Authors Note:
Wow, friends. Here it finally is. It's been through many rewrites and a season where I was ready to give up all together, but it's done. The journey will now have to live on in your heart and imagination.
I want to thank you so much for all of your support and kind words throughout this story. It was a lot of catharsis for me to write it, so thanks for listening to my therapy.
Seriously, thanks. Hope it does it justice for you.
&
I honestly don't remember a whole lot from today. I know that Sharpay was wearing a dress and that there were a lot of people that I didn't know grabbing us and yelling "congratulations". I'm fairly sure that there were several old women who pinched my cheeks and slapped my ass. However, I do remember one moment like I remember nothing else in my life.
Sharpay Renee Evans, do you take Troy Alexander Bolton to be your lawfully wedded husband, for as long as you both shall live?
I do.
And while I still don't fully understand why she agreed to that, I'm pretty damn thrilled that she did.
Now, after a few hours of hob-nobbing with people that our parents invited, we're sitting in a pretty nice hotel room, wrapped in really plush bathrobes and eating chocolate-covered strawberries. There may have also been some other activities between hob-nobbing and strawberries, and those were fabulous as well. But irregardless, now, in this moment, I am eating with my wife.
My wife.
That's pretty damn fantastic.
"So, when's the next shindig?" I asked, slurping a strawberry.
She counted quickly on her fingers, "Four weeks."
"And the next one is in San Diego, right?"
"Yup. At Gabi and Andrew's, in the backyard."
"And then we're off to Nairobi?"
"Pretty much. Maybe a few days, I can't really remember right now."
"It may be because I've been pretty distracting this evening."
She turned to face me and raised an eyebrow, "It's you who has been distracting, Mr. Bolton? I mean, I believe there were a few comments about my legs earlier that make me believe that the scale tips in my direction."
"Well, Mrs. Bolton," I grinned especially on the 'mrs', "there were some comments in my direction as well."
She pursed her lips quietly and nodded. "Fair play."
We sat in companionable silence for a few moments. She snuggled back up to me and ran her hand under my bathrobe.
"Hey," I whispered.
"Hm?"
"We're married."
She pushed herself up and could not keep the smile off of her face, "For as long as we both shall live."
&
Nawaombea harusi
Mungu awabarikie
Furaha iso kiasi
Wote bwana na bibie
Rabi awape nafasi
Dhuria wajipatie
As the Swahili prayer swirled in the air all around me, soaring on the voices of so many that I loved… well, I think that's when I finally felt married.
Troy and I did that ceremony in Albuquerque about a month ago and I've been signing things as "Mrs. Bolton" for that whole time. We've changed all of our magazine subscriptions and most people have remembered my new last name by now. We even had a big shindig in San Diego. There was even cake. I've done the fairy tale princess wedding that was my dream for most of my childhood, and yet felt like I was an actress going through a scene. It felt like a square peg being forced into a round hole sometimes. Troy says that I was projecting my frustrations with American life onto my frustrations with the wedding planner my mother hired, but I had been feeling smothered.
Until now. Now, with the blessing of the Oxfam Kenya family – as well as friends from Rwanda, South Africa, London, Belfast, Mumbai and even a few stragglers from America – this one felt like I was really married. There were bright colors and small children and singing and it all felt like home.
Troy and I have had many conversations about how we miss the rhythms of Kenya. We miss chai breaks and the market and the sounds of children. I should pause here and say that there are things that I don't miss – having to boil any water that wasn't bottled, showers with buckets, not always having flushing toilets, watching children die, watching parents make impossible decisions, living on a continent that rebels against itself. Africa isn't always a picnic and we have little trouble remembering that.
However, I am more comfortable in my own skin here than I am in San Diego. I will allow that it's possible that I just haven't lived in San Diego long enough and that I'll feel better and get back to an American "normal" sometime soon. However, Troy and I have joined a larger conversation happening among humanitarian workers in our situation – those who are living outside of the country where their heart is – about what normal could possibly be? Do we really want the 2.5 kids and the white picket fence and the "American Dream"? Perhaps I'll live in this tension I feel forever.
