I met Andy when I was 15.
He got in a car accident in front of my house at the start of summer, walked up and asked to use the phone, and he never left.
Before Andy, I had mix of odds and ends boyfriends.
Mostly just good for kissing and driving me around.
Andy was completely different.
He had a horrific sense of style. Basketball Jerseys. A gold Nike necklace. I am almost 100% sure his jeans were ironed. (read: wealthy white boys who like rap music and keeping it real with the “street”)
I was the first girl he kissed. And, he waited a whole month before he tried to touch my boobs.
He taught me how to drive stick, and took the blame when I backed over some old guy’s cat.
He told me I was pretty all the time.
He laid next to me in bed when I was having a dark day.
He didn’t cuss or go to church.
He pronounced the word nachos with a hard A. Which was totally weird.
He bought me a fiddle because he remembered once that I said I wanted to learn to play.
After our junior prom, we fell asleep in my bed talking about where we would travel after we graduated. He left before I woke up the next morning and was grounded for a week. He still says it was worth it.
He never treated me like I was some poor girl from the country whose dad drove a station wagon.
I ask him all the time when he realized he loved me, and he always gives me some assy answer about how he just knew.
But for me, things were a touch more clear cut.
And, they get clearer almost every single day.
Happy 29th Birthday, Baby!