The Strenuous Life The wrong door
The young man opened his lunch sack and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in a napkin. Blue ink bled through the white paper towel and he opened it, coyly shielding it from the others sitting near him. After reading, he smiled and quickly folded it into his pocket. It was just three lines. It was a love letter from his new wife.
The young man had a habit of composing handwritten letters to his wife when he traveled. He found scraps of paper along the way and converted them into quick notes—usually describing what he missed about her. Other times, he’d deftly place a note under her pillow or in her drawer or in her own lunch sack. The letters did not come often as frequency would steal the impact. Instead, he placed them like Easter eggs to be found throughout the years. She did the same.
The young man had never been suave. He generally stumbled through conversations with pretty girls and blasted awkwardness like a billboard. One night, he agreed to go on a double date with a friend who wanted the ease of having another couple along. The young man had known his date for years so there was no pressure; he was just the buffer. The young man and his buddy walked through the front door of the girls’ apartment complex and stood stumped. The entryway light was burned out and they could not see the apartment numbers. They guessed.
After knocking on a door, the young men heard an older lady’s voice warily asking, “Who is it?”
The young man’s friend whispered, “Wrong apartment, let’s go…”
But, the young man just couldn’t do it. “No, you go on, I’ll talk to her. It’ll scare her if she opens the door and no one’s here.”
“Suit yourself,” the friend said as he scampered to the next door.
The older lady opened the door clutching a tightly cinched robe and the young man quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We knocked on the wrong door. We were looking for the girls who live around the corner.”
The older lady smiled. “Going on a date, are you?”
“Something like that,” he said. “I’m the tagalong for my friend tonight.”
The lady continued to smile, “Don’t waste your time on that. You look like a nice young man. Do you know my granddaughter, Ann?” The young man remembered their circles had intersected in high school but he didn’t really know her.
“Not really, but I’ve heard of her.” “You should meet her someday. She’s something special.”
The young man smiled and said, “Yes, ma’am. Sorry to bother you tonight.”
The old lady responded kindly, “No bother at all.”
Two months later the young man begrudgingly attended a December wedding at the big cathedral downtown. He sat on the right side of the church and caught sight of a pretty blonde about his age sitting to his left, her face reflected in the Christmas lights. She looked familiar. Fully engaged in the wedding, she smiled throughout it. The young man couldn’t stop staring.
The reception was held at an old mansion in the historic district and the young man saw the pretty blonde again. She was talking to one of his friends and the young man knew that if he was ever to meet her, this would be the time.
So, the never-suave, awkwardness-on-a-billboard young man approached the pretty blonde and she smiled. He introduced himself. She stuck out her hand and said, “Nice to meet you. I’m Ann.”
The young man nodded, “I know your grandmother.”
The pretty blonde tilted her head with a quizzical look and the young man explained the story of knocking on the wrong door. It was the best thing for the pretty blonde to hear as she loved her grandmother dearly. Turning, the blonde pointed at an older lady. “She’s right there!”
From across the room, the older lady smiled and waved.
That night began a conversation that lasted through the years. The awkward young man and the pretty blonde girl married. They raised a large family. Their relationship lasted because it became a friendship that understood weaknesses and augmented strengths.
It’s not that they were without fault; much the opposite. It’s that they could always go back to the good in their lives and they actively searched for new paths that would lead to more good. They experienced the highs and lows of relationships, but always came back to that night in December when their conversation started because of a knock on a wrong door.
There are those who like the quiet and those who like the carnival. They loved the carnival. They tried to do things differently. Little notes appeared stuffed into lunch sacks and under pillows.
Earlier this week, the couple talked about that night they met. They talked about how it was a cold December evening with Christmas lights adding a comfortable glow. They talked about how wrong doors can easily be turned into life-changing right paths.
Today, the pretty blonde will read these words as she sits with her husband somewhere in New York City. She will read these words and know unmistakably that it’s a love letter. A love letter sent on the 25th anniversary of that December night.