How I met my L.


Six months ago yesterday, I met L. for the first time.

I’ll never forget it.

She and I had met online, but I’m better face to face than trying to connect by e-mail. I asked if she wanted to meet at a photo exhibit opening at Space One Eleven downtown. She said yes.

When I arrived, I was standing on the sidewalk looking inside through the big plate window at all the people milling about. I saw her, tall, well dressed, beautiful. She saw me, and we recognized each other.

I couldn’t wait to go in, even as my heart was pounding.

We said our hellos, and I offered to get us some wine. It was the first time I learned she’s a red wine girl.

Plastic cups in hand, we began talking. And we never stopped. We laughed, we listened, we gazed. I looked up a little, because I was sitting against a table, and because she’s taller than me.

Eventually, we went to look at the photos. And at each one, she asked me what I thought. She offered her own interpretation of the mood, the subjects, the intended message. It was strangely thrilling.

As they booted us out after the reception, I suggested dinner, and she happily accepted. I drove us to Southside for Thai food, where the conversation continued.

On paper, we were not a good match. Our ages were further apart than either of us wanted, yet we had so much in common. We liked going out, culture, good food and good wine.

After dinner, I took her for a drink at the bar at the new hotel in Homewood, just over the mountain. We parked across the street, and something happened on the way in. L. says on the corner, outside of the hotel, I smiled at her genuinely for the first time. Maybe I had some fake smile plastered on me all evening, but she says I was beginning to relax, to be in the moment.

I smile thinking about it.

We had our drinks and talked and laughed some more. Afterwards, I drove her back to her car downtown, almost detouring to Southside because I was distracted.

We’ve been through a lot in six months, and I don’t know where we’ll be in the next six months. But I do know I love L., and that she loves me.

Happy six-month anniversary, L.!


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