Every waking day

 We were only kids when we met in a cellar bar off campus. She was sitting at a wooden barrel bar with two friends, but it was just her that made my heart skip a beat or two. A long-haired guy in a tie-dyed shirt and strands of beads around his neck with a large peace sign, Madallon, was playing songs he wrote and some he didn't.

The crowd was the usual crowd that hung out on Fridays and Saturdays, with Fridays being single nights and Saturdays being date nights. On that particular Friday, I was glad I was single; obviously, she was, too. I mingled around, saying hi to friends from college and never losing sight of her, who, in time, I would have had enough liquid courage to walk up and say hello.

I still believe fate brought her to the bar and stood next to me. Her perfume was a faint smell of lilac. For a microsecond, her arm touched mine as our eyes locked, and she smiled, a smile I still long for every waking day.

We talked well into the night about everything and anything, not wanting the night to end. At the last call, I asked if I could walk her back to her dorm, and she smiled that smile that said yes. The night air was cool, and I wrapped my jacket around her as we walked silently down the quiet streets, not wanting this night to end.

At her front door, I broke the silence and asked her for a date, and she asked when. "Is tomorrow too soon?" I asked, and she smiled that beautiful smile etched into my soul and nodded, saying tomorrow would be nice.

The rest is history. We both finished college and soon after, we became husband and wife. We traveled for a while in an old school bus turned camper, seeing faraway places that called us to visit: state forests, parks, beaches, and lakes where others like us traveled the roads less traveled. Nature at its best surrounded us with peace and harmony among our traveling brothers and sisters, some of whom were still friends decades later.

From a slight touch standing at a bar to a lifetime of love, we've parked the old bus in our yard next to the hen house. Now, our kids play inside, pretending to be on great adventures like the ones we shared with them. We sit around a campfire, where sometimes friends drop in. A friend with a guitar brings us back to a cellar bar, where he was dressed in a tie-dyed shirt with strands of beads and a peace symbol that hangs from his neck.

We lived a long and happy life together, a long-ago memory that turned into many beautiful smiles and a faint smell of lilac I awake to every waking day.

Mike 2025