Staring With Abbie

I first met her when I was only fifty-six. I was in the bowling alley carrying a fishing rod when she scooted in. She was wearing a sea green fez, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated her kidney, but I pretended not to notice.

I was about to set the fishing rod down when she inched beside me. I guess she startled me, and I clumsily dropped the fishing rod right by her feet. We both bent over to pick it up. It was one of those awkward moments, and we both began to stare.

After stumbling apologies, I asked her to go to the Starbucks for a Long Island iced tea. She accepted, and our relationship took off from there. We didn't even know each other's names yet.

At the Starbucks, I learned that her name was Abbie, and that she was a choir director. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a writer.

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