Meeting Camron

All I knew is that I was hungry.  After a full weekend of primping and six months of anticipation, I was happy that October 26th was finally upon us.

The girls were all sitting around in white chairs at the venue killing time because the sound system was malfunctioning. Not only that, but it was hot outside and supposed to rain all weekend which put a real damper on all of the wedding festivities. The bride was stressed out of her mind, and I didn’t know if she needed jokes or scripture to calm her down.  I, personally, was just trying to make it to the rehearsal dinner without starving to death.  The flower girl was crying real tears and I didn’t blame her at all.

Every bridesmaid arrived at the Rehearsal about two hours earlier than necessary.  We were made up, spray tanned, hair done, and dressed to the nines.  For me this meant putting on a dress. Taxing, that. I was not wearing heels at this point, so the day thus far had been bearable. 

Bridesmaids at the Rehearsal.

The groomsmen apparently did not take punctuality as seriously as we did because a few of them were missing even thirty minutes into the Rehearsal itself.  Halfway through the vows, a tall brooding groomsman with an un-tucked shirt strutted casually through the double doors, making everyone very aware of his arrival. He high fived the others and made rounds chatting with parents as my rage began to bubble up. 

“Look at this idiot.” I muttered, trying not to make direct eye contact but also making sure to visibly display my disapproval.

It was clear that he was not excited to be there. Weddings were seemingly his least favorite thing of all time, ever.  He made a few sarcastic jokes as he shuffled toward the stage, shoved his hands in his pockets and took his place in the line-up.  I scowled at him because I knew that meant we had to start all over with the escorting practice.  Dinner would be pushed another half hour.  I immediately hated him.

Camron not pictured because he had not arrived yet.  

As the rehearsal rolled on, I didn't give much more thought to his presence, but I did note that he was easily the most attractive groomsman. This made him a challenge regardless of my initial impression of him.  As we were wrapping up, I had a single conversation with him where he talked for 10 minutes about doing ministry in Dallas.  He introduced himself as Cam-RON, which I originally thought was a joke but it turns out - is his actual name.

Somehow, someone had roped and/or tricked him into leaving his high-paying corporate job to do youth ministry for a non-profit. This was intriguing information but didn’t make up for the fact that we were still going to be late to dinner.  I chimed in with a story about my own experience with mentoring high school students and heard my friends shouting my name to leave. I shrugged, said goodbye, and made a quick exit to the car.

We were assigned seats during the rehearsal dinner, and I was happy to see my good friend Sydney’s name across from mine. Score. Camron’s seat was directly next to Sydney and I rolled my eyes because although he was relatively likeable, I had no interest in faking conversation with a stranger because at this time I was nearly blind from hunger.  

Camron sitting next to Sydney.  Not amused.

Over the course of the meal, nothing of real significance happened other than the fact that I ordered beef and he ordered chicken - a decision that he would deeply regret.  We sparred back and forth making comments under our breath about how awful the other person was. Toasts were made, tears were shed and we headed back to the hotel with full hearts and full bellies to rest before the big day. Resting, for me, included binge eating chocolate candy bars while lying in bed.

I have never prayed for anything harder than I prayed for it to not rain on Becca’s wedding day.  My tiny best friend from Texas A&M loves the sunshine more than I love my siblings and it meant the world for her to have an outdoor wedding.  I pleaded with the Lord to give us a two-hour reprieve from the 100% chance of rain that afternoon.  We just needed two hours, is that really too much to ask?  Jesus deeply loves Becca and so in His infinite grace, he did stop the rain.  He even sent a few sunbeams to light the backdrop of her walk down the aisle. I cried about this. 

Crying like the emotional wreck that I am.

The wedding went exactly as planned, and I made sure to stand with my feet together for the million photos that were taken afterwards. My childhood friend ‘Beef’, who doubled as Miss Teen Texas, had gone over proper wedding photo etiquette with me years ago. As we made our way back to the bridal suite, I violently kicked off my heels and locked in on finding a glass of white wine. DONE. We did it.

Please note the only two humans NOT looking at the bride & groom. VAIN.

Feet together. Nailed it.

Camron in the background.  He just can't.  He's over it.

I had been wearing heels now for what seemed like an eternity and all the praying for sunshine had exhausted me in a way that I feared I wouldn’t recover from. The energy required at this point to walk around with 5-inch torture devices strapped to my feet was pure oppression, like the Universe was trying to destroy me.  And we still had a dance party to attend.  All the bridesmaids and groomsmen gathered in our suite to wait for our Reception debut. 

