The phone rang. Anxiously, I picked it up. It was him.
“Hey, did I see you at a dance last night?”
“Uh, yeah. Probably.” I answered sheepishly. “Just there with a friend that asked me a long time ago.” I played it off nonchalantly.
“So, um,  are you sure you still want to get together?” he asked hesitantly.
“You bet!” I immediately replied, trying to sound as excited as possible.
“Next weekend sound okay?”
“I’ll plan on it.” Phew! He’s still interested. A serious disaster had just been avoided.

Later that week, I came home from class to find a note on my bed.
    Cherie—
        Jeff called to cancel. Going to his grandpa’s funeral in Arizona. He’ll call later.

Oh, nice. A funeral? That’s a classic excuse. He’s obviously letting me down easy. Probably doesn’t want an attached girl. I don't blame him. Well, I better get over it.

Much to my surprise, he called back. He did go to Arizona. And we were still on.

The night was cold and snowy when he arrived to pick me up. After so much anticipation of this long-awaited encounter, he was finally at my door. He smelled good. 
Our plan was to attend a Vocal Point concert in Provo. Unfortunately, we arrived to find it was already sold out.
“No problem,” he assured me. “Plan B then. Do you want to drive up the canyon to Granny’s”
Sounded great. The drive would provide us with ample time to talk. I sat there with my eyes affixed on him. We chatted about his parents, life before the mission and life after. Every conversation seemed magical. He held up a hand as he spoke intently.
“Whoah! Your hands!” I exclaimed.
“What? What?” he asked nervously.
I reached for them to look closer.
“Those are your dad’s hands. I know them well.” It was slightly eerie to see them reincarnated on the boy next to me. And yet it was comfortable. It was right. Then again, holding them might be a different story.

Half way up the canyon, we saw lights—too many flashing lights. This was not a good sign. The canyon was closed due to snow. We’d have to turn around.
“Ok, Plan C.” He laughed. “Dinner in town then. Olive Garden?”
“It’d be our luck that they’re closed due to an e-coli outbreak.”  I joked.

We continued on driving until we got back into town. It would have been normal to feel awkward and embarrassed at this point. Seriously, how many more things could go wrong on our first date?  Somehow I felt myself not caring at all about the foiled plans. I was just happy to be close to him, listening to him speak, and hoping he was feeling the same.

At last we made it to the restaurant and got on the list. Now just another hour wait to be seated. This was Provo on a weekend, after all.

We looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to the car. He flipped on some music and the conversation resumed.
“Want to know what I’d really like to do right now?” He asked.
“I’d love to drive to an open field, turn the music up loud, get out and dance with you.” 

Is he for real? I wondered. Either he’s rehearsed one too many sappy romantic lines or he’s Mr. Knightley in the flesh. I probed his eyes. No, he was genuine. And he was making my knees turn to mush.

His car stopped and then slowly turned the corner as I stood at the doorstep. Did he really think I wouldn’t recognize the LeBaron? Maybe he was subtlety reminding me that he had his eye on me. My roommate (also a Barcelona alum) and I quickly went in and I peeked out the window to see his car pass by one more time. Would he come in, crash the party and escort me home? Well, I didn’t have time to worry about that. There was a room to work. I quickly scanned the scene—lots of great friends, lots of familiar faces, and a few promising possibilities. I spotted the areas I needed to be in to casually make myself seen having a good time, and then get eye contact. You know how that game works.

Things seemed to be working well when three guys across the room caught my eye. They were surrounded by plenty of girls talking and laughing. Hmmm… I don’t remember them. They must have served before my time. I turned to my roomie and asked if she knew the unfamiliar faces.
“Oh, that’s President Mask’s son and some friends of his,” she informed me.
Interesting. Wonder why they’re here? I thought. Then it was back to work. Not much time left to get noticed.

I’m not sure how it happened but a few minutes later I wound up talking with the two unknown friends. Small talk ensued. They seemed friendly. Although maybe a bit too friendly. I couldn’t be sure of their motives. I was secretly praying that neither of them were looking to ask me out. I wouldn’t have the heart to explain that I am one of those shallow girls who can’t be taller than the man. It’s a whole Amazon Queen complex I’ve got going. Extremely complicated.

