The Boyfriend, The Boss, and Me

Show a little faith, there’s magic in the night.

~Bruce Springsteen

I had always scoffed at people who got engaged at baseball games, or on national television, with their shrieking, weepy faces plastered on a giant screen while everyone applauded. What kind of person wants to share one of the most defining moments of her life with thousands of complete strangers?

For me, a little candlelight, some expensive wine, and, of course, a declaration of undying love seemed more appropriate.

Which is why I was completely floored by what happened to me in New York City a few years ago.

Although we came from completely different religious backgrounds, Martin and I were drawn together through music, especially live music. Music was the soundtrack to our life together in Montreal, whether it was vintage blues playing in the background as we cooked a romantic dinner at home, or guessing what song was being played live in front of us from the first few notes. (I usually won our “Name That Tune” contests.)

Our friends made fun of the fact that we’d often take spontaneous road trips to see an artist we both liked. We went anywhere that we could get to within a day’s drive—Toronto, Philadelphia, Albany. I’d chart out the fastest way to get there via MapQuest, find a funky, reasonably priced hotel with free breakfast and parking, and off we’d go.

We especially loved Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Throughout The Rising tour of 2002-2003, we caught six Springsteen shows in six cities, including the last night of the tour in October 2003, outdoors at New York’s Shea Stadium. (Hey, some women buy expensive shoes, I invest in rock n’ roll experiences!)

It was pouring rain throughout the whole seven-hour drive from Montreal to New York, and was freezing cold when we finally arrived. Our shoes and socks were soaked, my hair was frizzy and out of control, but we were thrilled to be in the Big Apple for the final night of The Boss’s tour. Despite the horrible weather, the parking lot was jammed with tailgate parties featuring die-hard fans huddled in front of their cars or vans, trunks open, music blaring, barbecues fired up, makeshift tarps sheltering them from the rain.

Once inside the stadium, we begged (okay, bribed) a beer concession employee to part with two jumbo garbage bags, which we wore throughout the show, holding hands through the armholes Martin had hacked with his Swiss army knife.

The rain finally stopped to reveal a clear, starlit sky just as Springsteen began strumming the intro to his next song on his acoustic guitar. Famous for his intimate conversations with his audience, Springsteen spoke of commitment, of how fragile relationships can be, of how easy it is to lose one another if you’re not completely invested in your love. As he started to sing, we were amazed to realize that neither of us die-hard fans had ever heard this song before. In fact, we later found out it was the first time he had played “Back in Your Arms” in concert.

The crowd sat in silent appreciation, and as the first verse ended, Martin leaned into me and whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t plan anything.” Thinking he was referring to finding a hotel in New York on five minutes’ notice, I shushed him. “I think we should get married,” he announced, in front of the 60,000 people who sat, drenched, under the stars with us.

My hands started shaking, and I’m not sure if I was shivering from the damp, cold air or the growing warmth in my heart. I threw my arms around Martin’s neck, and as the crowd cheered (for Bruce, not for us), I felt grateful for this perfect marriage proposal that was unlike anything I’d dreamed of. Instead of candlelight, we were bathed in bright, concert spotlights. Expensive wine? Nope, just warm American beer mixed with rainwater. A declaration of undying love? You bet.

Four months later, with “Back in Your Arms” as our first dance, we got married in a small civil ceremony with close family and friends. As he slipped the wedding band onto my finger, Martin said, “I promise to keep taking you to Springsteen shows as long as we can both still dance.” And I knew he meant it.

~Wendy Helfenbaum

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