The In Between Time

The Next Great Adventure: A True Story

The In Between Time

Cindy at Fleetwood Mac - Sept 1982

The summer of 1982 was wonderfully confusing. I was making a real salary with a real company, but my responsibilities were vague and money was still tight. I had developed a new group of friends in Denton and Garland, but could feel my old Pampa friendships beginning to fray and dreaded losing them. Most importantly, I was free to spend time, openly, with Cindy, but never without knowing it was complicated.

By July we knew I was moving to Atlanta. I had flown out to interview for a supervisor opening and the promotion was approved. Cindy was separated and living at home, which meant her parents were involved and they were not happy with our relationship. I was consumed with moving and career plans and spending enough time with Cindy to build a romantic relationship. Cindy was overwhelmed with housing and money and family and what to do about Ricky. He was still very much a part of her life in small town Rowlett where everyone knew them as a couple, and divorce is never a quick, easy or painless thing. We were living in two places emotionally, the comfort of our relationship and the chaos of personal lives, and soon to be living in two places physically.

It was wonderful because we had each other and together we saw nothing but hope and potential. It was confusing because in our separate lives there was chaos, and we knew that too many things could go wrong to ruin that hope.

Towards the end of July my office buddies decided to throw a going away party for me at some club that was famous for fruity drinks and fifties music. It was a Friday night and the next day I was to fly to Amarillo to see my family before moving far, far away to Atlanta. I've told the story here before but the short of it was that I was hungover and Cindy took care of me, getting me on the plane and on time. That was the first time I asked her to marry me. She was not impressed.

I moved to Atlanta and Cindy stayed in Dallas. I spent a lot of time finding a beer I could tolerate from the convenience store across the street, and Cindy got a part time job at Tom Thumb, checking groceries, to pay for long distance phone charges and plane tickets. I wrote a lot of letters. She sent me a lot of cards. Without Cindy my social life was non-existent; I couldn't hang out with co-workers and didn't know anyone in the city. Without me Cindy had plenty of time to wonder about where things were going with me and with Ricky.

In those first few weeks apart it was obvious that Cindy was struggling. Aside from the financial and what-to-do-about-her-marriage stress, I could tell she was concerned about me, that she was unsure of how serious I was, how committed I might be. I tried to convince her to move to Atlanta, to just move in with me and let me prove how serious I was. She declined. She said she wouldn't move without a real commitment and that paralyzed me. She had no desire to move to Atlanta for some sort of test run and I had no confidence in marriage. It was something I never envisioned for myself, something that had always seemed less than ideal. I had been observing marriages for a long time, and I was unimpressed.

With letters and cards we reassurred each other of how much we missed being together. With late night phone calls we talked about the divorce and finances and love and the weather. We were absolutely miserable being apart, but we were utterly frightened about what it would take to be together permanently.

Cindy came to Atlanta Labor Day weekend. I don't know that I've ever been more excited to see someone. I'm always early to the airport, but this time I got there extra early and decided to kill time in an airport bar. I wrote two letters to her sitting at that bar, waiting for her to arrive. I met her at the gate and held her hand or hugged her close until I had to let go to carry her luggage. We drove straight to my apartment. I told her I had a surprise for her there. She read my bar letters on the way.

The apartment was woefully underfurnished, but before I left for the airport I put a blanket on the floor of the dining room, along with roses, some sort of sparkling wine on ice, and a basket with some sandwiches, cheese, crackers, chocolates. In front of all this was a handwritten note which she apparently saved because I found it just the other day ...

After reading it she looked at me and said "Your eyes are doing that sparkle thing again" and I asked her to marry me, and this time she said yes.

The wedding was planned for January and there was, of course, lots to do. Chief among them was getting the divorce finalized! We determined to do the wedding on a shoestring and pay for it ourselves since her parents had already paid for one big wedding. We spent the next few months making plans. The tone of our conversations changed. I stopped trying to sell her on what a wonderful person I was and began trying to help Cindy get past all of the practical and emotional hurdles, while convincing myself this was the right thing to do.

Is it wise to get married so soon after a divorce is final? Her parents were concerned for many reasons. My parents were unconcerned and completely unexcited. How much would we be able to see each other before the wedding since we had to pinch pennies? How much was this going to cost and where could we have it?  Cindy was concerned about bringing baggage from her first marriage into a second one. I was concerned about Ricky; they had been together for years and he was very close with the Calhouns. Money. Moving. Arranging time off from work. Was this meant to be? Could we make this work? It seemed there was no end to the questions or the doubt.

When the thing that convinces you that you are in love is the delicious ache in your heart when the other is away, and the joy and excitement when they are near, it makes you wonder what always being together will do to you. I was 23, and thought I knew everything. She was 21, and thought she had enough experience to make a good decision. We struggled in this time between adventures, this time apart, but we struggled together and it made us stronger and more confident in ourselves and our love.

From the outside looking in I'm sure there was lots of head-shaking and questioning. It had to have seemed rash to others, but there was no other way. I knew I needed her, and I think she needed me. She was adamant that she would not move forward without a real commitment from me. I don't blame her for insisting, and honestly I think more people should. I knew she had to make the decision to end her first marriage on her own. She knew I had to make the commitment to marry her on my own, with eyes wide open. It was the right thing to do. She helped me see it. I have never regretted that decision.

Cindy visited again in October and at Thanksgiving, much to the dismay of her family. We had Stouffer's frozen lasagna for Thanksgiving dinner because it's what I had and the stores were closed. I came to Texas for Christmas and Cindy flew to Amarillo to meet my family. Just a few weeks later I was back. We were married on Saturday, January 15th, 1983, in the chapel of the First Methodist Church in Denton, TX by Rev. John Mollet. On Sunday, we loaded her things in a U-Haul trailer and headed to Atlanta to for the next adventure.

One final note to close this chapter. The Calhoun family does a pretty good job of remembering that January 15th is our anniversary, but they have a truly remarkable ability to recall the events of the following day, January 16th. It was the day that Granny Pearly cooked fried chicken for us and cussed me, threatening me if I didn't bring Cindy home, back to Texas, and soon. It was also the day I stuck Cassey's head in the ceiling fan. Now that I look back, January 16th, 1983 pretty much set the tone for how awkward and tense my relationship with my in-laws would be for the next few years.