue eyes being called "handsome," most grown-ups said they were "pretty." Everyone seemed so very sure of this, like it all fit so perfectly, and they made it so easy for me to play along. I was never quite able to put how off all of it felt into words. I've never been very good at talking.
Imagining -- CREATING -- that is what I am very skilled at. This has stuck with me for as long as I can remember, all the way up until now, as I write these very words on these pages. I may not have made up the story I am about to tell you, but I am imagining it very clearly and vividly as I write it. This story is very real, including the imaginings within it, and it is about how I met my wife.
It all took place when I was the very impressive age of seven and a half years old. I lived alone with my father, for my mother had died in June, on my last birthday. I was actually turning seven and a half on the day that this all took place: Christmas. My younger self would have said that for weeks and weeks and months and months, my dad had been saying that I would get anything and everything I wanted for Christmas that year. Every time I asked if I could get something, he said yes. I was so excited because my mom had always given me a non-committed, "We'll see." Time passed, Christmas came, and, bam: there was still no Christmas tree, and there certainly weren't any gifts to put under it.
I had spent what seemed like the last eternity prior to that day on my best behavior, and I was even nice to the neighborhood bully, Big Bertie. I was very right to throw my little seven-and-a-half-year-old tantrum at my dad. I yelled and screamed and I even would have thrown something if I wasn't an animist, and afraid of hurting the object's feelings. Eventually, I ran out the front door, and I kept running.
We lived in an area where there wasn't any Christmas snow; instead, sheets and sheets of rain rhythmically beat into the ground. It was hard to see where I was going, but I knew the neighborhood and even beyond that pretty well. I never labeled them, but my parents were what many could call "neglectful." My dad might have had a good reason; he wasn't really in a right state of mind then. Nonetheless he wouldn't be coming after me. To me, it just meant I could do almost whatever I wanted. Right then, I ran such that my foot falls synced with the beat of the rain. I was sure to make it so that each step would pound out a little more of my anger into the pavement. I may have been emotional, and I may have been seven and a half years old, but I knew better than to run in the street; I stayed safely on the sidewalk.
Eventually there just wasn't any anger to get out anymore. I had emptied my basin. I slowed to a walk. I kept having to wipe my eyes so I could see, not because I had cried -- I was tough -- but instead, because of the rain. I started to think about the rain. I started to think about how intense it was, and how in all of those movies, that rain seemed to symbolize a rougher, harder-to-deal-with situation. Just like that, my imagination whirred to life, immediately turning on dramatic mode.
I put my hands in my pockets. I looked down, like I was absolutely miserable to be there and in this situation. It was like all of the weight of every single thing in the world had been placed directly on my shoulders. I walked slower. I felt like I was going to die, and I looked like it too. But I couldn't stop then. I couldn't stop until I found shelter from not only this godforsaken rain, but from... The Warden.
"Who is the Warden?" I asked myself, to dramatize things. I had a habit of occasionally narrating my adventures out loud. "He's the meanest, roughest, toughest, most awful, invincible person you'll ever meet. He's not even a man. He's half boar." I finished the rest in my head. He had red eyes, like fire, and since he was so riled up all the time, it was like every time he breathed out, there was a snort of smoke. Each of his fingers was as sharp as a hoof. He could punch and kick almost a BAJILLION (it was a word, then) times harder than... than... the Trojan Horse! Because of his immense power he had been ruling the kingdom for almost a hundred years, and I... I had been the one to anger him the most.
He had kidnapped my mom. I broke into his castle, and fought a thousand warriors while going up stairs and through hallways with my trusty sword. When I finally got to the room that my mom was being kept in, the Warden came out of nowhere and grabbed my weapon! He threw it out the window and bellowed, "HOW DARE YOU CHALLENGE THE GREAT AND POWERFUL WARDEN!"
I of course had been very bold and heroic, and daringly replied, "HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY MOTHER, YOU FAT PIG!" I quickly grabbed her by the hand and jumped out the very window he had thrown my sword out of. I knew there was water far below. When we landed, we quickly swam to the shore on the other side. I told her to go one way so it would be harder for them to capture the both of us. I made fun of the lackeys that had been sent after us by the Warden, to make sure that they ran after me. I ran and ran and RAN and ran, until, just a little ways back from my current position, I had lost them. Now... I was all alone... and it was raining... and I wasn't even sure of where I was going to go. I felt like I was going to die... but I had to press on.
