The Justin and Jessica Chronicles: A Blog Series

The Justin and Jessica Chronicles: Part Ten

The Proposal

In December 2001, I graduated with my high school diploma 5 months early. Graduating early resulted in my last day being very anticlimactic. I didn’t hug anyone’s neck, sign anyone’s yearbook, or shed any tears. I took my final exam in Economics class, turned in my parking pass, and drove away.

Justin had planned a celebration for me that evening. My way of celebrating wasn’t typical to most high school seniors. I didn’t party all night, use drugs, or drink excessive amounts of alcohol. I spent the evening with Justin, my parents, my brother, and a few friends, eating sushi and watching The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

The first installment of The Lord of the Rings trilogy had just been released, and I couldn’t think of anything that would I would rather do than watch a bunch of Elves, Wizards, and Hobbits gallivant around Middle Earth. What can I say, I was a nerd.  

Four months after graduation day, I found myself in a bridal shop with Emily doing very grown-up things. Emily and Brian had recently gotten engaged, and were in the middle of planning an October wedding.

Emily and Brian on their wedding day.

Emily tries on a stark white ball gown with long lace sleeves and a wrap around cinched waist. She is stunning, and in a matter of seconds, she transforms into a beautiful bride.

“When are you guys gonna start planning your wedding?” Emily asks.

“Uh, I’ve gotta get a ring first,” I say, rolling my eyes.

Her eyebrows lift slightly as she smirks and says: “Oh, I’m sure it will be any day now.”

WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY? Did Emily just give me a clue?

Later that day, I recall Justin seeming particularly enthusiastic about my upcoming birthday. With it being only a week away, I suspect that he might use the occasion to pop the question. I approach him later that night and start questioning him.

Our engagement photos

“Hey babe, what should we do for my birthday next week?” I ask.

“Uh, whatever you want to do babe,” he says, “but let’s try to do something just the two of us.”

A-ha! He never says that, I think.

“How about we go to the beach?”, I say as I plop into his lap.

“Yeah that sounds perfect. It’s been a while,” he says while planting a kiss on my cheek.

That was when I knew I had his number. In the five years I’d known Justin, he always hated the beach. He enjoyed doing things in the air conditioning like watching NASCAR races, jamming out on his guitar, and playing video games. He thought the beach was too hot, and the sand was a nuisance. On the rare occasion he did go, I had to drag him there. But I was happy nonetheless because a beach proposal sounded very romantic!!! Justin and I made plans to watch the sunset at the beach, and then head to dinner afterwards.

I went shopping for some new clothes and purchased a red bikini for the beach, and a long white sundress for dinner. I needed to look stunning.

On the morning of our special day, I have butterflies in my stomach. But I also started to worry that I might have gotten myself all worked up over nothing. “What if I’ve read the signs wrong?” I think. “What if I come home empty-handed?” But, I tell myself to just go with it. If Justin is ready to propose, he will. If he’s not, then our day will be here soon. As the day progresses, my nerves grow stronger. Justin seems more relaxed than usual, and his demeanor throws me off from any potential clues or hints.

As the sun begins to set, the wind blows slightly cold, leading Justin to pull me into his arms. He wraps me up in a fuzzy warm blanket, and pops open a bottle of sparkling grape juice a.k.a. “Fake Champagne” (I am only 18-years-old). He opens a box of chocolate covered strawberries, and turns on some music. Back in 2002 people didn’t have Bluetooth speakers or iPhones, but we did have old-fashioned boom boxes. Justin starts playing Reo Speedwagon, and the track changes to one of our favorites, “Keep On Loving You.” As I take a sip of fake champagne, I notice Justin’s hands beginning to shake. His voice is cracking as he starts to speak. Every bone in my body tells me that this is our moment in time.

Justin’s speech: “It’s been an amazing five years growing up together. Not only have we fallen more in love, but we’ve also developed a mutual respect and understanding that I don’t think a lot of couples have; not even ones who are twice our age. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and I consider myself the luckiest man alive. I’ve known for years that I want to spend the rest of my life with you; I just had to wait for you to finish school. I hope you will accept this token of my love. WILL YOU MARRY ME?”

As he finishes he opens a tiny black box containing a dazzling, solitaire princess cut diamond ring. It is the ring of my dreams.

“YES!!!!”YES!!!YES!! I say, “Of course I will. I love you so much!” I look into his teary eyes, and fall into his arms. It was a moment that we’d waited five years for; one we always knew could come. It was sublimely perfect.

At 18 (almost 19) and 21-years-old, we are two kids who are ready to transform into married adults.  

 

This post completes my blog series: The Justin and Jessica Chronicles. Thank you all for following along.

