Breathing With Gabriel

I first met him when I was only sixty-three. I was in the pizza joint carrying a spoon when he careened in. He was wearing a chocolate brown tutu, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated his belly, but I pretended not to notice.

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

After stumbling apologies, he asked me to go to the grocery store 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 grocery store, I learned that his name was Gabriel, and that he was a hobo. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a staff sergeant in the English Air force.

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