“Yeah, we’re just here with Jeff Mask,” they explained. “He roped us into coming to keep him company.”
Sigh. Okay so they’re not on the prowl.
“That’s nice of you.” I remarked. “I’ve never met him.”
“You don’t know, Jeff?” They acted surprised.
“Well, hey, Jeff! Come on over here,” they motioned, pulling him into our circle and then conveniently disappearing into the crowd.

“Hi.” I said politely.
“Hey.” He replied. “Nice to meet you.”
His charismatic smile engulfed me. He's cute, I thought. Ah good, and he’s taller. Amazon complex repressed.
Then an echo whispered in my mind, You should look up my son…
“Oh, yes.” I recalled. “Your dad told me about you over in Spain.”
His green eyes sparkled. “Funny,” he grinned. “He told me about you too.”
My insides tingled as I felt my smile growing wider.      
He intrigued me. I wanted to know more about him. Much more.

We kept talking. I kept smiling. Something about him fascinated me. I felt overwhelmingly happy in his presence.
“We should get together sometime,” he said.
“Definitely.” I nodded.
This feels good, I thought. I can’t wait.
“Let me get your number,” he said as he pulled a small piece of torn paper out of his pocket. Fumbling, he turned it over and quickly scrawled my number on it.
“Is that it?” He reached out to show me. My fingers moved forward and brushed his.
"Mmm hmm." I tingled again.

Leaving the party, I felt victorious. Things were looking up. I was breaking away and thrilled to have options. And what’s more, good options.

The next morning Home Teacher called early. “How was your party?” he interrogated.
“Fun.” I replied.
“Are we still on for the dance tonight?” he asked.

I hoped the night would fly by. Dance after dance, I watched the clock. Another slow song came on and we moved to the middle of the floor. I looked over and saw a group of guys wearing funky shirts, ties and bell-bottoms. I giggled inside. That’s so BYU, I thought. Crashing a semi-formal in disco. I love it! Wish it were me. Suddenly I saw Jeff’s face clearly in the middle of the group. Mortified, I ducked my head into Home Teacher’s shoulder.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, fine.” I squirmed.

This can’t be happening! I thought, panicking. If he sees me here wrapped around this guy, it's over. Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! I need to hide. Somewhere. Anywhere to stay out of view of the blue bell-bottomed clan.

I spent the rest of the night sweating profusely, dodging between couples and burrowing my face into Home Teacher. This only fueled his fire, I’m sure. He took my hand in his as the lights went up and we walked off the dance floor. Undoubtedly Jeff must have seen me with what appeared to be a very significant other. He'd be crazy to still call. But, oh please, say that he will.

“Yeah, sure. I can do that.” I replied.
“He’ll be coming home from his mission soon and heading to school there too.” Pres. Mask noted.

Oh, that’s it. I thought. I bet he’s telling all the missionaries to befriend his son so he won’t be lonely. I’m not much of a social butterfly, but yeah, I can definitely say hi if I happen to see him across campus. No problem.

A week later, I was home. A week later, his son left Buenos Aires and arrived in Barcelona.

The world at home was strange. Or I was strange. My clothes were out of style. My hair was out of style. I mean bangs? Who in their right mind still had bangs? Oh wait. I did. I guess I needed to get a new look, get a new wardrobe, get a new identity or something. It all seemed so overwhelming.

During the days, I spent time with my sister trying to get in style and catch up on trends and movies I had missed. And at nights, I spent time thinking how I didn’t care much about those things but rather the people I missed in Spain. On more than one occasion, I found myself lying in bed glancing over at a paper hanging on my bedroom wall. While I was gone, my mom had hung it right next to the big mission countdown sticker thingamabob. On the paper was a picture of Pres. & Sister Mask with a short bio and photo of their entire family. Looking at it gave me some comfort in my homesickness for the missionary me.  

But life had to move forward, and so did I. I moved back down to school with great anticipation for the unknown awaiting me. Settling in to a new normal wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was actually fun to scope out the single scene, bat my eyes, and get a date here and there. Yet somehow this dating had a bit more meaning than it had in the past. There was a “testing the waters” feeling that permeated conversations—a no nonsense, no time to waste feeling. And way in the back of my thoughts was that little no doubts criteria that always inevitably crept in.

