It was late autumn. I was just in my mid-years of highschool. One evening I found an old class cook-book to which I had contributed in early elementary school. I pulled it from the shelf, snatched a hot drink and a warm blanket, and snuggled beside my mother to reminisce.
We flipped through the pages, remembering each student pictured beside their recipe, wondering where they were and what they were doing now. Most I didn't care to see again. Then my eyes fell on a photo I'd grown to love.
Zane Gray.
That face warmed my heart. The memories I had of him were pleasant. He had been friendly to me when others had not. In fact, I had many year preceding this night decided that I was very fond of him. I loathed the school I'd attended kindergarten through 1st grade. My days there were so miserable I ended up home and private schooled for the rest of my academic education. Still, he was my favorite memory of the place.
That night, I determined aloud to my mother that someday I would find him. And we would be friends.
I looked at his picture a while longer, smiled, and turned the page.

Rewind to first grade..

I sat at my desk, buried in my own projects. For some reason or another, seating arrangements had been modified, and I was sitting next to a boy with whom I did not usually interact.
He was in a jolly mood that day, chattering away and making paper airplanes, all of which he gifted to me after each was finished, one by one in succession. I wasn't much good at making conversation, and like usual, chose not to on this particular afternoon. Though normally I felt uncomfortable/intimidated faced with small talk, this was different; It didn't matter. He had quite enough to say for the both of us. And I liked that.

Since I did not know how to make paper airplanes, he promised that he would have more for me the next day.

Fast forward to my first semester of college. I was toiling through the rudiments of the "adult world" when I re-met my Zane.
It was through facebook, more specifically through the "mutual friend" Nathan Brazil (he was just an innocent bystander in all this) that I had found him.
I say to him, "You know Zane?!?!?!?!" He says to me, "You know Zane?!?!"
And so on, and so forth.
So I befriend Zane and write him.
We become friends, and after a couple seasons of discourse via skype, we become kindred spirits.
When he came to Pendleton to re-meet me for the first time, he brought with him a hand-crafted colorful gift- a paper airplane.

Illness struck the morning I was to meet him. I was very sick when he arrived at the door. So sick, I actually texted and asked him to let himself in. I felt too unwell to crawl out of bed, and at this I felt worse, as I desired to be a good hostess. I didn't have to move. He pulled out a chair, sat nearby, and was contented to chat. Of course he was. Eventually I made my way to the couch, but not much farther. Because of me, we weren't going to go out on the town or do anything fun. I hoped he didn't think I was a stick in the mud. That turned out to be alright- we sat and talked for hours- me, resting miserably on the couch, and Zane, a respectable distance away in my grandmother's rocking chair. He was such a gentleman.
 By the end of the night, he expressed interest and asked if I would permit him to court me in the future.
Court? Oh no. I pictured myself as a conservative soccer mom with a van full of kids. I grew up a homeschooler, I knew this language. People who use the word "courtship" always have van-full's of kids. I don't think I want that many kids. My life all but flashed before my eyes. But still.. I also knew that the wife of anyone who used the word "courtship" would be well taken care of, respected, and would be under the gracious headship of a husband who was sure to be faithful. He was that very kind of person I'd dreamed of being with throughout my junior high "girl-for-God, princess-of-purity, daughter-of-the-King" craze days. Though, through the course of my college days, I had shifted from that mindset and become all but a perfect heathen- and I didn't think I still deserved someone like this. The decision hinged on this: By the grace of God, one of those "godly guy"s I had so wanted was making an offer, and as strayed as I was, I knew this kind of person would only be before me once. The "godly guy" doesn't just come along every day you know. And if one did, the way my life was going, any one of these guys wouldn't want to marry me. And so though I didn't know him, I couldn't let the opportunity pass.
Come on, Ash. Say something. He's waiting.
"Uh.. Okay. I guess you could. If you.. wanted.. to.."

When he left, I immediately emailed/called all of my close girlfriends in hysterics.
Guess what just happened. Yes, I made an idiot of myself. Yes, I was sick all night. He'll change his mind. No, he will probably never come back. Yes, I want him to.

He did come back. When I saw him again, he gave me a white rose. Roughly two years later, he gave me a ring. Now we are married. I am happy and in love. Zane is my best friend- I made the right decision and even the thought of a van full of kids doesn't scare me (though I emplore you to not speak that into our lives , we are just kids ourselves you know).
Although the initial decision to let him pursue me was a split decision made out of practicality and risk, I fell in love with him over the course of the last two years, and I fell hard.
Even now, I can't wrap my brain around it. Often, throughout the day I'll pause and try to let it sink in, hoping it will one day click.
"I can't believe I married you. I married Zane. From the first grade. MY Zane. You really are him, aren't you. I can't believe I ACTUALLY married you."
And so on, and so forth.
That is my fairy-tale story.
Until the morrow,
Mrs. Zane Gray