gratitude-a-thon day 33: peter

My boyfriend broke up with me. How many more pathetic frogs would I have to put up with, before I found the right guy? I was more and more convinced I would never get married. I was working at my first agency job. I had a little crush on an art director, Rob. He had a girlfriend. (Drats!) I had to go to a conference on radio in New York. My sister who lived there, was away. I wanted to go the night before because it began at 8:00, so I asked Rob if he knew anyone in New York I could stay with. He picked up the phone that moment, and called his old college roommate, Peter. He asked him and then gave the phone to me. “I’ll be out to dinner, but I’ll leave the keys with the doorman,” is what he said. “Don’t be upset if he doesn’t pay attention to you, he’s a chemist and he pretty much works all night,” Rob warned me. I was cool with that. I just needed a place to stay, so this was good. I flew with a friend from the agency, complaining about my “single” status. She complained about her married one. We had dinner and then I headed to East 63rd between 1st and 2nd. I grabbed a six of beer around the corner and got the key from the doorman. It was a student slum in a gorgeous building. The couch I was going to sleep on slanted inward. The cushions would suffocate me by morning. The windows had grime on them. Thank you, Rob. I sat myself on a chair and turned on the television, grossed out by my surroundings. In walked a short guy, and a tall GORGEOUS guy. I literally thought, “OHMYGODMAKEITTHETALLGUY!” I wondered if I’d said it out loud. “I’m Peter and this is Kurt, I’m going to change my pants.” Sort of an odd thing to say, but I was so dazed by this guy’s looks, I didn’t care if he’d said, “I’m going to commit a murder.” The Kurt person was droning on in a rather squeaky voice and I was literally thanking my lucky stars that this wasn’t who Rob had gone to college with. Peter came back into the living room and asked me if I’d like to go out for a drink. (But Rob said….)  We went to a cute bar down the street, called Nimrods. Then he asked me if I wanted to see his lab. (the new “etchings.”) His lab was nothing special, but then he took me to the roof, which overlooked the glistening East River and we talked and talked, and at like 1:00 in the morning, he said, “Can I be really honest with you?” I nodded. “I’d really like to take a shower with you.” I was so impressed with his candor that all I could do was laugh. And instead of a shower, we kissed and I am pretty sure that there were a million fireworks that went off over the river. Talk about a chemical reaction. I kept saying, “This is crazy.” And Peter kept saying, “It’s New York, anything can happen here.” And it did. I fell in love that night. On First Avenue, at Rockefeller University, after drinking beer at Nimrods. It was that simple. Needless to say I did not sleep on the killer couch. (Nor did I sleep at all). In the morning, I dragged my exhausted self out of bed to get ready for the conference, and Peter outstretched his arms toward me for a hug. This was such an endearing act, I melted like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. “Come back tonight,” he begged. “I can’t,” I answered. We kissed goodbye. I got to the radio conference starry eyed and told my friend that I had met the man I was going to marry. I ditched the conference after an hour and called Peter at his lab. We met and headed downtown to Canal jeans. (I never missed a trip there when in New York)  and then to China Town for dinner, talking incessantly, all the way. We called a shocked Rob that night to tell him we were in love. I flew home the next day, with a photo of Peter in my bag, and the dazed and crazed flu-like symptoms of love.  And that was that. We flew back and forth for about a year. We had non-stop weekends in New York and Boston, doing all the most fun stuff. It was insanely romantic. It was totally magic. He asked me to get married in the hallway of my Newbury Street apartment (He couldn’t even wait to get upstairs!) I moved to New York for a year, while he finished his post doctoral work. We moved back to Boston, where I wanted to be. (He’d gotten jobs all over the country) and he got a job as an assistant Professor of Chemistry at M.I.T. We have been married for twenty five years. We made two AMAZING kids. It hasn’t always been easy or as much fun as the way we met, but it has been something deep and real. We are a continual work in progress, as we should be. (Remember what Woody Allen said about a dead shark in Annie Hall?)

So, if you’re alone this Valentine’s Day, remember, life can change in an instant. Someone might get delivered to your door, like I got delivered to Peter’s. You might meet your person by doing something you normally wouldn’t. Love does happen. Good God, I’m lucky and grateful it happened to me on June 18, 1985. I love you, Rami.