Love at First Puke

By Karen Martin

Love is a game that two can play and both win.

~Eva Gabor

"Heads, you meet me in Chicago. Tails, I come to Zion." Please-oh-please be heads, I thought. What in the world would I do in this sleepy little town to impress a guy I'd just met yesterday?

"Well, I guess I'm coming to Zion!" David announced through the phone.

"Great!" I faked enthusiasm. "See you in a couple of days."

I hung up and started wracking my brain. The coffee shop? Boring. Bowling alley? Maybe a decade ago when we were in middle school. A walk near Lake Michigan? Too romantic for a second date.

Then I remembered my dad's friend who raced sailboats on the lake. The previous summer, I'd gone along as "rail meat," moving from one side of the boat to the other to help shift the sailboat's weight as we made turns in the racecourse.

I asked Dad to get David and me an invite from his friend for that week's race. He did. He also got himself an invite, which meant my winning date idea would now include my father. Oh well. There was no time for a Plan B.

"Are you sure you don't want to take something for motion sickness?" I asked David a couple days later as we drove toward the lake. He had never been on a sailboat before, and I knew from experience that the lake could get pretty choppy.

"Nah. I'll be fine."

"You'd make quite an impression on me if you got seasick," I teased.

Ten minutes later we arrived at the harbor, leaving the muggy August heat behind. A refreshing wind whipped off Lake Michigan. Waves splashed against the sides of the docked boats and knocked them against the wooden pier.

"It's a rough one!" called Brian, the sailboat's captain. "They considered calling off the race, but we're going to give it a try."

I nudged David's arm. "Last chance for the meds..."

He shook his head. "I was born for this!" he said, and he hopped aboard a sailboat for the first time in his life.

After a few minutes of puttering through the harbor, we bobbed out onto the open lake and the boat rocked in eight directions at once. Oh! My stomach didn't like that. Good thing I took the motion sickness pills.

Crash! A wave tumbled over the side of the boat and drenched everyone on board. David laughed. "This is awesome!" he shouted over the loudly cracking sail.

David and my dad helped Brian wrestle the sails to get the boat to the starting area. The lake threw two more waves over the side and they laughed — Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn on a nautical adventure.

When all the sailboats were more or less in starting position, a bullhorn blasted through the wind, and the race was on!

"Left siiide!" shouted Brian over the snapping sail and crashing waves. We tripped and banged into each other as we scrambled to the other side of the boat, which was rocking wildly in all directions.

"Right siiide!"

Someone slipped and fell full-force into David's lap. Everyone was dripping wet and laughing. I laughed, too, and ignored the funky feeling that lingered in my stomach. I'd been on a sailboat at least a dozen times before and never had any problems.

The wind settled down a bit and things got quiet as we sailed into a straightaway.

"We're in third place!" called Brian. "Good job everyone!"

David turned around and grinned at me from the front of the boat.

Not a bad second date, I congratulated myself.

Suddenly, my stomach lurched. I grimaced and put my hands on my belly. It lurched again.

This can't be happening, I thought. I scrambled to the back of the boat and leaned over the railing. A stream of vomit disappeared into the churning wake behind the boat.

I don't remember making my way down into the hold. I don't remember where I got the plastic bag. I don't remember how much longer we were out on the lake. But I remember the number of times I puked into that bag. Thirteen.

"Down below is the worst place to be," I heard someone say from up on deck.

"She should come up here and focus on the horizon," declared someone else.

They could say whatever they wanted. There was absolutely no way I was going to stay up there and let David watch me throw up all over myself.

A pair of legs appeared on the ladder that led down into the hold. I considered hiding my barf bag but decided it would be wiser to keep it within reach.

I wrinkled my nose and winced up at David. His face was all concern and compassion. He put his hand on my leg, and romantic butterflies quivered in my already churning stomach.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

"No. Thank you," I said. "You really don't need to be down here. I'm sure it reeks."

"I want to tell Brian to turn the boat around," he said.

"No way!" I replied. "We're in the middle of a race!"

Somehow, I survived the race. Somehow, there was a third date — and many more after that. And twenty-two months later, with our feet planted on the delightfully solid ground of a mountainside, David asked me to be his wife.

During the months we dated, people often asked how we met. The sailboat story usually came up. "I was so impressed with her when she said we couldn't drop out of the race," David would say, making me sound like a champion instead of a pathetic invalid. I adored him more with each telling of the story.

One day, with our wedding date approaching, David made a confession. "Remember that time I flipped a coin to see whether you'd come to Chicago or I'd go to your town?" he asked.

Of course I remembered.

"Well, I was curious to see where you were from and meet your family, but I didn't want to sound too eager."

"Yeah...?" I could see where this was going.

"So... I really did flip a coin. But it wasn't heads."

David hurried to explain that he hadn't actually lied. He had never said whether the coin landed on heads or tails; he'd just announced that he would be coming to visit me. I was mad, but only a little and only for about two seconds.

I've sometimes wondered what might've happened if that second date had been in Chicago like the coin toss said it should be. We would have had nice dinner out, perhaps. Or maybe strolled along Navy Pier and watched the choppy waves from a safe distance. But then I wouldn't have had the opportunity to impress David with my determination to finish the race, and who knows what would've happened? So it was worth suffering through the queasiness. Ten years later, we're still married, still in love — and still haven't gone sailing again.

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