Transfers

Oddly enough, near a year into our Georgia apartment, Craig is still driving his New York State-plated car around. I don't know what exactly persuaded him to change the plates on his car in Syracuse in the first place, primarily because if memory serves me correctly, he didn't get those plates until he already had one foot out of the state of New York. When I first moved to St. Louis my jalopy gave me its notice of resignation in the form of a retired clutch which would have cost more to replace than the worth of the whole car, therefore I purchased my first-ever self-owned vehicle; what other to do than get a MO-issued plate and driver's license? Craig, however, prefers to play with proverbial fire: once, traveling through Central New York, we were pulled over and he possessed, at that point, his Michigan driver's license, Connecticut plates, and a New York State residence. As luck would have it, the confused officer wound up scratching his head and shrugging it off, not motivated enough to inquire further into Craig's sheepish explanation: "I work in construction and move around a lot." The officer unfortunately did not neglect to give Craig a speeding ticket.*Craig's 28th birthday was, for the record, the single and only 18th of October that I did not get to spend with him since I've known him. We were back together; it wasn't that. The timing of his casino project compounded by the cost of plane tickets to Syracuse from St. Louis and vice versa dictated which weekends we would have together. And it just so happened, much to Craig's delight, that his very favorite band in the whole history of bands, Pearl Jam, had announced a short-lived tour on behalf of the Election...one of the venues just so happened to be located not only in St. Louis, but on the same block where my apartment building stood just inside the city limits. What better birthday present for the boyfriend I had just gotten back than 2 tickets to see Pearl Jam at the Fabulous Fox, an intimate elaborate theater that we could walk to within one minute of leaving my apartment? And as if that were just not enough, my boss manipulated two tickets for us to the first Cardinals playoffs game, a day game, at Busch Stadium, maybe 10 rows off the field along 3rd base line. I got to take Craig to PaddyO's, the fantastic Cardinals bar just off old 7th street south of the stadium, and we went to the game, and we went to the Pearl Jam show later that evening. All of this happened the weekend of the 5th instead of on or nearer his actual birthday. But it was so memorable, the whole chain of events, that it made it worthwhile.*I still called my mom on his birthday sobbing how unfair it was that I did not get to give him his real birthday hug, a real hug on the real day. She cynically explained to me, It happens to all of us eventually, we eventually miss an important day or two at some point.*When Craig was 28, we decided to move in together. I don't remember specifics of how it fell into place; I didn't cling to the idea for fear it would self-destruct if my grip were too tight. Even when Craig announced it to his family that we had decided it, I let my heart linger in neutral territory, just in case Craig changed his mind.*But he didn't. He traveled to Atlanta mid to late November, I believe? Possibly early December he flew down to Georgia to scope it out. We even spent Thanksgiving apart, but it couldn't matter: we were moving to Atlanta, me and Craig, my longest time dream come true having to do with another human being ever. We spent Christmas with our respective families, I in Indianapolis, Craig in Whiting, and he packed a couple of pieces of childhood furniture from his parents' house on a Monday, the Monday following Christmas, drove down to St. Louis, where I checked the window every ten minutes within the hour he was to arrive. I had driven that same morning from Indy, but had beat him to the Lou by about that one hour. The whole thing was too emotional for this Craig tribute to do justice. It happened so quickly, my heart was pumping at such rapid rates! And the rest is where I've come with him to date.*At 28, Craig moved in with his girlfriend. At 28, Craig saw a Van Gogh exhibit in Atlanta. He spent some time at Turner Field, including his first whole baseball series between two teams, when the Cardinals came to town. He spent a weekend in Nashville, TN. He spent a weekend in a cabin in North Carolina. He learned about pesto stuffed pork chops. He saw an entire weekend of music downtown, which included but certainly was not limited to the White Stripes, the Features, the Killers, the Lemonheads, Tegan & Sara, Tom Petty in the pouring rain!, Def Leppard!!...and more. He experienced other incredible Atlanta venues: Dave Attell at the Tabernacle, Billy Corgan at Earthlink Live, Sleater-Kinney at Variety Playhouse, Liz Phair at the Roxy. He saw Pauly Shore at the Punchline. He met his second niece in New Mexico, he saw Purdue football in Arizona. He watched his little sister get married. He entered the world of project management at work. He cheered his long loved Chicago White Sox right into the World Series. So much...and to think, I've left out so much as well. He's unbelievable, he's this amazing thing. Tomorrow begins his 29th year...we'll kick it off together with home-made stir-fry that he loves, maybe some wine, a rented movie...and so much more to come. Regardless of what may happen in our futures, nearer than we think, with his job and a potential transfer sooner than we expected, we're together now. We're home.