Serendipity

It was 7 years ago at a Halloween “Heaven and Hell” party that I met Greg. Izzy was only a preschooler and I was a single Mum so it was pretty momentous for me to be going out at all. I was majorly excited as it’d been ages since I’d been to a house party (other than my own) in fancy dress and my date was my darling friend Sandra who I always had heaps of good clean fun with. We had both been going to Latin dance classes and our invite came from some of the guys there. They were all into going to the gym and working out (I think that’s how Greg knew some of them?) so seeing them all dressed in nothing much but a pair of angel wings and some glitter or a set of devil horns and a studded choker was going to be all right.

I’d spent all my spare change on artificial roses. Sandra and I waxed supreme and looked like a delectable pair of seraphs. I remember on our drive to the party sending out a silent message to the universe just to let the all-knowning know (?) that I was ready to meet someone. Someone just for me that I could get all serious about. And that I did!

He wasn’t dressed up with his chest out gleaming like all the others. He did have too much of the wet-look gel in his hair, disguising it’s glorious colour. I had my video camera on record when I went up to him boldly and demanded to know who he and his friend were. He told me he was Greg the Patron Saint of Guidance and asked me if it hurt when I fell from heaven. Him and his mate Paul where probably brainstorming pick-up-lines they could use on girls who would be all dressed up like angels and cherubs. I ended up sharing my bottle of Galliano with them both and they marveled at my age (Greg has only just become older than I was when I first met him all those years ago!) He spent a lot of the night trying to convince me to join them in town via their unit down the hill in the next suburb. I think they had been invited to a 21st as well but I was adamant about staying with Sandra and they never ended up going anywhere anyway. I didn’t give him my number but he committed my surname to memory when I told him I was in the phonebook. I knew I’d met a couple of fun guys to be firm friends with and that made me smile a lot. As far as relationship material – I wasn’t quite sure.

For the next couple of weeks Greg called over home a lot and he was really welcome. We’d look through photo’s and tell each other about our dreams. We revealed personal stuff to one another instantly, I told him about my train fetish and he cried his eyes out in front of me describing a particular bad dream. We’d watch movies together, have adventures up the creek and he and Paul would come over for swims. We went out clubbing with groups of friends and I took Izzy to the basketball courts to watch his games.

Good times, good times. One day I saw this look on his face that just ignited a spark in me and then I had the hots for him bad! Which suited him fine!

I remember the first time I touched his hands, I noticed how good looking they were – beautiful fingers and perfect square nails, despite the grimy black shit he had all over them from work which I cleaned off with some essential oils or nail polish remover or something only a girl would have. Then I was amazed at his huge “chicken wings” – the muscle on your palm underneath you thumb – that on him were like, massively overdeveloped from picking up sheets of steel at work, we were both laughing at his overly-muscled-disfigurement. I remember we were cruising around in the casino the first time I slipped my hand into his. His rough strong hands where a surprising nice change to all the baby soft-muso’s hands I’d been holding on to up until that point.

Once we had each other we couldn’t get enough. We just drank each other up.

We’re both a couple of spitfires and our relationship is sometimes problematic and often punctuated with a good screaming match here and there but I’m still crazy about him – his infectious laugh and that dip above his top lip still makes me melt.

And so it’s around Halloween that I celebrate another year of sharing my life with my beautiful man. His good strong arms are still there to wrap me up and his hand outstretched for me to hold.

It’s also a time when we remember Paul. He was a beautiful honey too. Always up for a cuppa and a heart-to-heart. He was only 21 when he was taken from his huge posse of loving friends under really fucked up circumstances. But we’ll never let your memory die ‘hey Bunge?’

Happy Halloween!