Posted on September 23, 2009 - by sarahsamudre

5 Years Ago

… 5 years ago I fell the first bit in love with my future husband, after years of not-really-caring about him. This post is to celebrate that.

5 years ago, I had already known Vasant Samudre for a couple years. He was best friends with my best friend Todd. Our acquaintance had been a Mr. Darcy/Elizabeth Bennett type of acquaintance. We’d been introduced, by our gregarious, red-haired, Bingley-esque friend Todd, but hadn’t gotten along. I thought Vasant was proud. While all of Todd’s other friends quickly became my friends as well, Vasant stayed withdrawn, didn’t talk at parties, didn’t talk to me when I hosted the parties. I assumed he didn’t care for me as a person, which meant, of course, I didn’t care for him that much as a person.

That was the first two years of knowing each other, from 2002 through 2004. It was cool indifference that could, at times, be extended to pleasant socialization, if forced by Todd, to interact with each other.

But on September 23rd, 2004, something changed…

I had been recording some songs with my friends that night, and Todd and Vasant were there to watch. I remember when I stepped down from the stage, Vasant bounded up to me, lifted up his shirt, and grinning broadly, said, “Check out my new tattoo!”

Declaration: I am a sucker for tattoos.

I was taken aback by his attitude. This guy was usually so chill, so calm and sure of himself. To see him lift up his shirt and show me his tattoo in such a giddy manner endeared him to me, to say nothing, again, of what the tattoo did for me. We’d just started talking recently at a local diner the week before. I’d known him for years, and all of a sudden, out of the blue, he warmed to me, engaging me in conversation and then, five years ago tonight, randomly lifting up his shirt to show me his tattoo.

I’d never really taken the time to wonder if there were any possibilities between Vasant and I. He’d never shown interest in talking to me, let alone anything else, until the week before. He and Todd had somewhere to go, and as they said goodbye, I felt pleased and confused by his attention.

But as he and Todd left, I was confronted by someone who liked me and who hadn’t been receiving my signals that I wasn’t interested. I’d agreed to go out with two of my friends that night after we were done recording our songs. What I didn’t know was that they were bringing the guy who liked me along with the intention of setting me up.

Declaration: I am a chicken. Especially in these situations.

After learning that I was to be ambushed at a Shari’s restaurant by my scheming friends and the guy they wanted me to be set up with, I called Todd, panic-stricken.

I asked if he could come by and crash the dinner, making it a big “all friends welcome” event. But I was turned down. Todd, polite as ever, let me know he’d already agreed to go over to Vasant’s house to celebrate Vasant’s mother’s birthday. Crestfallen, I hung up and went over to Shari’s, unable to think of a way out.

Todd, in the car with Vasant, hung up with me. Vasant asked what that had been about and when Todd told him, Vasant told him to turn the car around.

They were there when I walked up to the door of the restaurant.

Had anyone shown up, had my grandmother shown up, I would’ve been relieved, grateful and giddy at the last-second rescue. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Todd and his friend Vasant, and warm and dizzy thoughts were still fluttering around from earlier.

We all sat down, and I braved the disappointed gaze of the person who’d set the evening up. I felt bad for the guy who’d been promised an evening with me, and mad at the guy who’d promised it, but in an instant, was relieved. Vasant had sat down next to my would-be-date and offered to pay for his meal. The night became friendly and easy, a crisis averted, but something else started happening. Vasant and I couldn’t take our eyes off of each other. He had payed attention to the guy who’s hopes were dashed by the intervention, but halfway through the night, our conversation became so engrossing, that everyone else disappeared. I don’t even remember when everyone left that night. I remember talking to Vasant. Noticing his mouth, his smile, and how bright his dark eyes were. We talked about travel, about what we wanted to do with our lives, about our unwillingness to settle for local life. I remember thinking how identical our thoughts and passions were.

The next thing I remember is standing outside the restaurant at one in the morning, shivering and talking by our cars for an hour. I remember feeling x-rayed by him. I remember thinking that I’d been checked out physically by men before, and I’d had guys be attracted to me because of my mind and personality before. But the way Vasant looked at me that night made me feel different, as if he was assessing the total package. I’d never felt more sexy than I did that night, under his gaze in the parking lot.

We talked for an hour, and then parted ways. I got in the car and knew something had happened. Something I’d never felt before had been kick started.

Declaration: That was the night the first bit of love bloomed in my heart for Vasant.

This morning, turning over in bed, he brushed the hair from my face and kissed my forehead.

“I wanted to ask you back to my place that night,” he said.

“I would’ve gone.” I laughed and kissed him back. “I wish you would’ve asked.”

We pretended to sleep another five minutes, peeking at each other through bed sheets, long lashes and tangled hair. We got up and started the day and I’ve been thinking about what happened five years ago all day. What if he hadn’t come to my rescue, or broken his ultra-cool and reserved facade to show me his tattoo? Would I have ever looked at him deeper? How long would it have taken? We’ve known each other for seven years now, have been fascinated by one another for five, and married for four.

I’m almost glad the night ended with me driving away, wondering what happened. I like remembering the feeling that something in my heart had ripped open for him, and for some reason, I cried on the way home because of it. My heart knew much better than I did that day.