For those of you who are unfamiliar with the legendary Mr. Butch, he was a tall, wiry black man with a guitar strapped to his back; the self-pronounced Mayor of Kenmore Square, a bustling and once-hip Boston neighborhood (and home to the now-defunct Rathskeller “The Rat” nightclub, may you rest in peace); a punk rock street prophet who often asked whether or not you recently paid your taxes to him, but wouldn't bat an eyelash to offer up whatever he had, be it pot, beer, or cash; a unique, charismatic, and salty man who often crashed on people's floors and in their basements, as he had no home of his own. Tragically, Mr. Butch died during the summer of 2007 in a motor scooter accident in Allston, another Boston neighborhood that he commanded after being tossed out of Kenmore Square by the police (via Boston University officials who were “cleaning up” the area).
My husband, Vin, runs a MySpace page in honor of Mr. Butch, which he created in October of 2005. I spotted Mr. Butch's profile on a friend's page in January, 2007, and promptly sent a friend request and a brief message thanking “fake” Mr. Butch for honoring the real one. Fake Mr. Butch and I back-and-forthed briefly before I asked his identity (I made a judgment about the sex of Fake Mr. Butch), wondering if he is someone I know.
Fake Butch sent me to his actual profile and we started sending occasional messages to one another, bs'ing about music, t.v., and our lives. It was all pretty detached and fun for several months, as Fake Butch had a long-time girlfriend and I didn't think twice about involving myself--a single mother--with a tethered man 9 years my junior.
Then we decided to meet.
In making that decision, I was thinking along the lines of a new friendship with an interesting guy. Granted, there was a definite level of curiosity (my usual state of being), but I was often alone and bored every other weekend when my son has visits with his father. So, why not meet someone new and be entertained?
Vin drove to my house and came in for a few minutes so we could acquaint ourselves. (But why was I nervous and sweating???) We rode in his truck to a nearby Starbucks where I grew increasingly uncomfortable with and embarrassed by my apparent giddiness, which Vin inquired about. “Are you always this bubbly?” Me? Bubbly? “No, not really,” I truthfully replied. After coffee, we went back to my house and watched Little Miss Sunshine (love it!) while I self-consciously curled-up on my couch (Is he looking at me? How do I look? What's his angle? What is he thinking?) and he sat on a nearby chair. We hung out and talked for a while after the movie ended, intermittently watching a music infomercial (featuring Air Supply and the crappy like).
He must have left at about 1:30 AM, though I felt like hanging out and talking more. (Was I afraid of imminent boredom on a Saturday or was something else going on?) I was pleased (huh?) to see a message from him about 40 minutes later and we proceeded to send messages to each other until 4:30 AM.
From there, we went on a platonic "date" to SpiderMan 3, I received a dozen red roses (hmmm, some friend), and we talked about this seemingly messy situation that was clearly moving in an un-platonic direction. Then, more hanging out, more conversations, more red roses, and a break with the on-again/off-again girlfriend.
Never would I have predicted this for myself. We first met in person on April 21, 2007, and if you had asked me the day before where I'd be in 3 years, I would have reluctantly answered “Single mother. Teacher. Definitely headed for spinsterhood (though by definition a spinster is childless).” Yet here we are, married on June 20, 2008 and parents to my oldest “baby” Trevor, our own beautiful creation, Kai, and another baby (girl, we're almost sure?) on the way in July.
Oddly enough, I think we were the least likely candidates in each other's minds. But something happened, something which I cannot explain with words, other than to say that I fell madly and deeply in love with this man in such a way that I had not before experienced.
Before we started dating, Vin sent a message asking me to close my eyes, think of what I would say if someone said “Vin Dancer” to me, and give him an honest response. Instantly, I knew the answer, though I was forced to lie:
“My future husband,” I thought crazily to myself. Talk about a psychological double-take. I know I'm a bit off-center, but this?
Who knew that Mr. Butch would lend such a pivotal hand in uniting me with the love of my life? I couldn't imagine a better love story. At least for us.
Mr. Butch, I owe you one...
