February 3, 2000

Tyler and I have a really good relationship. It is like, fun. I am comfortable around him - I can make fun of him, he can make fun of me, and neither of us is ever serious. We write notes to each other every day and talk on the phone almost every night. We talk about weird things, like what we were afraid of as kids.

Two nights ago, we were talking about our crazy relatives. He said, "One summer, my grandmother came to stay with us, and she wore this strong perfume. For the whole summer, the entire house smelled of perfume, and I smelled of perfume." In that instant, I knew I loved him. He could have said, "smelled like perfume," but instead he said, "smelled of perfume." That just made him so perfect to me. [What can I say? I have very specific taste in prepositions.]

Then last night, for some reason, I was afraid to call him. I had a weird feeling that he didn't want to talk to me. I was really hoping, though, that he would call me, because I wanted to talk to him. I was down in the basement and my sister called to me from upstairs that I had a phone call. I really, really hoped it was him, but I knew it wouldn't be, and I didn't want to get my hopes up. But when I got to the top of the stairs, my sister smiled and whispered, "It's him!" as she handed me the phone. I was so glad! I am so infatuated by him, I can't even stand it.

I remember the first time I saw him, in fifth grade. I was new to the school and Michelle was showing me who everyone was. Tyler was playing basketball, wearing a green and blue plaid parka. Michelle said, "That's Tyler. He's from England." At the time, I didn't really think twice about him, but for some reason, that memory stuck in my mind. [For someone who was from England, poor Tyler didn't act nearly as exotic as we all wished he would.]