“You need to put your shoes back on.” Camron said, out of nowhere.

I cut my eyes at him and then stared blankly.

"What kind of fresh hell is this?" I thought.  I didn’t want to answer.  I just wanted wine.  I was so tired.

I tried to keep my voice relatively calm here because he did not know me, or the hatred I have towards heels and I couldn’t hold that against him.

“I’m not wearing shoes anymore.  The wedding is over and anyways, heels make me look like I play in the WNBA.” I responded.

“The WNBA?” he grinned. “Because they make you tall?  Or is this a ‘high school hero’ reference to your glory days of playing Varsity basketball?”

Oh that's how it's gonna be? Game on, buddy. 

“First off, I did play basketball in High School and it’s very likely that I could still beat you at that sport or any other sport for that matter.  And yes, because they make me, like, six feet tall.”

This all seemed obvious to me.

“Look, you are going to embarrass yourself here.” 

He handed me a glass of wine. This was the first moment so far that I had not outright hated him.

“WHATEVER!  Who even are you? I DON’T CARE!  I am not wearing the heels. I am going barefoot.  My feet feel like they are on fire.” I snapped.

“Ha, no you are definitely wearing the heels.  You aren’t going to be the only bridesmaid without shoes.  You look like an idiot.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate you too.”

This was the first of about forty-five estimated exchanges of our go-to hate phrase of the night.  We didn’t know each other’s last names but we did know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we hated each other.  He bent down on his knees and started buckling the straps of my shoes after sliding them back onto my aching feet.

This seems like a good time to note that I am not good at being girly. I am good at other things.

I finished my glass of wine and rolled my eyes.  I made a few more sarcastic jabs at him and he barked his own little snide remarks right back.

We made our grand entrance into the Reception, each of us dancing down the aisle - me wearing shoes. I was seated at the Bride and Groom’s table for dinner beside a boy that everyone thought I should date.  He was blonde and kind, and I was uninterested.  Besides, I hated dating.  I had not been on a real date in something like five years and I was weirdly proud of it. Singleness was like my claim to fame, and I was having a blast.

Dancing down the aisle WEARING SHOES.

Announcements were made and I cut in front of everyone in the buffet line because I felt like I deserved it.  After all, I had been at the venue since eleven in the morning and these people only arrived an hour ago.  Filling up my plate, I made my way back to my table to sit beside the kind, blonde boy and watched Becca dance with Nick for the first time as a married couple.  Adorable.  I quickly caught eyes with the brooding jerk who had forced me into wearing heels across the room.  I looked away immediately, but my eyes kept drifting back to him. 

He was funny at least, and a bit fascinating. I couldn’t take that away from him. 

As I walked to get dessert, he stood up to meet me. 

“Hey so… since we are never going to see each other again after tonight, I insist that you dance with me at least one time.”

“Nahhh.” I laughed and skipped away, making a B-line for the fruit table. 

“I hate you!” he yelled. “You are the worst!” His voice faded as I put distance between us.

He asked me to dance a few more times over the course of the next ten minutes, to which my answer was always a flirty “no.” I had an agenda here and it did not involve him. It instead involved being on the self-proclaimed Wedding Fun Patrol Team with Brittney and Sydney and busting out all of my best dance moves.

Fun Patrol getting stuff done.

If I can attribute anything to Becca (Feagin) Hayden, it’s that she knows how to throw a party.  All of my Dallas friends gathered in a circle (because that’s what girls do) and jumped around and laughed maniacally like hyenas. Sweaty and giggly, we squealed when "Call Me Maybe" came on because unfortunately we knew every word.  In retrospect, I think I spent a little too much time on the stage with the band.  I have the tendency to crave attention, and nothing says wedding party better than sloppy bridesmaids on the microphone.  I had made it my personal objective to become a karaoke star, and I was well on my way.

Karaoke Queen. Imaginary Microphone.

They didn’t play a single slow song for the first half hour and I was in dance party heaven. Keep the good times rolling!  All too soon, however, the band announced that we were to find a dance partner to "slow things down a bit."  Kill me. This moment is every single girl's nightmare.  I sighed and looked up to catch the eyes of the kind, blonde boy staring back at me.

"Awkward." I thought.  

My friends were cheering in the distance, pointing and snickering, excited that he would finally snag a dance with me.  I was trapped here.  There was no getting out of this.

