All Because of Stairs

"I met him on the stairs."

This is how Nana always begins this story... the story of how she met Pop-Pop, my grandfather, during WWII.

I'm spending the weekend with my grandparents for the first time in a few years. When I was a young boy every day, I would visit my grandparents who lived only a block away—but when I began high school, my family moved from New York to Arizona because my dad got promoted. When my parents told me of the move, I was less than thrilled because I knew that it meant having to start over in a new school and make new friends—which I already did not have a lot of, to begin with. One, to be more specific. But, even then, our only interaction is on the bus with hey and bye.

I'm not that good at meeting and befriending new people. I'm more of an introvert and being an only child didn't help much, either. Besides those changes, it also meant that I wouldn't see or spend time with my grandparents anymore who, to me, were not only my grandparents but my only real true friends. No more going to their brownstone apartment after school where Nana always had a snack prepared for me while Pop-Pop puts on one of his favorite Jazz records, quizzing me on the artist, and the year the song was made. While sometimes taking Nana by the hand for a dance humming and swaying to the music together in the living room with her laughing, as he says, "I still got it."

Those were the days.

I remember crying the day before the move with Nana reminding me they were only a phone call away and that we still have the holidays. Pop-Pop told me to be strong and to strive to at least join one club as a way for me to enlarge my not very-existent friendship circle.

Flash forward six years, back at my grandparent's brownstone apartment I'm in the living room with the fireplace burning, warming the atmosphere from the brisk winter cold beyond the front door. Nana is in the kitchen. I can smell the sugar cookies as she opens the oven takes the last tray, putting it on top of the stove to cool. Having the atmosphere filled with the mingling scent of the sugar cookies and applewood burning fresh in the fire, Pop-Pop is in front of the bookshelf where he keeps his old Jazz records. After a couple of minutes, he finally decides on a record to play. Putting the disc on the record player, Vince Guaraldi's voice booms through the room singing Skating.

Nana comes into the living room with a tray of sugar cookies and milk, setting it on the brown wooden coffee table taking a seat next to Pop-Pop on the love seat diagonal from me on the couch.

"So, where were we?" Nana asked.

"Danny boy here wanted to hear the story of how we met," Pop-Pop explained to Nana.

"Oh, yes now I remember."

"You're not tired of hearing that story? I don't know how many times we told you that story when you were growing up." Pop-Pop asked me while taking another cookie.

"No, I'm not tired of it. I love it. It's my favorite story—it gives me a sense of hope that one day I'll find true lasting love like you both did." As I said the last part, they both look at each other lovingly with Pop-Pop kissing Nana on her forehead.

"Don't worry, Danny Boy, you will find her. I can't say she'll be as beautiful as your grandmother here," Pop-Pop joked, making Nana blush a little.

"Oh, stop it she'll be beautiful. I know it deep within my bones. But I do want you to remember, Danny, that no relationship is ever perfect, no matter how much it may seem. Your grandfather and I have seen and gone through a lot together throughout our lifetime. Know and understand that marriage is a series of trials and tribulations and that true love is pain."