Because here's the rub. That feeling that I had in the matatu the day our first fight – knowing that I had to go and knowing that I had to stay – it hasn't really gone away. There are things about San Diego that drive me nuts, but also things that have become home. I love my job, for instance. I don't know if I could go back to doing what I did in Kenya. If I'm honest, it was exhausting and frustrating and I was almost completely burned out by the time I was done. I've come to love living near Gabi and Andrew and Nate, for instance. I love being "Aunt Sharpay" and the conversations that are happening around how my role as Godmother will play out. Gabi and I dream of school plays and play dates and how she'll handle it on the day that he finally goes to school. I love being part of their rhythm of life.
All of that means that I'm not sure I'll ever really 'come home' again. Home will always be a place that exists on several continents. Troy says that we probably just need to find 'home' in each other and our family and however we come to define that. I think I stubbornly wanted to find an address to home for a little while, but sitting here, with the swirling Swahili and the singing children and the abundance of citrus fanta – he's right.
So, I lace my fingers with my husband's and remind my heart to find home in him. In the warmth and the strength and the trust that I find there, in the sense of adventure and hope, in the dreams of futures untold and stories still to be written. And in the meantime, while I am actually in Kenya, I focus back on the wonder around me and soak that up, too.
&
We've been married now for about seven months and it gets more frustrating and more fun every day. Some things have been a whirlwind and it still doesn't feel like things have actually happened. We've fought more than I thought we would and we've spent more time apart than I thought we would. I suppose we both thought that our jobs would, you know, just kind of let us do whatever we wanted because we were just that fabulous. However, while I still contend that we are that fabulous – we did seem to have trouble coordinating schedules. I seemed to have to be in the Netherlands while Shar had a huge conference scheduled – things like that.
I think we've got that ironed out now – along with who uses which side of the sink to spit out toothpaste (there have been incidents) and who chooses which show we watch on which night. We're both big fans of old TV on DVD, like from when we were in high school and college. The Office (mutual), Gilmore Girls (her), Heroes (me), Friends (mutual). Netflix often determines what our weekends look like, honestly. We have cookouts and we try out new recipes and we shop together and we… well, we do life together.
I know her sighs and the sound the floorboards make as she walks across them. I've learned how she brews the coffee with just a little bit too much water for my taste – she's still used to the strength of Kenyan coffee, I think – and how to read the look in her eye when she's talking about her day. I know that when her hand finds my stomach in the middle of the night that she's really missing something she doesn't have language for – and so I just wrap her in my arms and remind her that I'm here. Sometimes that seems to be enough and sometimes I know that it's not.
I'm still slightly amazed that she chose me and I think that I'm still trying not to screw it up. In the quiet of the early morning, she admits the same insecurity. We're both still quietly waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'm not sure if that will stop when we pass some more milestones – one year, five years, first baby, and so on and so forth. But right now, sitting here, I just know that I love her and that she is life to me.
Seven months down, eleventy billion to go.
&
"How long have you been married?"
"About four years now," I replied, smiling into my champagne glass. Troy and I were at a benefit dinner for Senator Whitford. He was running for President and liked Africa enough that we decided to be fans. We were here with the Morales' and it was fun to be here without the kids.
"Do you have any children?"
The woman must be my mother's age. She has that air of dignity that I think comes with your 50th birthday card. Hair perfectly coiffed, tasteful jewelry, clothing that makes her look like she's trying to be First Lady.
"No, we just have a few very energetic nieces and nephews."
She raised her eyebrow slightly and I could tell that she was quietly calculating how long she felt it would be before my uterus gave out and thinking that I should really jump on it because if I don't procreate then I have not fulfilled my duties as a woman.
I love women like this. And by love, I mean that I hope that I never become one.
She changed the subject and I quickly found my way out of the conversation. Because what I was not about to tell the woman was that there were adoption papers sitting on my desk, just waiting to be sent back to Nairobi.
I probably should have said we just didn't have children yet. Legally, anyway.
&
"Ainsley, please come over here."
I smiled as I watched my wife corral our four year old. We were in the process of taking our yearly family photo. We thought it would get easier as the kids got older, but we're still waiting for that day.
