I met my partner waiting for the ferry to go to Fire Island on a rainy Saturday in April. He had just lost his best friend and mentor to AIDS. I was weeks away from losing my mother to ovarian cancer.
His friend's partner had called him that morning and said, "I'm out here in the Pines planting the garden, and I can't face it by myself. Can you come out and help me?
My mother had called me that morning and said, "Aren't your housemates opening up the house for the season this weekend? Go out and help them. I promise nothing will happen to me before Monday."
Both of us got on the train to Sayville sad and anxious.
It was before the season, so the ferry schedule was not yet coordinated with the arrival of the trains. We each got to the ferry landing in Sayville to find it would be an hour and a half before the ferry left. Just him, me and my dog.
And in that hour and a half, two things happened: The rain clouds dispersed and the sun came out, and the three of us fell in love. It was the last thing any of us expected to happen that weekend. (Except the dog, maybe.)
That was 19 years ago.