Entering the scene was a guy who I’ll call Home Teacher. And yes that’s exactly what he was—my Home Teacher. Now most normal people know to never, ever get involved when you’ve got church relationships on the line. Believe me, I didn’t really want to get involved with him. He wasn’t my type at all—a tall, blond basketball player. Nope. Blond was never my thing. Give me dark and handsome and I’ll swoon any day. But he was persistent. Boy was he ever persistent. And I gave in.

Before I knew it I was knee deep in this thing called love. Somehow it just never felt like love, to me at least. It was like trying to dance the waltz in hiking boots. But he kept telling me it could work, so I kept stumbling and hoping someone else would cut in. I had visions of Mr. Knightley coming to knock some sense into me and sweep me away. No such luck.

I started to entertain the idea that you could marry someone even if you didn’t really love them and eventually you’d grow into love.  Maybe I just need to accept this, I thought. Maybe this is the plan for me. He’s good. He’s kind. No. No. It couldn’t be. Marriage is a grand reward for kindness.

The year 2000 rang in somewhat bittersweet. I was hoping for some kind of firework romance but it was a quickly fizzling dud. Surely the new year had to bring some sort of change, right? I attempted to tell Home Teacher that this waltz was all too wrong for me. He played deaf. And kept bringing me different shoes to try on.

I realized the only way to make change happen was to become available. Home Teacher wasn’t happy about this. I was. But how exactly does one make herself appear available? Fish net tights and boots aren’t my thing. Feeling a bit hopeless, I tried to distance myself.  

Then one afternoon while checking email, I glanced at an interesting subject line—A Dia de Los Reyes Fiesta! I opened it with excitement to find out about a Spain Barcelona mission reunion the following week. This is it! I rejoiced, An entire room full of guys to check out. I had a plan. I would leave the party with a date invitation. Oh yes, I would.

Preparing carefully for the party, I picked out my best cute girl clothes—a navy sweater borrowed from my roommate, slick grey pants, and a hint of my favorite perfume. I arrived with my game on. It seemed like the perfect strategic opportunity. Only one itty bitty problem: Home Teacher had followed me.  

stay tuned…

i realize this may be interesting to some and down right boring to others. but for me…when my mind is old and feeble, i will be glad to have a record of our story.

Dating was the last thing on my mind. And besides that, it wasn’t even an option at the time. Thoughts about a future husband? Are you kidding? I was a missionary in Spain—doing missionary things and focusing on just about everything but me and the man I would end up with forever.

It was transfer day and I was leaving my beloved area for a new adventure down south. I figured it would probably be my last area. I had only 2 short months left before returning home. Excited, nervous, and wanting to really put the pedal to the metal down the home stretch, I asked a ward leader and respected friend to give me a blessing—some divine counsel to guide me towards a strong finish.

With my ears piqued, I listened intently to his words. In my mind I was taking careful note of the things I needed to do and the person I needed to be. Got it. Check. Yep, I’ll remember that. Somehow in the midst of it, my mental notes shifted to What? Did he say what I think he just said? Whoa. That was odd. Really odd.
And then it was time to go.

During the long train ride down the picturesque Mediterranean coast, his words kept running circles around me,  “When you return home, you will have absolutely no doubts about the man you are to marry.” How weird, I thought. First off, I’m not going home yet. So, love life? Not my focus. Second, there are no prospects awaiting me. Except maybe one. And he's nice, but nice can only go so far. And lastly, I’m a born doubter. So it would be nothing short of a miracle. I decided I might as well get all these thoughts on paper just in case I might need them for future reference. Way, way. waaaaaay down the road, of course.

Tucking those thoughts away, I went to work. And work we did. I didn’t want to go back to normal life. To have to think about myself and be caught up in the trivial stuff like school, and a job, and that messed up world called the dating scene. But the time soon came to shift gears. And my mission president knew that. He scheduled my exit interview on a summer afternoon in July.

We talked. I cried. He counseled—giving me the usual goodness full of wisdom and love that came from him. He was one of my heroes, a father figure during a pivotal time. And his wife, well I knew I wanted to be just like her someday. He asked me what my plans were upon returning home. I had only one for sure. I was going back to school at BYU to brave what I considered to be the jungle of love—made up of those with well-drawn maps looking for it, those already entangled in it, and those who had sworn it was a remote tribe of natives that could never be found.

“Ah, BYU. That’s a good place to be.” He smiled. “You should look up my son when you get there.”

to be continued…