Spring 1993
My husband and I met when I was 15 and he was 17. We were both what you called mallrats and skater punks. So strange now that I think back on it. We were the definition of Generation X kids. I wouldn't call us lazy, but we knew how to have fun, rebel, and laugh in the face of conformity. We lived to be free, going to underground punk shows and enjoying the spoils of growing up in a middle class community.
I met my husband at a mall, where he was waiting in line for free preview and I was just passing by with a friend. He immediately caught my attention with his long sleek devil lock, baggy pants hanging low, and his sweet face. We later had a chance to meet when I ran into him again at the Denny's that was the hang out after the mall closed. Again, so strange how we loitered around the local businesses on a regular basis.
I was bold back then. Too much confidence for my own good. I had no problem going straight up to him at his booth and sitting with him. I knew I liked him and I wasn't going to miss my opportunity. I don't remember what we talked about, but when the night ended he wrote his phone number on a napkin and handed it to me. It was the first day of the rest of our lives together. One marked with happiness, sadness, challenges, and insurmountable pain.
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