Meet the Man
Joe House does not wait for the oven to pre-heat before putting his frozen pizza in, because if it's already slightly warmer inside the oven, why keep the pizza in a cold kitchen? I think that is the only logical explanation as to why he asked me to be his girlfriend after only knowing each other for eleven days.
Even though our story technically starts at the beginning of of that eleven-day frenzy, for me, it started almost a year prior. I found a free afternoon at the tail end of spring break and went to a Wabash baseball game to hang with my friend, Tucker, whose brother was a freshman on the team. Tucker kicked back and chugged a half-gallon of chocolate milk while the announcer called the next at bat: #42, a senior catcher who swaggered up to home plate to the rhythm of a walk-up song that changed my world:
I've got an old church choir singing in my soul,
I've got a sweet salvation and it's beautiful.
It was a song I'd heard dozens of times but never ever expected to hear at a Wabash baseball game. I immediately pulled up an online roster to do a little more investigating of this mysteriously worshipful #42. When his picture loaded on my dimly lit iPhone screen, I audibly gasped. He was an 11/10 straight up stunner with blonde hair and blue eyes and a smile that I wanted to come home to for the rest of my LIFE. dramatic? yes. the truth? also yes.
I immediately texted my mom: cute maybe-Christian baseball player at the Bash. Work your magic.
Mom, a semiprofessional stalker, texted her friend whose husband helped coach the team. This friend's husband also happened to be my dentist, so after a few texts back and forth and one slightly-less-miserable-than-usual dentist appointment, I found out this #42 was not only "the best guy anyone had ever met," but also planning to be a teacher in inner-city Indy through Teach For America.
I was absolutely shocked that someone like that could actually be real. I hustled back to that same dimly-lit iPhone screen and scurried to engage in the standard millennial modern-day expression of interest: an Instagram following. He followed me back and we immediately hit it off. I'm kidding. We didn't talk for nine months.
In fact, I pretty much forgot that he existed, which paralleled his own state of never really knowing I existed, so we leveled the playing field and basked comfortably in social media silence. Plus, he graduated, and I was at school two hours away, and we'd surely never see each other again. After all, he went to college for four years in my tiny hometown. If we didn't see each other then, we certainly weren't going to see each other once he left Crawfordsville. I was back at Taylor, enjoying the single life with all my single friends and not really thinking about #42 other than some occasional suppressed giddiness when he would like one of my pictures on Instagram.
He seemed light years out of my league so I didn't pursue him. For nine months. Then, on a cold Thursday of Christmas Break, I got coffee with my good friend, Morgan, who told me she randomly felt bold and asked her bank teller on a date. I admired her spontaneity and wondered who in my life I could randomly find to ask out. Call it thirsty or call it fearless; I'll accept either. We talked about what we wanted in a future boyfriend and I said it would be sweet to have a blonde baseball player with a heart for inner-city kids...as if anyone like that actually existed.
But on the way home, I pondered the idea more. It was Christmas Break, I had no plans. What harm could a little boldness do? When Lilly told me she was thinking of applying for Teach for America, all the puzzle pieces finally fit together.
"Lilly, straight up, I follow a guy on instagram who does TFA. Should I ask him how it is?"
"HA. YES!"
Thank you, Lilly. Instagram DM Sent. No qualms. No hesitation. No moments of panic. I typed and sent the message in the same breath, tossed my phone onto the couch, and went for a run. I hardly thought twice about it. There was a weird amount of peace, but also an awareness that I had nothing to lose. I said something about applying for TFA, something about hearing he was a TFA member, something about maybe having a few questions for him. Nothing was going to come from that.
Then... he messaged back. And all of a sudden, I was thinking twice about it. I remembered how attractive I thought he was at the game. I remembered his reputation based on the words of my dentist and the salvation-singing melody of his walk-up song. And before I knew it, I realized I cared 4% about TFA and 96% about Joe House. Still, I faked my way through a few questions about how he got involved and what his experience was like.
Two days later, I had made up as many questions as I possibly could about his teaching program. Finally, after expending every last bit of interrogation and, despite thoroughly enjoying the conversation, I motioned to say goodbye.
"Well, Joe, thank you so much for all the info! I'll keep thinking through this application process!"
...
I expected, perhaps, another nine months of silence. Maybe longer.