Click here for Part Nine: September 11th

The Justin and Jessica Chronicles: Part Nine

September 11th

My senior at Mosley began like all the rest, but this time, it would be different. I was graduating early so all I had to do was suck it up for five more months. I spent off campus lunches with Justin and occasionally skipped my fourth period to catch up on Wonder Years reruns. Justin and I felt an odd connection to the onscreen romance of Winnie Cooper and Kevin Arnold.

About a month into my senior year, I was sitting in my U.S. Government class when our teacher interrupted a test. We knew something was wrong because her face appeared white and her hands were shaking like crazy.

“We cannot continue class today” he says, “something terrible has happened and you must watch it on the TV for yourselves.” The date was September 11, 2001.

My classmates and I grip our desks in fear as we watch the second tower of the World Trade Center come crashing down.

Our principal comes over the intercom and announces that our school is closing for the remainder of the day. I immediately call Justin on my way home.

“Where are you?” he says in desperation.

“I just left school,” I respond.

“Meet me at my house,” he says.

Like all Americans, we spent the rest of our day glued to the television; feeling heartbroken and scared for our country.

A  week later, Justin, Brian, Emily and I have tickets to an Aerosmith concert (my first) in Atlanta, GA. Our nation is still in a state of emergency, and we wonder if the concert will be canceled, or if its even safe to attend.

When the band announces on their website that they will not be canceling the show; I know I do not want to miss it.

Aerosmith comes out and opens with a song from their latest album “Just Push Play” called, Beyond Beautiful. As the band emerges on stage, a massive projector screen displays a video of an American Flag billowing in the wind.

Steven Tyler sings, “Yeah, she’s beyond beautiful, she never been nobody’s fool that you can fuck with.”

The amphitheater erupts as 20 thousand people stand to their feet in salute of our American flag. That night I went from being an Aerosmith fan to an Aerosmith junkie, and I walked away feeling empowered to be an American.

Come back on Saturday for: The Proposal

Click here for Part Eight: The Fire

The Justin and Jessica Chronicles: Part Eight

The Fire

About a month had passed since my “Tahoe Mission Impact” and our youth group had just returned from its second summer trip, World Changers.

World Changers was like a Christian version of Habitat for Humanity. We spent 10 days in Chicago, IL repairing roofs, building fences, and painting houses for people who could not afford to pay for one.

After spending our entire summer on the road, Justin and I are worn out, so we devote our last few weeks of freedom to relaxing by my family pool.

“I’m getting hungry,” Justin says, “let’s dry off and go to Chick-fil-A.”

“Why don’t we save money and I’ll cook us lunch,” I say.

“Sure,” he says, “but I want some french fries.”

“No problem,” I reply.

While Justin is lounging on the sofa, I get busy in the kitchen.

I turn on the stove top and drizzle a small amount of oil into a skillet for the chicken tenders. As they begin to crackle I fill a large pot with peanut oil and turn the burner on for the fries. About 20 minutes later, the chicken is fully cooked and the french fry oil still isn’t boiling; I wonder why. I turn the heat up to high, hoping to speed along the process.

Another 10 minutes pass when I suddenly feel my eyes burning. I walk onto the back porch, wipe my face, and look back inside to where Justin is sitting on the couch. Way above his head, 12 feet in the air is a thick cloud of black smoke. What have I done?

“JUSTIN, JUSTIN COME HERE,” I call out while running back into the kitchen. The pot of oil now looks like a volcano ready to erupt.

“What do we do?” I scream.

“I don’t know, look for a fire extinguisher,” Justin hollers back.

In a matter of seconds, the hot smoky oil burst into flames.

I grab a large Tupperware bowl, fill it with water, and toss the water onto the fire.

POW!!!!! A massive fireball explodes from the pot causing the fire to spread. My body goes into shock; I freeze and stare at the blaze that is now destroying the kitchen. The crown molding is melting off the walls.

“My dad is going to kill me,” I think.

Justin runs into the back bedroom where there is an additional phone and calls 911. After coming to my senses, I run across the street to the neighbor’s house.

Knock, knock, knock. “Help, my house is on fire, do you have a fire extinguisher?” I shout at the top of my lungs.

“WHAT?” she screams.

The pint-sized lady who resided in the house across from us had always been odd, a hermit of sorts, but I never would have imagined she would respond like she did.

“Is there a car in the garage?” she asks while looking around frantically.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I say with confusion, “Do you have one or not?”

The lady slams the door in my face grabs her kids, and in a matter of second, peels out of her driveway. “I came to her for help, and she deserted me,” I think.

I fall to my knees and begin to cry. While sobbing on her lawn I look up and notice that my parent’s house is now smoking from the outside. At that moment, it takes all my strength to get up and walk the ten short steps to the other neighbor’s door. As the nice lady opens the door, I can hardly speak.

