The story of how my wife and I met. Most people think we embellish, or otherwise alter our story, but it is 100% true. I'll be as brief as possible without leaving out any of the major details.

In my small hometown (Athens, Alabama - pop: ~20,000), Wal Mart was the place to go for most of your needs, especially if you needed more than groceries. I was in Wal Mart on evening browsing the electronics/music section when I catch a glimpse of this absolutely STUNNING girl walk by. I was 18 at the time, out of high school, but still painfully shy, as I'd always been. However, I was at once smitten and REALLY wanted to talk to her, so I did what any painfully shy 18 year old guy would do, and followed her, at an overly-cautious distance until I could hopefully maneuver around to "accidentally" meet her face to face, as approaching from the rear, as much as I was enjoying the view, was ridiculously intimidating.

I tried. Hard.

I failed miserably.

She apparently didn't find what she was looking for and I obviously discarded any need to further peruse the CD selection as soon as I'd begun stalki... I mean pursuing, so out the front doors of the store she went, and in a "if she knows what I'm doing she'll call the cops" move, I followed still, maintaining a careful distance.

Into our cars, out of the parking lot, and down the road...

At this point, I begin to question my own sanity... I push myself to make either a firm commitment that, if she does stop somewhere else, I WILL actually speak to her, or to go ahead and drop this madness, and just turn around. If she does stop and I do follow, what if she recognizes me from Wal Mart? Won't that be instant "Ewww, go away!"? But I don't think she actually saw me, at least not in a way that would register that I followed her.

She turned into a convenience store. I followed. I'm SOOOOOO going to talk to her. I let her go in a few moments ahead, then followed. I enter the door and sure enough, she's got a drink in her hand and is walking back to the front of the store. This is it. Face to face. I look up and our eyes briefly lock...

Her eyes... Oh my God... I'm absolutely stunned. They are the most intriguing green-ish, gray-ish, and... almost... am I seeing this right... yellow-ish, ridiculously unique and captivatingly beautiful. I know the look on my face had to look exactly like Raphie Parker's face in A Christmas Story, when he's locked eyes on the Red Ryder in the Higbee's storefront display.

I smile sheepishly, nod, then walk to the back of the store, feigned interest in whatever drink I end up buying, and watch as she drives away into the night. Failure. Utter failure.

A few weeks later, I'm at work and get a call from a long time friend whom I hadn't heard from in quite some time. He owns a small sporting goods store in town, and says he has this girl working for him who is "trapped" (his words) in a relationship with an "older guy" (again, his words) who doesn't treat her too well. He knows I've dated some good looking girls (I wasn't as shy when I was properly introduced, it's the whole "cold approach" that terrified me) and wanted to know if I'd come try to steal her away and save her. Not exactly how I like to start a relationship, but it sounds like fun. What 18 year old guy doesn't like a good challenge, right?

The next day I take my lunch break and head to his store. I walk in and ask if Steve is in, the clerk goes in the back to get him and I walk over to the baseball caps. I hear Steve's voice as he approaches, talking to a female, but I can't really make out what they're saying. He walks through the swinging door, I walk over to shake his hand, but when the door swings back open the other way, I stop dead in my tracks.

Was that...? Surely not... I look nervously back and forth from Steve to the door. Just a moment later, she walks through. Those eyes... it's her.

I give myself a pep talk, knowing I'll be bolstered by having a mutual party to break the ice. "Game on. You got this."

She's every bit as beautiful as I remember. Our eyes meet again and this time I smile as Steve introduces us, she holds out her hand. A handshake? It's different, I guess... I can deal with that. I grasp her hand, lightly but tight enough to control the duration of our touch. I hold my gaze into those eyes as I hold her hand. "It's... (very brief dramatic pause)... nice to meet you." I say, infinitely more confidently than it reads here. Her name is Casey.

Then... as my eyes quickly take note of the rest of her face, and I release her hand, my rememberer begins skittering back many many years... I've seen her before. WAAAYYYYY before I stal... before I followed her from Wal Mart to the gas station... In my head, gears whirr and bells clang as I search through my internal index of faces from my past... Then the mechanics grind to a halt.

The school bus. First grade. FIRST GRADE???

Out of my mouth, before I've given any real thought as to how the ensuing conversation might go, gush the words "Did you go to East?" (East Limestone, one of the "county schools" in Limestone County) Only I knew she didn't go to East, I did. I went from Kindergarten through graduation, and I most certainly would have known if Casey had gone to East. I scramble back through my memories for more details, as her reply comes...

"No. I went to Clements." (Another of the county schools, Clements was on the exact opposite side of the county. Yes, there is a "West", but it's farther northwest than Clements.)

In an instant, clarity. There was a little girl that rode the same bus I did, but only for a year. She was in kindergarten when I was in first grade, and she cried. Every. Single. Day. She would cry to stay with her mother. I remember now... THAT little girl's name was Casey too... I had often wondered what happened to Casey. This was long before homeschooling was an option for kids who just didn't want to go to public schools, so I had assumed they had moved, but in my mind, of course, they went much farther than the other side of the county. I remembered on many occasions offering her something, anything she wanted, from my lunchbox, to try to make her feel better. I hated to see her cry.

"You didn't go to East, not even in..." I began, before she finished my thought, "... in kindergarten, I did. How did you..."

"And you rode Mrs. Walker's bus... right. You cried, every day... I remember. That was you, wasn't it?

Stunned, she stared deep into my soul. "Yes. Did you... were you the boy that..."

"Yeah.... I hated to see you so upset."

And now, a full 13 years into our marriage, I still hate it when those beautiful green-ish, grey-ish, yellow-ish eyes shed a tear.

And yes, I later told her about the Wal Mart incident, which she found incredibly endearing, thank God!

EDIT: By request, here's a photo of us. When we have the kids with us, it seems she or I always end up behind the camera... Just look at those eyes...