27 November 2007
Happy Birthday, Baby

Today Bram would’ve been 34. I was 33 when we got married and he would tell me I was as old as Christ was when he died. When he died, Bram was as old as Christ was when he died. I don’t know what that means; it just used to be something Bram loved to say.

Bram was 20 when I first met him. The first time we really spoke was in a theater class. The instructor told us to choose a partner. Bram was sitting behind me and he leaned forward and asked me to be his partner. I agreed. We sat down on the floor to begin some acting exercise and Bram said, “I’ll be right back.” And he walked out of the room. He never returned. I found out later that his roommates had introduced him to vodka the night before and he and vodka were still having an argument the next day. He found me later and apologized. We had several classes together that semester, and hung out in the black box between classes. We talked a lot. Bram was fascinating and funny. I started to think maybe Bram had a crush on me. My best friend agreed and told me I should ask him out. I couldn’t. Bram was much too young for me; I was 28 and he couldn’t even get into a bar legally! Wasn’t going to happen.

Bram came over to my house one day to return a prop borrowed for a show. He called to say he was coming and I was all aflutter, changing clothes, brushing my teeth, combing my hair. But I wasn’t interested in him, I told myself. He only came in long enough to drop the item off, but before he went out the door, he bent down and kissed me. Foolish me. I told him he was too young for me and it couldn’t work.

So Bram started calling me late at night, after the kids were in bed. We’d talk for hours, staying up far too late, just talking and talking. About nothing, about everything. Then he called one night and told me he was now 21 and wanted to take me out. I said yes—but only as friends. We started going out drinking and dancing and I would go home to my house and he would go home to his, and he would call me and we would talk for the rest of the night.

In January, our theatre club went to actf. I can’t remember what city it was in, but we stayed in a fancy hotel. Bram and I ended up alone in the elevator. He leaned down and kissed me. So I took him to my hotel room, sat him down on my bed, and patiently explained to him again that I was too old for him. When we got home, he stopped calling me. A few weeks later, I heard he was dating a girl from his church. It made me sad. Then I saw them sitting in the school hall together. She had her arm around his shoulder and was talking in his ear. My heart dropped. Right out of my body. I loved him! He was mine! And I realized how foolish I had been, but it was too late. He’d moved on. Then he looked up at me. His face was so sad, so lifeless. He was unhappy and it was my fault. But I couldn’t say anything. I’d told him to move on.

A week or so later, he took me into his dad’s office at the school and told me he had broken up with the girl. He never should have been with her. He was just overreacting to me telling him no. And I leaned over and kissed him. He kissed me back. And we decided to try us and see what happened.

The next time I saw him, he had shaved off all his hair.

We got married on Friday August 13, 1999. This summer we would have been married 9 years. They were the best years of my life.

thought by Bram Davidson around 12:02 AM
4 things said by the gallery