Mark's Pages

March 28, 2003:

She was famous before anyone met her. I'd talked her up that much.

Your boss' wedding reception. Young people, twentyish, light clothes in the summer heat. A park in old SoCal.

Everyone's thrilled for your boss' happiness. But all eyes are on you, standing holding hands with the mystery beauty, with her curves and her shy smile, and her radiant pleasure to be together there with you. It's been a while between visits.

You take turns making toasts. Charlie - Charlene - goes next. Blonde hair with deep curls, blue jeans, thick bug-frame glasses. "Lots of couples get married," she says. "But your love is..." She grasps for words to express her thought. "It's a rare thing few are privileged to possess..."

"Charlie," you interrupt. "I think they call it 'capital'." The audience roars, a gathering of lefties.

Your lovely girlfriend's shy smile turns into a grin. "They all like you!", she whispers, as if that surprises her.

On a long road trip, Jean said - later roommates with the two of us - "I wish I had someone who cared about me as much as you do about her."

After cocktails the party spills onto the grass, milling and mingling, enjoying the sun. Your colleague Liz takes you aside, nods toward your smiling true love, whispers, enviously, "Oh Mark! What a cutie!"

She was all I ever talked about.