“Did you say your house is on fire?” she asks as her eyes open wide in the direction of my home. She insists that I not go back into the house.

“But my boyfriend is in there,” I snortingly holler, “and my dog.”

She keeps holding onto me, convincing me to stay.

The only time Justin ever had short hair

Suddenly, I see Justin. He is covered in black soot as he comes running out of the house.  

We hold each other tight as the fire trucks come rolling in.

It had barely been a month since I was hit by a car and I had already endured another horrific event. Our dog Rusty made it out okay and the Panama City Fire Department saved my parents home. Our clothes and valuables were spared but all the furniture and my dad’s six-foot gallon saltwater aquarium was ruined. I don’t know what I was thinking that day. I had made french fries a dozen times before and always remembered to test the oil with a sample fry.

“Make sure you throw one in to see when it starts to bubble,” mom always told me.

But on this day, I treated the oil as though it were water; stupid me!

I learned two valuable lessons that day: never throw water on a grease fire, and never depend on a neighbor for a fire extinguisher.   

 

Come back tomorrow for Part Nine: September 11th

Click here for Part Seven: The Concussion

The Justin and Jessica Chronicles: Part Seven

The Concussion

In the summer of 2000, our youth group would embark on Mission Impact our third Choir Tour. This year we were headed to The Lone Star State. 

In two years we’d grown significantly in size; now consisting of 120 youth and 25 plus adults. We’d also branched out in new areas of outreach. Instead of just singing for churches and revivals, we held backyard Bible clubs (mini summer camps for underprivileged children) and performed Christian rock concerts in Windixie parking lots.

Justin and I felt like we were spending our teenage years pretty wisely, instead of partying like most kids our age. 

On the final day of our trip, we are packed up and ready to go home. All of our mission trips came complete with a fun excursion tacked onto the end (remember Opryland). This year we would be stopping at Six Flags Kentucky Kingdom.

My bible club is the final stop before hitting the road, and I am the last person to make my way onto the church bus. I grab the rail and start climbing up the stairs when someone reminds me to grab the trash.
“Oh crap!” I say while making a 180, and heading back down the stairs.
I am so intent on grabbing the trash that I fail to notice the Chevy Tahoe is speeding my way.

The vehicle is going so fast that it sends my 110-pound, 5 foot 4 frame body six feet into the air. My head cracks the vehicle’s headlight, and my body puts a large dent in the front of the hood.

I wake up in an ambulance with a brace around my neck. 

“What’s going on?” I say quietly. 

“She’s awake,” says a familiar voice; it’s my dad.

“Hey baby, do you know what happened, can you talk?” he asks.

“I can talk, what’s going on daddy?” I cry.

He informs me that I have been hit by a car, and I have been unconscious for half an hour. I feel groggy, scared, and my body is in a tremendous amount of pain — I wonder if I will ever walk again.

Dad squeezes my hand and rubs my head as we ride 45 miles to a hospital in Dallas, TX.
Much to everyone’s surprise, I don’t have a single broken bone in my body. The doctors determine that I’ve suffered a mild concussion but say I am cleared to leave the hospital that evening.

Hours have passed since my accident when Justin finally walks into my hospital room.

“Hey Wonder Woman,” he says, “how are you feeling?”

I didn’t know it at the time but Justin had witnessed the entire accident. While I was lying in the street, he crawled over to me and grabbed my hand; never leaving my side until the paramedics forced him away. Justin insisted on riding with me in the ambulance that day but was told there was only room for one additional person. He ended up having to get a lift with a parent from one of our bible club kids. For over an hour, he didn’t know if I was alive or dead.

“I’ve been better,” I reply, “did the rest of the youth group already leave?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Does this mean we don’t get to go to Six Flags?” I ask with tears forming in my eyes.

I had just survived being hit by a car and it was close to a miracle that I was alive and walking away free and clear. But the moment I was told that I would have to miss out on Six Flags, I was crushed and my emotions went into overdrive.

“Babe, I’ll take you to Six Flags another day,” he says, “you focus on getting better, it’s going to be a long drive home.”

Mom, dad, Justin, and I would need to make several stops to rest in hotels on our way home. Mom naturally put Justin and me in separate rooms.

On our first night, I awoke around midnight to a startling sound. I sit up and begin scanning the room when I notice something on the floor beside my bed. It’s Justin, and he is huddled inside a blanket sleeping on the floor next to my bed.

“What are you doing?” I whisper worrying that my mom will catch him.

“Your dad was snoring, and I was worried about you, so I snuck out to come and check on you,” he says.

“If mom wakes up, she is going to be mad,” I whisper back.

