I felt like I was playing dress-up. Putting on a costume, pretending to be a beautiful bride, pretending like I was getting married.
But when I saw him waiting at the gate, his back towards me, and when he turned around it became
r e a l.
so real, our hands were shaking a little.
Micah and I spent ten days together, starting on January 8th.
He arrived at the Christchurch airport around two o'clock in the morning;
I sat waiting patiently.
it was rainy, dark, wet and humid.
Our first meeting, our first hug.
I unlocked Wendy, my beat up two-door corolla, and we sat
strangers.
"Am I dreaming?" he asked.
I drove.
We arrived at the hostel and all lights were off. bed time.
I knew where our group room was, I knew where Micah's bed was and he did not.
There was no choice. I held his arm and led him through the dark, sleepy room.
strangers all around.
we were strangers too, in a way. but not, in a way.
"goodnight"
Two nights later, we talked marriage. We knew.
Five days later, we marked 'August 20th?' in his diary.
Ten days later, Micah arrived in Washington, drove directly to my parent's home and asked my father for my hand in marriage.
A few months later, Micah wrote to me about our first night meeting:
"you reached for my arm in the dark.
i would have given you my hand.
and
Katrina, had you but asked it of me,
i would have given you my heart
then and there."
Seven months later, we stood, shaking. We knew.
