Here I Am

Next month, Alex and I will celebrate our tenth anniversary. I proposed to her on February 2, 1995. She had just turned 19 two weeks before. I had just turned 22 three weeks before. We had only known each other a month.

In case you’re wondering, the marriages were our first.

People I meet love to hear this, and ask me all sorts of related questions: What’s your secret? Did you know right away you were soul mates? Was it love at first sight?

My answer? We had no f.n. clue. We were children. Big, stupid, horny children.

But that’s not to say we don’t have our qualities. Every so often my wife will send me poems that turn me into a blubbering mess of goo and aroma. The most recent was in 1999 when her father died. The weight of the moment, combined with her technique of repeating the same phrase, ‘Te iubesc cum…’ at the beginning of each stanza has inspired me to take my turn, though poetry frightens me more than the sweet down-low.

So I tried yesterday to write her a poem, and I would copy her technique of repeating the same line at the beginning of each stanza. I picked a phrase, ‘Here I Am,’ that underscores the sentiment of my emotion to let her know, as simply as possible, that she can rely on me, no matter what challenges may come our way.

I began to write:

Here I Am,
The one that you love,
Askin’ for another day.
Understand,
The one that you love,
Loves you in so many ways

I was stunned, because as soon as I uttered that opening phrase, ‘Here I Am,’ the rest flowed effortlessly. Though I struggle with poetry, for some reason, the words just seemed to follow, almost as though I had heard them before! It must be love! It must be fate! It must be…

Wait a second.

It must be songs from the 80s.

Oh, god, I hope she doesn’t recognize Air Supply.

I press on:

Here I am!
With open arms!
Hoping you’ll see,
What your love means to me…

Fuck me. Now I know she’ll recognize Journey. It’s only blaring through our household every f.n. day.

Here I Am, baby.
Won't you come and take me?
Take me by the hand.
Ooh, show me, show me what you can.

UB40? Well now I’m just screwed. Can I not think of a verse to follow ‘Here I Am’ without being flooded with 80s lyrics? I try harder:

Here I Am, on the road again.
There I am, up on the stage.
Here I go, playin' star again.
There I go, turn the page.

Hmmph. Well, I’m pretty sure she won’t recognize Bob Seger. But when she asks, ‘Vut does it mean, playin star again?’, I’ll be damned if I know how to answer, cause I got no freakin’ clue.

I sit down to try again, but then I realize something deeper. There may come a time when I will not be able to be there for my beloved, so to write her a poem titled ‘Here I Am’ seems to me a promise I cannot deliver.

But there’s one thing I can deliver.

A CD.

Burned with the best the 80s have to offer.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Here I Am!
Rock you like a hurricane!