Have Dreams, Will Travel

JOURNEY OF THE HEART

BY CHRISTIANNA MCCAUSLAND

Do you remember the first person that made you realize the opposite sex wasn't just something you wanted to avoid on the playground, but rather something special that could make your heart jump? The first time I saw Mark, I was about 10 years old, shunted into the basement to play with the other kids while the grown-ups partied upstairs.

It took me almost 20 years to get that boy.

After awkward adolescent encounters and losing each other in the shuffle of college, Mark moved to LA from our hometown in Baltimore. Despite emails and one date over the holidays, I felt like that ship had sailed. He stayed in California for almost a decade, and people don't start a whole life on another coast and then leave it. Right?

But Mark did come back, and finally the shyness, the distance, the other boyfriends and girlfriends were gone; it was our time to turn a childhood crush into an adult love. But there was a chasm between us: nine years spent in places I'd never seen with people I'd never met. I knew that the boy had become the man of my dreams, but I felt lost not knowing what happened in between.

Thus, we found ourselves last fall in a rented convertible, driving away from LAX in heavy traffic on to Pacific Coast Highway. The 80-degree sun baked our skin as we wound through Malibu and north toward El Capitán State Beach in Santa Barbara, Mark's favorite place to camp when he lived in California.

When we started dating, I'd given up camping. Mark asked me to give it another shot. We went last spring and the result was a laughable debacle on the Atlantic Ocean shore when severe storms practically blew the tent away-with us inside-and we ended up sleeping in the back of his truck. This time, our campsite was on a bluff overlooking the placid ocean waters.

I finally understood what Mark wanted to give me when we camped back east: his version of romance. Never one to go in for getaways to chic hotels, Mark swept a girl off her feet with champagne, a bonfire and the stars over the ocean.

We headed back to LA early the next day to spend time with Mark's friends. I felt like I was plugged into a museum audio tour as he pointed out his favorite coffee shop or where he listened to live blues and jazz. At breakfast at Baja Sharkeez on Hermosa Beach's pier plaza, the surfers he remembered had been replaced by partying Millennials. I expected Mark would feel this change was bittersweet, but all he said was, "People here come and go. That's LA."

I realized that Mark's LA is one of sandy feet and taco shacks, and to him, waterfront property is the marina in San Pedro where he kept his sailboat. I looked at the frieze of palm trees against the night sky and thought of the trees changing color back home and wondered why anyone would want to leave this place. Unsolicited, Mark said, "I'm glad we came here. I'm glad you saw this. This was my past. Home is my future."

I learned through this trip that Mark is someone who does things deliberately, in his own time-a time to surf, to stare at stars, to take the long way home so you can trace the coast. When it was time to spread his wings, he went to LA. When it was time to be closer to family, he returned home- where there was a girl who'd waited for him for almost 20 years. It was finally her time.