K and I in a 2nd anniversary photo last October.
"...he became the sun and I became the moon..." ~The Other Side of The Game by Erykah Badu
It was late one night early in our relationship when me and K discovered we both loved Sunshine, a track off Lupe Fiasco's freshman album. The lyrics are sweetly innocent:
"You're my sunshine (you're my sunshine),
You're my moonlight (you're my moonlight),
You're the starry skies above me won't you please come down and hug me..."
I love the song's dreamy feel, how Lupe references the ordinary (his Jordan sneakers) and fairy tales (fire breathing dragons). In so many ways, I feel it represents my relationship with K. We met at the most ordinary, unromantic place a couple could- work. He came to fix my always-broken computer. And that meeting was so utterly ordinary, as were many of the subsequent ones. Even our first date was going to be plenty ordinary, at least for Jersey- a meal at a local diner. When we finally agreed to go out, being an administrative assistant, I scribbled the date and time down on the most typical of office supplies- a Post It note. I laugh at that now, how Post It notes were lambasted on "Sex & The City" because Carrie was dumped via one, meanwhile my relationship with my husband began on one.
When we met up, me in skinny jeans and platform sandals, fifteen minutes late, and he, wearing jeans and sneakers and carrying a bouquet of flowers... things immediately crossed from the everyday to the magical. Over the course of a few hours, I realized I was sitting across from my Knight, sans shiny armor, but with a shiny silver Civic. With an ethereal calmness, he lit up my dreary life. If there was an orchestra in my mind, although it had long since fell mute, it suddenly came to life from the "pit" of my heart. By the time we said good night- he picked me up and twirled me around... my feet floating in the air, my world an oddly stable blur- I could feel the dragons in my life receding, their flames no longer burning. I waved goodbye, smiling as my Sunshine drove off in the moonlight.
K says I'm his sunshine. But I know our roles in the song and in life. He's sunshine, and I'm moonlight. When things are dark, I know that the light I give off is a reflection of him.
Three years ago, on the first Friday in June, around this time, I was sitting at a booth in the Tropicana Diner, enjoying a first meal with the quiet, extra-ordinary guy who hailed from a tropical island. Now I'm his wife, carrying the little Sunshine he's given me. And ever so thankful for all the light.