I grew up in Carrollton subdivision, a well maintained, safe, middle class neighborhood in Bridgeton on the corner of Latham and Selwyn. Mike lived on Selwyn, about 15 houses or so away from mine. Most of my childhood memories are of my time spent playing in and exploring this neighborhood. I remember riding my bike up the street by his house. It would be up his street I would go every Halloween when we went trick or treating. I probably even tried to sell Girl Scout cookies at his door. I played...or watched my teammates play...soccer (this wasn't my forte) with his sister (Hi, Chrissy!). Even though we lived so close, for some reason our paths did not cross directly until much later in our lives.
Mike and I went to different schools. He is an alumni of the local Catholic grade school. I...the product of the public school system. We were (are) two years apart in age, had a different group of friends, lived separate lives yet shared a street.
Little by little, I learned who Mike was. It just so happened that a friend of my sisters, an across-the-street neighbor, had a crush on him. She and my sister would walk up the street, by his house to possibly get a look at him and, if they were lucky, maybe they could strike up a conversation. Instead they were met by an impish, immature boy concerned only with his territory, intolerant of intruders. They were quite disappointed when he threw rocks at them, called them names and yelled at them to go to "their end of the street".
Still, as the years marched on, I didn't really know him...I knew OF him: His bad boy reputation, his athletic ability, "the hottie with the body". I saw him drive...speed...up and down the street. I would think, "What a jerk!" but I was still intrigued. We were in two separate leagues. He represented fast...I felt more comfortable with slow. He was athletic, handsome, and confident. I was skinny, awkward, uncomfortable in my own skin. Never did I imagine that we would ever meet...let alone be married...have children.
During my high school years, as is typical of that stage of development, I was trying to discover who I was. I experimented with my appearance...my hair, my clothes, the music to which I listened. I am sure some of you remember my hair...eight inches tall, teased out like a lion's mane. The music I loved...The Alarm, U2, The Cure, The Clash...or was it Beastie Boys and Bobby Brown. That depended on the year...day...my friends. By day I was on honor roll, captain of the cross country team, on Student Council. By night I was either working, driving around looking for something exciting to do, and I "partied" probably more than I should have. I wanted to be an "individual". Isn't this the goal of every teenager...to fit in by being "an individual"? The irony makes me laugh!
So through this quest for self, one of the ways I chose to express my individuality was by going barefoot. I felt that my bare feet on the pavement, concrete, carpet, or convenient store floor (yuk!) was freeing. I loved to feel my feet against the ground instead of constricted by a pair of shoes. Some kids dye their hair green...I just didn't wear shoes. Remember also, I was a runner...Zola Bud was an inspiration. I went barefoot EVERYWHERE unless I absolutely had to put something on my feet.
You might be wondering what my feet have to do with meeting Mike. I guess there is one important piece of information you need to know. Mike loves feet! I am not sure when or where this fetish began but, as we joke, if it wasn't for his foot fetish, we might never have met.
Until one summer day in 1989, Mike's life ran parallel to mine, never touching directly. Eventually the day arrived...the day we would meet. My sister invited me to go to her friend, Steve's, softball game. Of course I would go...I loved Steve...and watching all of the guys in their tight pants! Hey, I was 19! So there we were, sitting on the bench, watching "the game". And I, of course, was shoeless. I vividly remember Mike walking over to the stands to get something out of his bag...I threw a piece of ice at him and smiled. (I admit...I was a flirt) You have to imagine this next part in slow motion. He slowly turned around to determine who threw the ice at him...He looked over...saw me...saw my feet... (Do you hear the trumpets? Do you see the bright light surrounding the two of us? Do you hear the choir singing?) Okay, I am being a bit dramatic...but he did remember my "cute feet", as he calls them.
Of course, there are many more chapters to the Mike and Laura story...that is just how it begins. The rest of the book would evoke every emotion...love, anger, excitement, sadness, suspense, confusion, peace, comfort and joy. We've lived it for 18 years....we will most likely live it for 18 more...unless he finds someone with cuter feet than mine!
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