As I took a hesitant step forward to accept my slow-dance fate, I felt a strong hand grab my arm and spin me around.  I was whisked into another dance before I even knew what had happened.  I looked up, shocked, into the dark eyes of my most hated frenemy, Camron.

“I told you I just wanted one dance.” He smiled.

“Um yeah I remember!  And I told you no!” I complained. We swayed back and forth. “But then again, you totally saved me just then and for that, I owe you.”

I surrendered the argument and collapsed into his strong arms as he directed our steps, confident that at least I wouldn’t have to worry about him hitting on me.  He hated me as much as I hated him, making him the safest dance partner I could have chosen.  Victory.  He spun and twirled me around and laughed while making little remarks about my dance skills, because sarcasm is his native language.

The dance, and the death grip I had on Camron's arm.

My little sister tells me that from that point on, we were joined at the hip. Equal parts fighting and laughing. It felt a lot like a game of tag on the playground in elementary school, but with more wine and nicer clothes.  My slurred memory only includes little glimpses of time, which involved me serenading him on the microphone from the stage (again), clinging to his arm during any remotely slow paced song, and then catching the bouquet. 

“I caught the bouquet!!!  DID YOU SEE THAT!?” I squealed and waved my prize in the air.

“I saw.  I tried for the garter but I didn’t want to overshadow the bride’s brother!” he yelled back over the music. 

“Yeah right!" I laughed. "I was like Mike Evans out there! You just missed!” I wanted to point out who had won here. Maybe he didn't know this was a competition.

“Yea, that snag was impressive but I still hate you.” He sneered and walked away. 

The bouquet toss that I caught like some kind of NFL receiver.

Showing off my prize.

I laughed hard, chased him down and pulled him by the hand back onto the dance floor. The remainder of our night we spent making complete fools of ourselves. It was a perfect combination of crazy and innocent, and just what I needed to pull me out of the funk I had been functioning in after making the move from Denver to Dallas just two months prior. I realized at some point during that time, with all the dancing, that I didn’t actually hate him at all.  

The definition of "making complete fools of ourselves."

I remember Becca asking me during “YMCA” if I knew what I was doing. “Having fun!” was my answer.  I remember an emotional Rita screaming at Camron to not kiss me. Kiss? What? This was not a concern. Camron was, at this point, my arch-nemesis. I remember swaying back and forth to the Aggie war hymn and I remember thinking everything was exceedingly funny. We ran outside into the rain and threw flower petals, cheering wildly as Nick whisked Becca away to their honeymoon destination. As the night came to a close, I winked at my dance partner before he disappeared back into the venue.

Classic.  Selfie game started strong.

 It was midnight and time to leave, so I ran barefoot back inside to find my shoes and bag and make-up, which were strewn about the bridal suite.  Brittney and Sydney were discussing the after-party plan but I just needed to concentrate on finding my things and getting out of there in one piece.  It took all of my mental energy to gather these items and put them into my bag without taking a nap on the floor.

I ran out of the room proudly, equipped with my packed luggage, and a familiar hand grabbed me by the arm and sneaked me out the door. 

“What do YOU want?” I sarcastically whined as I looked up at Camron's face.  Oh my God, he was so good-looking.

“You knew this was coming.” He smirked, concentrating hard on his pronunciation. “Can I have your number?”

My heart fluttered a bit but I laughed it off.  “NO, OF COURSE NOT!”

“I hate you.”

“Shocker there! Okay FINE, are you ready?”

“Yes.”  He held his phone too close to his face. Bless it.

“Okay.  Its 1-800….”

“Seriously? ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?”  He raged. “I hate you.” for the 400th time.

Pleased by his response, I snatched his phone out of his hand and entered my phone number into his Contact List.

First name: You.  

Last name: Wish.

*Phone Number edited out because safety.

I am not exaggerating when I tell you that this was the best material I could come up with at the time. Clever. I handed his phone back to him, told him to have a good life and bounced away.  It was pretty likely that I would never see him again, just like he had originally said.

My sister agreed to drive me through Whataburger for a post wedding meal on the way back home.  I think she was just happy that I was no longer on the dance floor in front of all of our closest friends, and was therefore willing to reward me.  We sang loud to the radio with the windows down all the way to our house.  As I stumbled into my room, I collapsed onto my bed.  

At last. Home sweet home. Shoes off.  Sweats on.

Before drifting to sleep, I crafted the most appropriate text I could come up with to send to the boy whom I hated but didn’t hate at all, which read:

“You are an average to below average dancer.”

And so began my greatest adventure yet.