That's just as far as I got, when I started writing this blog post back in July, after meeting a man who changed my life. After awakening to my own life, like I never had before.
We just clicked. The kind of click that happens, sometimes once-in-a-lifetime. It was the kind of click, that got me writing again, passionately... about everything and anything. It enhanced my reading appetite. I became voracious. Made me drop my all of my preconceived notions about the world, and the people living in it. The kind of click that accelerated from 0 to 200 in less than a millisecond. The kind that crashed-and-burned, and shattered my heart.
You know what I mean?
But with every Great Click, comes an even greater story.
And even after this chapter of my life was written, an incredible tale remained to be told.
The entry, "Two Dog Day... and Night" has been sitting in my drafts since July. And for almost half-a-year, I've mulled over whether, "To write or not to write?" The question has been plaguing me, as the terse post accumulated dust.
Writing about personal relationships, is not my style. However, I've decided it's time to share one of my most romantic dating stories, ever. Out of the ashes of my short-lived relationship,
a beautiful Phoenix does rise.
And every time I think about this story, I smile. I hope you do, too.
Last April, I met and started dating a handsome, salt-and-pepper haired man, who worked on a boat. This was not just any boat. And he wasn't just any man. At the time I didn't know it, but was my rescue dinghy. And I, his life jacket. We were strangely destined to find one another, in the rough sea of life.
The night we met, I already had been stood up by a date. So my best friend dragged me out to hear some live music. Reluctantly, I went.
The performer in the first act was a snooze-fest, but things picked up. But the second act, a very talented singer had captivated the crowd, and we were impressed. We stayed to hear her serenade the small crowd.
My friend who does not drink, was over her typical two drink limit. And I was getting tired, ready to head home after one last song. However, that didn't happen.
Before I could walk in the direction to grab a cab, my friend who we'll call, "M" had already crossed the empty street, and was heading straight for a row of bars about 50 feet away.
What choice did I have, but to follow her?
We decided to walk into the wine bar on the right. And that was when I saw him.
Like a gentleman, he moved out of the way, as I walked past him - making my way to the bar.
And I noticed. A man with manners, particularly old-fashioned sensibilities, is worth his weight in gold.
Then, I feebly attempted to order two beers: one for me, and the other for "M." But I was struggling.
Either I was too short for the bartender to see, or he was ignoring me, but I could not get his attention. Then, somehow, two pint glasses of beer, as if by magic, arrived for me and "M."
I would learn later, the mystery man had ordered our drinks for us.
I will skip over the part where we made small talk, after I returned to the bar, because I felt compelled to talk to him, and couldn't let him get away. He was a stranger, yet our interaction felt oddly familiar.
That night, he revealed he was a "seaman," in fact, the proper title for his job. I think I laughed or giggled a little bit, but he took it in stride and explained that he was a Merchant Marine.
That's how it started. The night I met the sailor. April 13, 2013.
(TO BE CONTINUED)