A (Brief) Turkish Love Story

This weekend I heard the story of how my Turkish grandparents fell in love.

It was Saturday morning at the summer house in Mersin. My grandparents had graciously agreed to host both me and three of the other American girls from Adana for the weekend. We were sitting at breakfast, a typically large and delicious meal: eggs, tomatoes, cucumbers, fresh bread, green olives, black olives, cheese, honey, and so on. We sat on the spacious, open porch at a round table, the morning Mediterranean air hovering, the sun shining little rays onto our table and refracting reddish-brown light from our clear tea glasses. The conversation was lively already, mostly thanks to my grandfather, who is somewhat of a philosopher in his own way - doling out savory morsels of timeless wisdom that sound even fresher to my ears when they come from a new language. The tea was being poured by the glass: "It helps the conversation," said my grandmother as she leaned over with the shiny silver teapot to refill my glass for perhaps the fourth time. After a brief lull, the conversation, as always in Turkish, turned to go like this:

"You know, your grandmother and I have been together for forty-five years," my grandfather said. He held up his bronzed, toughened hand to make a four and then a five. His words rumbled into the air in his deep voice. The entire table of girls cooed in appreciation. "We met in middle school." My grandmother let out her little cackling laugh, her eyes crinkling into a wide smile. "How did it happen? We were playing outside. I saw her from aways away." He smiled and fixed his deep brown eyes on mine. "It was like a bucket of water was poured on my head. I knew right then." The image struck me so clearly that it was as if the metaphorical bucket of water had once again been poured upon my head. "But it took awhile! Her family said I was too poor. It took many years before we were married. But we were. And now we are!" And they turned to each other and laughed and smiled. The entire table sat in a brief second of silence with giddy smiles on our faces. The story had been told so simply yet to such great effect.

The story stuck with me throughout the day as the sun rose higher into the sky and we made our way to the beach to swim in the Mediterranean. I thought of the many love stories I've heard from my American family throughout the years - stories that also evoked powerful images or sensations. Now this story, from across the world, from my "grandfather" who is no blood relation to me, is joining the ranks of the numerous stories I already know by heart of my great-grandparents, grandparents, and parents back in America. For no matter what language or what part of the world they come from, love stories strike a chord; they become a part of the collection of stories that I'll remember and save to one day share with future generations, too.