Howling With Fabien

I first met him when I was only sixty-eight. I was in the café carrying a fountain pen when he clambered in. He was wearing a rose hood, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated his aorta, but I pretended not to notice.

I was about to set the fountain pen down when he lumbered beside me. I guess he startled me, and I clumsily dropped the fountain pen right by his feet. We both bent over to pick it up. It was one of those awkward moments, and we both began to howl.

After stumbling apologies, he asked me to go to the ad agency for a Moscow mule. I accepted, and our relationship took off from there. We didn't even know each other's names yet.

At the ad agency, I learned that his name was Fabien, and that he was a cellist. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a second grade teacher.

I guess it was love at first howl. Some might say we had sticks in our eyes, but we felt we were perfect for each other. He was seventeen years younger than I, but the age difference didn't matter to us. Even today, we are still howling for each other.