I’d always liked the boy next door, though not in the way that people always think. Rudy and I met in Kindergarten, and we did not get along right away. I remember the time when I was sent to time-out because I smeared red paint all over his face. I don’t remember what he said that made me mad, but trust me, it was worth it. This sparked my favorite nickname for him, which was simple yet elegant: Captain Ruddy-Face!

It was only a year later when I had moved next door to him, and, boy, was I livid. Unfortunately, our parents got along better than we did, and, for some reason beyond my 7-year old brain, we ended up being babysat together on weekday evenings. Our poor babysitter, Mrs. Perkins, eventually struck a balance between playtime and punishment with us. This inadvertently sparked a rivalry not soon forgotten by our neighborhood block. We fought over snacks, over games, and even over who’s bruises and scrapes were the grossest.

It wasn’t long before we had joined the neighborhood bicycle gang and got into all kinds of mischief. Even though we fought like siblings, by this point we grew into a pair of deviants who came up with the best ideas for the group to try out. Sometimes people got hurt, broken bones and such, but the risk was part of the fun! I think the best one was a 4 front-yard-long slip n’ slide. I was lighter than the others and flew off track half way through and into a trash can on the street! Cracked a couple ribs, and got a gnarly scar near my left eye.

When we got to high school, things seemed to change out of nowhere. I had picked up some new girlfriends in English class. I have no idea what drew those goody-two-shoes to me, Melissa and Janet, but their presence in my life probably helped me straighten out some bent ends of my personality. However, this meant spending less and less time with my guy friends from middle school, until it was just Rudy left. We would still hang out in the evenings and study together. Let me tell you, I was the only reason that Rudy passed his chemistry class!

To me, it appeared that not much had changed between us, but I was very wrong. The event that finally disrupted our dynamic happened in junior year during homecoming pride week. As I only learned after the fact, Rudy had planned a huge surprise for me to ask me out to the homecoming dance. It may or may not have involved the marching band, a giant hand-painted sign and maybe fireworks, but I would never show up.

Rudy had had the brilliant idea for a prank, just like the good old day! He asked his buddies (my former buddies from middle school) from the hockey team to abduct me from my after-school cooking club and bring me to the football field for the surprise. But they had other plans, the twisted fucks.

The captain of the hockey team had asked me out about a year ago to this, and I told him I was not interested. Now he wasn’t apart of this disgusting escapade, but his teammates thought it would be hilarious to deliver me to his house in nothing but my bra and underwear as a form of revenge.

Thankfully, that’s as far as the prank went because the team captain has a solid Christian head atop his shoulders and he reported his “friends” to the police. By the time Rudy had found out, the sun was setting as he drove frantically to my house. My mom answered the door and told him to give me some space.

Word had gotten around school by the time of the dance that weekend, so I opted out of going, much to the disappointment of my girlfriends, who had each bought new dresses for the occasion. I let Saturday pass by without answering Rudy’s texts, but gave in on Sunday. I agreed to meet him in my backyard after dinner. Needless to say, I cried… a lot. Sobbed might be the better word. Rudy’s shoulder was soaked by the time he brought me inside to go to bed.

He let a couple weeks pass by for the rumor mill to find a new harvest before he officially asked me out. He did it during one of our movie hangouts this time, when it was just us, like it has been for the better part of our lives. For me, this was acceptable, but I told him not to expect any modicum of speed in this relationship, since it was my first. I remember he laughed at that, because it was his first too. Is it strange to think we never sought out other forms of relationships because we’ve always had each other?

I would reflect on our times together every so often in the next five years, before he FINALLY proposed. He did it once again during a movie after work, when it was just us, like it always has been. Clearly, he had learned his lesson about grandiose displays of affection. I don’t care about all that. I am a simple girl. As long as it’s just us, then I’ll be happy.

This is what I told him during our vows. This is what I tell him when he’s feeling down. This is what I will tell him as we grow older. But, it’s not quite as true as it once was, because the meaning of “us” changed after we had our first child, Penelope. Suddenly, “us” had so many possibilities. But every time I said it, “as long as it’s us, I’ll be happy,” I meant it. Even after we had two more children. Even after our firstborn got married. Even after our first grandchild. Our “us” means so much more than it once did, but I still mean it, all these years later. All of us make up our family, and I can die a happy woman.