During all of this imagining and creating, I had walked a whole mile away from my house. I had only been this far by myself a couple times, because it was around this area that I started to feel uncomfortable and head back. Not today. I had to keep going. It was only one block past my usual limit that I came upon a shelter: a pretty little plastic playhouse, the kind you can get from Home Depot. It was in someone's front yard, and someone was clearly in there with a small lamp. You could tell because there was light coming through the windows.
I didn't really see any of that; instead, I saw a warm little cabin, fireplace lit. When I knocked on the door, I made sure to make my knock sound hesitant and sad. I was almost thrown out of character when a very pretty girl answered the door. She had a nice blue dress, red, braided pig-tails, and an innocent, open looking face. Despite being only eight months older than me, she had this very caring and motherly nature about her. I was taken back by her striking appearance, and my character was too. I couldn't bring myself to speak first.
"Yes, this is the Stevenson Residence," she greeted very whimsically after a moment. It was clear that she was playing House. I didn't care though. I made it fit in. I quickly reached out and grabbed her arm.
"Please, I'm running from The Warden," I said in a hushed tone. Just with my pure acting skills, anyone I played with immediately imagined everything more vividly. "You have to let me in. I'll explain everything."
She couldn't help but to sink a little out of fear. The very name of our enemy struck terror into her heart. She peeked out a bit and looked around suspiciously, before quickly ushering me in. I knelt down on the floor and proceeded to drip all over it.
“Just who is The Warden exactly, again?” she asked in a whisper, as she quickly knelt beside me. She didn't care I was wet. Really, she seemed to understand this imagining thing pretty well, especially the playing along part. I liked that about her. I liked it a lot.
I didn't say that, though. Instead I answered, “How can you not know the Warden?!” My tone was still in a whisper, but it got my shock across. “He's only the meanest, roughest, toughest, most awful, invincible king to ever rule over these lands! And he's half boar. He kidnapped my mother.” Her eyes widened in amazement. I continued to tell her the story of how I broke in, saved her, jumped out, split up, ran away, and eventually ended up here.
After a moment to process it all, she couldn't help but to utter a simple, “Wow....” I just gave her a simple nod. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Tom,” I answered quite simply. Everyone was always calling me a tomboy, and even though my real name was much more feminine than Tom, I went with it. She seemed accepting.
“Okay Tom. I'm Suzie. You can stay here for the night.” Her voice rose to a regular volume, and she stood up. She may have absorbed herself into my story, but she was determined to play House. My new friend even went so far as to change the plot a bit. “The Warden's never even come CLOSE to coming out this far, so we're safe in my house. After you rest and eat for a bit, you can go off and find your mom. I'll even let you borrow my dead brother's old sword to use against The Warden.” She moved about the house in a completely unphased and very smooth way, quickly putting together a meal. I slowly stood up.
I wasn't normally one to play House much but since it fit so well into the story, and she was just so likeable, I couldn't help myself. We spent the next hour imagining together. She gave me jellybeans in a bowl and a peanut butter jelly sandwich – soup and ham. As the story progressed, I found that it would be hard to bring myself to leave; House could be pretty fun if it was with the right person. I still had to save my mom though. Maybe... after I went and grabbed her, I could come back....
“Suzie!” a voice suddenly called from the bigger house behind ours. “Come inside! Spend time with your family! It's Christmas!” The door closed; her mother apparently knew that Suzie had heard her. My friend looked sadly at me, and immediately put down the whole act.
“Sorry,” she pouted. “I have to go.” She grabbed a little mini umbrella by the door, opened both, and then left.
All of my imaginings and games eventually had to come to an end. I was used to it. It wasn't like my world was shattered; it was simply suspended, until I could modify a piece of it, and then pick it back up again later. What... disappointed me, really... was that Suzie had to go. I stood there and stared at the open, abandoned door for a few moments before finally letting out a sigh. I turned off the little electric lamp, put my hands in my pockets, and headed home. I got completely re-drenched, and I didn't play any games on my way there. Instead, I just lost myself in idle thought.
About an hour later I came back to my street. By then, the rain had finally let up into a light drizzle. I looked up to my house and remembered my dad, and the lack of Christmas presents. I thought about how Mom wasn't around anymore. The house that was supposed to be home suddenly felt very... sad. The rest of my day was quiet, uneventful, and overall very empty.
A lot of things would happen over the next fifteen years. I would go to school, make some friends, lose those friends, lose some self confidence, get some self confidence, establish myself as Tom, experiment with my sexuality, graduate, get a job, and go to college. An absolute miracle would occur and Suzie would stick by me through all of it. On the very special day that I turned twenty two and a half, I would be able to look back on that rainy Christmas and call it... The Day I Met My Wife.
