It’s perfectly ok for me to use the word “stewardess,” as opposed to “flight attendant,” because over two decades ago, “stewardess” was perfectly politically correct.

I had spent the weekend in Vegas to celebrate my boyfriend’s completion of his master’s program at UNLV.  I was gearing up to start law school in Los Angeles and Jamie was beginning his career in the casino industry.

We fell madly in love and dated in college – I was a little sis to his fraternity, his younger sisters pledged my sorority.  We were “dropped,” then “pinned,”
(with the requisite candlelight ceremonies in the chapter room and the fraternity pledges singing the sweetheart song outside of the sorority house) and everyone expected an engagement so that I would graduate with the coveted “MRS Degree.”

And that’s where my stubbornness kicked in.  I was going to be independent, come hell or high water.  So off I went to Los Angeles where I worked in the entertainment industry (there’s a really low-budget movie out there somewhere, featuring me as the leather clad leader of a 1950s girl-gang, who saunters up to a soda fountain and purrs, “Jerk me a soda, Jerk.”), wore clogs, thrift-shop flannel shirts, and torn jeans to my acting classes (it just seemed so Bohemian), and lived across the street from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air (Shut UP!  Really!  Will Smith RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET!).

We dated long distance for four years.  Jamie applied for gaming jobs in Los Angeles (all two of them).  We visited different cities and talked about potential careers.  Money was tight, so when he moved to Vegas, we would each drive halfway and meet in the dusty and completely unromantic town of Barstow, California – sometimes just for an afternoon, just to look in each other’s eyes and re-memorize the other’s face.  But right before he graduated, Jamie got an amazing job offer in Vegas…. and I was accepted to a top ten law school in LA.  Long distance dating lost its shine.  Jamie wanted a family.  I was determined to prove that I could be a lawyer.  Geography was a fierce opponent.  And it all came to a head that graduation weekend.

Jamie put his foot down.  We were going to stop this long distance mess.  It was time to get married, to have babies, to pursue our careers together.  He promised it was do-able.  We stood in front of the chapel at the Excalibur hotel…. and I got stubborn.  No, I got REALLY stubborn.  When he put his foot down, I promptly stomped on it.

He took me to the airport for my flight back to LA.  We fought.  We were angry.  More than anything, we were two frustrated kids who could not make our separate lives merge into something that would satisfy us both.

We walked to the gate together (yes, children, pre-9-11 you could do romantic things like that) and he pulled me into a hug and I cried.  I remember the crying.  It came from the very bottom of my heart and tore its way out.  I think he told me that I could not leave – and if I did, I didn’t need to ever come back.  I think I told him he couldn’t tell me what to do.  I think we said a lot of things.  But I know we stood there and he held me, sobbing, until the stewardess told me the gate was ready to close.  He told me not to get on the plane.  I got on the plane.

As we slowly rolled away from the gate, I tried to pull myself together.  The lady next to me was patting my back as I snotted and boohoo’d like a crazy person.  Then, the plane stopped.  The loudspeaker system kicked in and the stewardess said, “Is there a Katherine on the plane? Honey, Jamie wants you to come back.  We can get you to the gate if you want to get off the plane.”

I don’t think I will ever really be able to explain what happened next.  The passengers started clapping and shouting, “Go to him! Go!”  The sweet lady next to me said, “Oh, honey!  He’s waiting for you!”  I wanted, more than anything, to get off that plane and run back to that man I had loved for so long.  And I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t stop crying.  I felt a shift – that tearing sensation that comes when you make a life-changing decision, a decision that abruptly wrenches you from the path that might have been to the path that plummets you into your future.

I stayed on the plane.  I went to law school and became a lawyer.  I got married.  I had my precious kiddo.  I got divorced.  I never saw Jamie again, but every time I went to Vegas, I silently searched the casinos with curious eyes and a fast-beating heart- and wondered what would have happened if I had gotten off of that plane.

Last Saturday, the man of my dreams got down on one knee, told me he had loved me for more than twenty-five years, and asked me to marry him.  Yup.  After learning the lessons that only two decades of separation can teach you, Jamie tracked me down.  This time, we wrestled geography into submission (quite frankly, we’ve kicked its fanny!), and Jamie has told me that I am NEVER getting on a plane again unless he’s with me.  Guess what?  I didn’t get stubborn and I let this amazing man put his foot down.  And when I did?  I felt a shift – that sensation that comes when you make a decision that softly knits the path of what might have been to the path that leads you (in utter amazement) to your future.

So if you are ever taxiing away from the gate, and the flight attendant says, “Is there a Katherine on the plane?”, just look for Jamie.  Because I’ll be sitting right next to him, holding his hand, happily putting my MRS degree to good use.

Oh, and I really did live across the street from the Fresh Prince.

Then.  (Stubborn me)          Now.  (Happy me)

The Fresh Prince. (Lived across the street from me)