We have four children; two that we adopted from Kenya, one that we adopted from America and one that we had ourselves. Meghan and Adam are our twins from Kenya. We adopted them when they were three; they'll turn nine in a few weeks. We adopted Ainsley from a daughter of a friend of ours who… well, had yet to grasp the importance of a condom while having some fun in the back of car. So, we've had Ainsley since she was two days old and she's four now. Our baby, Sam, he's our surprise and he's two.
"Mama," Meg called from across the playground, "can I please take the dress off now?"
"Not yet, sweetie, Daddy hasn't actually taken the picture yet. Can you come back over here please?"
"Meg, look at me!"
"Adam!"
"Troy, could you please put the camera down for a moment?"
"I'm framing the shot."
"Right now there is no shot. Your children are going AWOL."
"They're my children?"
"Right now. Yes. Please find something to tie them down with."
"Will the whips from our bedroom do?"
"Clearly."
"Daddy, what's a whip?"
As I left the chaos in the backyard and wandered into the playroom, I surveyed the state of our house. Toys strewn among stacks of books that Shar and I are somewhere in the middle of. DVDs of Hollywood blockbusters mixed in with home movies of trips to foreign nations. I grabbed a handful of favorite stuffed animals and toy cars, hoping to placate the kids for the point four milliseconds it would take for me to snap the shutter and create our Christmas card.
I took a deep breath and walked back outside. Shar had gotten Meg and Adam to sit, holding their siblings in their laps. She was fussing over some of Meg's hair that could not seem to stay in the braid it had been coaxed into earlier. Sharpay's hair was falling like a cascade in the sunlight and I had a brief flashback to our first few weeks together in Kenya when I first fell in love with her.
It was ten years ago that I was first ruined forever. Not only for Africa and for life as a global citizen, but for life with Sharpay as my partner. In the past decade, I've filled my passport with stamps and learned more catchphrases and a few more languages. I've watched my children grow in leaps and bounds and little moments. I have fallen more in love with my wife than I ever thought possible – especially in the seasons where she drives me crazy and it's a choice to love her when I get up in the morning.
"Troy, can you please not just stand there? I've got them settled. Set the timer and get over here."
I threw the toys quickly on the ground, hoping that they wouldn't see them and get distracted. She was right – we only had a few moments before this calm would be lost. I set the timer on the camera and hurried over to my spot next to Meg and Sam. Sharpay, on the other side of the children, found my hand behind their backs and laced our fingers together just as the shutter flashed. The kids leapt up when I told them we were done and went back to their important tasks. Meg ran immediately inside to take off the dress, Adam went immediately back to the tire swing he had been playing on, Sam toddled off in the direction of his brother and Ainsley began twirling around in circles, singing some song from the Disney movie we had all gone to see the night before.
As Sharpay stood up to go, I kept my hand firmly in place.
"Can I help you?" She smirked.
I pulled her close and kissed the top of her ear. Whispering softly, "Just pause. The sun is shining, it's a beautiful fall day. I'm sure it will only take Sam moments to discover the leaf piles that we so painstakingly raked this morning and completely ruin them and it certainly won't take Meg long to try to use the blender in the kitchen again… but right now, can we just sit here?"
"Sitting is so nice," she whispered back contentedly. "Why are our children such holy terrors?"
"I'm sure it has something to do with our gene pool. More yours than mine, actually."
"That only explains one child."
"Well, then, clearly we're awful parents."
"And that one falls to you, Mr. Stay at Home Dad."
"Yeah, well, what can you do."
I kissed the top of her head and squeezed her slightly as we heard a crash coming from the kitchen. It probably shows that we know our daughter, the aspiring chef, pretty well when we didn't panic, but waited to hear her "I'm okay!" call that came shortly after.
"Well, I'll go make sure that 'okay' isn't going to cost us her college tuition," I replied.
"I'll hold down the fort out here."
"Mmkay."
Extracting myself from her arms, I walked towards the back door. Pausing and turning around, I called. "Hey, Evans."
"Yeah, Bolton?"
"Everything from the balcony in Kigali? Still true."
She smiled and nodded. "Same."
"Love you."
"So much."
&
Organizations to Research / Support:
Oxfam International
World Vision
Amani ya Juu
Beacon of Hope
These Numbers Have Faces
Tearfund
Christian Aid
Amnesty International
Stop the Traffik