Then, in what could have been the smoothest first move of the century, he said,
"No problem, Cali. If you have any more questions, I'd be down to get coffee sometime."
And suddenly I had more questions.
(to be continued)
Even though our story technically starts at the beginning of of that eleven-day frenzy, for me, it started almost a year prior. I found a free afternoon at the tail end of spring break and went to a Wabash baseball game to hang with my friend, Tucker, whose brother was a freshman on the team. Tucker kicked back and chugged a half-gallon of chocolate milk while the announcer called the next at bat: #42, a senior catcher who swaggered up to home plate to the rhythm of a walk-up song that changed my world:
I've got an old church choir singing in my soul,
I've got a sweet salvation and it's beautiful.
It was a song I'd heard dozens of times but never ever expected to hear at a Wabash baseball game. I immediately pulled up an online roster to do a little more investigating of this mysteriously worshipful #42. When his picture loaded on my dimly lit iPhone screen, I audibly gasped. He was an 11/10 straight up stunner with blonde hair and blue eyes and a smile that I wanted to come home to for the rest of my LIFE. dramatic? yes. the truth? also yes.
I immediately texted my mom: cute maybe-Christian baseball player at the Bash. Work your magic.
Mom, a semiprofessional stalker, texted her friend whose husband helped coach the team. This friend's husband also happened to be my dentist, so after a few texts back and forth and one slightly-less-miserable-than-usual dentist appointment, I found out this #42 was not only "the best guy anyone had ever met," but also planning to be a teacher in inner-city Indy through Teach For America.
I was absolutely shocked that someone like that could actually be real. I hustled back to that same dimly-lit iPhone screen and scurried to engage in the standard millennial modern-day expression of interest: an Instagram following. He followed me back and we immediately hit it off. I'm kidding. We didn't talk for nine months.
In fact, I pretty much forgot that he existed, which paralleled his own state of never really knowing I existed, so we leveled the playing field and basked comfortably in social media silence. Plus, he graduated, and I was at school two hours away, and we'd surely never see each other again. After all, he went to college for four years in my tiny hometown. If we didn't see each other then, we certainly weren't going to see each other once he left Crawfordsville. I was back at Taylor, enjoying the single life with all my single friends and not really thinking about #42 other than some occasional suppressed giddiness when he would like one of my pictures on Instagram.
He seemed light years out of my league so I didn't pursue him. For nine months. Then, on a cold Thursday of Christmas Break, I got coffee with my good friend, Morgan, who told me she randomly felt bold and asked her bank teller on a date. I admired her spontaneity and wondered who in my life I could randomly find to ask out. Call it thirsty or call it fearless; I'll accept either. We talked about what we wanted in a future boyfriend and I said it would be sweet to have a blonde baseball player with a heart for inner-city kids...as if anyone like that actually existed.
But on the way home, I pondered the idea more. It was Christmas Break, I had no plans. What harm could a little boldness do? When Lilly told me she was thinking of applying for Teach for America, all the puzzle pieces finally fit together.
"Lilly, straight up, I follow a guy on instagram who does TFA. Should I ask him how it is?"
"HA. YES!"
Thank you, Lilly. Instagram DM Sent. No qualms. No hesitation. No moments of panic. I typed and sent the message in the same breath, tossed my phone onto the couch, and went for a run. I hardly thought twice about it. There was a weird amount of peace, but also an awareness that I had nothing to lose. I said something about applying for TFA, something about hearing he was a TFA member, something about maybe having a few questions for him. Nothing was going to come from that.
Then... he messaged back. And all of a sudden, I was thinking twice about it. I remembered how attractive I thought he was at the game. I remembered his reputation based on the words of my dentist and the salvation-singing melody of his walk-up song. And before I knew it, I realized I cared 4% about TFA and 96% about Joe House. Still, I faked my way through a few questions about how he got involved and what his experience was like.
Two days later, I had made up as many questions as I possibly could about his teaching program. Finally, after expending every last bit of interrogation and, despite thoroughly enjoying the conversation, I motioned to say goodbye.
"Well, Joe, thank you so much for all the info! I'll keep thinking through this application process!"
...
I expected, perhaps, another nine months of silence. Maybe longer.
Then, in what could have been the smoothest first move of the century, he said,
"No problem, Cali. If you have any more questions, I'd be down to get coffee sometime."
And suddenly I had more questions.
(to be continued)