This is a long story. There are several different versions; this is the short, PC, non-religious, no-fat, low calorie version. The caffeinated red-meat iteration is best told through the oral tradition.

1978 was a bad year for me (yes, this is Peter's side of the story. Hopefully I can get Susan to write hers soon... :-) ) I went to Neil Cummins Elementary School in Corte Madera, CA and got beat up and generally hassled pretty regularly due to some pointless aggression on others' parts. What bothered me more than the actual fighting was the lack of logic behind the cruelty. I never figured that out. There was a girl in the school who was clearly the best looking thing on earth. Oddly, she was extremely shy and lacked a clique. She would actually run from class to class so the guys wouldn't bother her. And even more oddly, she was occasionally friendly towards me for no apparent reason. Considering her looks, shyness and friendliness, I didn't really have a chance. Susan Nyman was my first major crush; I was helpless.

Of course, I left California at the end of 8th grade and went on to a boarding school in St. Louis. I had a rich life. I lived in different parts of the world, had a few careers, and watched 20 years go by.

In December of 99', I was having a conversation with my dad about the failed relationships I'd been in. I felt that I had been barking up the wrong trees and repeatedly making similar mistakes. I was also a bit depressed because working at Microsoft kept me in an environment where the male to female ratio is roughly 10 to 1. So I basically gave up and said, "Self, you mess these things up, make bad decisions and hurt people. If you're going to find something worthwhile you're not going to find it the way you've been going." So I adjusted my attitude a little bit and five days later was...

Going through some old files looking for a script. I never found it, but I did find my 8th grade yearbook. I started looking through the photos, realizing I probably hadn't looked at it for twenty years. I recognized probably two faces per page. About halfway through, I noticed that one of the photos had been cut out of the yearbook. I looked at the name on the left and it said, "Susan Nyman." As I puzzled over why the photo had been cut out, the missing picture reconstituted itself in my mind's eye with remarkable clarity. As this happened, I had a flood of memories of Susan that were so clear it was as though I had seen her the day before. I felt as though I were watching a movie, not having a memory. And memory is NOT one of my strong points. This was so remarkable as to be disturbing; it kept me up the whole night.

The next day I found a Susan Nyman on the internet. I wasn't sure if it was her or not, but found an address and sent her a letter. I thought it was kind of weird, later. I really didn't expect an answer, but actually got one five days later. Revelation! We talked. And talked. And talked for almost three months before I decided to see if she was the 400 lb. homicidal maniac I was prepared to meet. Hah.

"We hit it off" is one of the grosser understatements of the year. This in addition to the weird stuff that started happening...

Item: The first time I flew down to see her, I was sitting next to an elderly lady who was reading a book. "What are you reading?" I asked, attempting conversation since I was nervous about meeting Susan for the first time. "This is a fascinating book. It's a compilation of true stories about all these couples that knew each other as children or teenagers, drift apart for several decades, then find each other as adults and have these amazing relationships."

Item: At the end of that weekend, I was getting my e-ticket from the machine at the deserted Alaska counter. Out of nowhere, a middle-aged couple comes up the the counter next to me and started talking to the lone Alaska employee. I couldn't hear what they were saying until the very end, when the Alaska person said very clearly, "So, your names are Peter and Susan and you're going the entire way together, correct?"

There were many more signs, and none of them said "STOP" so here we are.