Justin looks up at me, tears streaming down his face, and says, “I thought I’d lost you, baby, I don’t ever want to feel like that again.”

 

Come back tomorrow for Part Eight: The Fire

Click here for Part Six: What Goes Around Comes Around

The Justin and Jessica Chronicles: Part Six

What Goes Around Comes Around

Middle school days

In August 1998 I began my freshman year at Bay High. In lieu of attending my zoned school, Mosley, I’d convinced my mom to let me spend my freshman year with Justin. Justin was a senior and his graduating class would be the last to graduate in the current millennium. Making the choice to go to school out of zone was a big deal and a few weeks into my freshman year, I started to regret my decision. Besides Justin, Brian, and Emily, I didn’t know anyone other than a few kids from elementary school.

Back in 1998 the term “bully” wasn’t a widely used term but bullies were definitely an ongoing problem in schools. Because of Justin and I’s decision to save ourselves for marriage, I was being targeted for my christian beliefs. For some strange reason, my virginity seemed to bother my peers. They called me names like “goody goody” and “prude”. There was one particular girl, I’ll call her Trish Mack, who seemed to have it out for me. Trish was the quintessential “mean girl” and she took every opportunity to poke fun at me and my celibate relationship.

“What do you mean ya’ll are waiting for marriage,” she’d say in disgust, “that’s just weird,” She even attacked me in between classes. “Look, it’s miss goody two shoes,” she’d say, “this girl can’t even get laid by her own boyfriend. How pathetic is she?”

1999 True Love Waits banquet

I felt ashamed of the very thing I was taught to be proud of: my virginity. My second semester at Bay, I was lucky enough to get into a class with Brian and Justin; TV Production. The three of us had a lot of fun together but unfortunately I ended up with a permanent seat next to none other than Trish Mack. On the days that she decided to show up for class, she wasted no time in grilling Justin and I about our intimate relationship. Justin told her to shove it, but she never backed down and seemed intent on embarrassing me at any given chance. Then one day, the heavens shone down and gave me a rare but golden opportunity. Brian Woodall likes to refer to the incident as “bloody butt chair.”

Trish is walking around our classroom one day when Justin spots something on the back of her shorts. 

“What is all over Trish’s butt?” Justin asks. 

I stand up to investigate.

“Oh my gosh,” I say, “she started her period.” 

“WHAT?” Brian screeches, “that’s nasty.” 

“Shhh y’all shut up, she’s coming back,” I whisper.

 I desperately wanted payback, but I also knew that it would give her even more of a reason to hate me. When Trish returns, I begin contemplating my options. 

Option A: I tell her nothing and let her go about her day. Obviously one of her friends will eventually help her out. 

Option B: I can laugh and publicly humiliate her. I’m sure that is what she would do to me. 

Or, option C: I can take the high road and quietly inform her of the embarrassing situation at hand. 

I walk over to Trish squat down next to her, and softly tap her on the shoulder.

“What is it virgin?” Trish says in her snobby little voice.

“Ummm, hey, sorry to bother you sweetie, but I think you have an unfortunate situation going on.”

Her cheeks turn hot pink and her eyes start circling the room.

“What are you talking about?” she says back. Don’t you need to get back to your christian boyfriend.”

“I have an extra tampon if you need it,” I reply while reaching into my backpack.

Prom 1999

She quickly stands to her feet and looks at Brian and Justin; who pretend to be oblivious. She grabs her friend Susie (another snob) by the arm and demands that she hand over her sweater. The two of them scurry off to the bathroom as the three of us erupt in laughter.

“Oh NOOOOO,” Justin says, “look at her chair.”

Trish had leaked so much period blood through her shorts that it was all over her wooden chair. While Trish and Susie are in the restroom, the blood in Trish’s chair starts to dry. 

“Gross who’s gonna clean that off?” Justin says in disgust. 

“I don’t know but it’s not going to be me,” Brian replies. 

Then suddenly, Trish returns to class with a sweater around her waist. She slowly walks over to her chair, notices the dried blood and proceeds to swap the chair out with another one from the table. The three of us are revolted. 

For the rest of the semester, Brian, Justin, and I kept tabs on “bloody butt chair.” It never got cleaned and no one other than the three of us ever knew it existed. Everyday, as the chair was passed around in class, the bloody stain shrank a little in size. We cringed when a new person sat in it and we even laughed when that person was Trish. Was she unsanitary or actually that dense? Looking back, I don’t know why we didn’t just tell our teacher about it and call it a day. 

Either way, I knew that my decision to be discreet had worked in my favor because Trish Mack never bothered me again!  

 

Come back tomorrow for Part Seven: The Concussion

Click here for The Justin and Jessica Chronicles: Part Five – The Winter Formal