Eye contact. That's all it took. A glimpse, a window, a future. Eye contact. Two seconds that changed me. Across the room; blonde hair; gray eyes; cherry red lipstick; bright, white teeth; and a beautiful smile. Eye contact. I had to talk to her, had to get to know her name. She was with friends, I didn't want to approach, intrude, or obstruct her day out with them; I didn't want to usurp her enjoyment of life. Eye contact. All I could do was stare, I didn't want to make her feel awkward. Eye contact. Almost like as soon as my eyes had met hers, that two seconds, she was gone. I had to find her, had to talk to her, had to get to know her because I felt that she felt it too. Eye contact. It wasn't there but I knew what I felt was something new, exhilarating, adventurous. I found something where she was sitting. Her phone. Eye contact. I would see her again, very soon again in the near future. I raced out of the coffee shop and into the streets looking, searching, investigating. Eye contact. A few streets down. Brows furrowed, chest heaving, sweat streaming. Again: eye contact. She rushed up. "Here's your phone, you forgot it," was all I could muster up. "Thank you," she responded. "Would you want to get coffee sometime?" She asked me, pushing some stray hair behind her ear. I stood dazed, like an elusive dream. "Yes," I fumbled, "that would be delightful." "Great!" She seemed exited, "here's my number." Eye contact. Again, she was gone, leaving behind only her sent of cinnamon and spice. I gazed upon the paper she had handed me. Eight zero four, two nine five, six seven six three. This fell like a rhythm upon my eyes: I was in love.
Eye contact. Coffee a few days later in the shop where I had first seen her. Even after finishing our coffee we talked for hours upon hours upon hours. Time flew, it never had with anyone, but with her it was different. Eye contact. I drove her home, an apartment mid-city. She invited me inside. I stayed. Eye contact. Movies, Star Wars. We watched the franchise like we both never had before, snuggled up in a blanket close to one another on the couch. After the third movie we were asleep. Eye contact. The next morning I made her eggs and pancakes, she woke up amazed at my ability to make breakfast. We ate, talked, laughed. . . kissed. Such a sweet kiss like I had never felt before. Eye contact. I had to leave, I had work. She waved me off as I drove away. Eye contact. Gone for a while but I knew there was more to come. She texted me while I was at work and made plans for our next outing together. Eye contact. So frequent as time pasted on. Dates every Friday, that turned into dates for the weekend, that turned into dates all the time. She moved in with me and I never had felt happier before. Life became much more enjoyable in my two-bedroom apartment.
Eye contact. Two years after meeting her, she purposed to me in the coffee shop where I first laid eyes upon her. We were engaged. My family was happy as well and my friends, and I was ecstatic to be this close with her. Wedding plans became something of a marvel as we pick out color schemes, brides maids, grooms men, venues, and a cake. Me of course not knowing what her dress was going to look like and excitement from both of us. Eye contact. She was always with me, and I never got bored of her, and never would. Wedding day. Organ playing, people crying, children in awe; she walked down the aisle with her father. He handed her off, tears running down his happy face. I couldn't hold back either. The priest spoke, vows were made, we both said, "I do." Eye Contact. I kissed her like I had never kissed her before, now her husband. We rushed off to the car to get away to our honeymoon. Eye contact. A honeymoon in the forest away from everything, only the two of us. We made fires, fished, snuggled close, watched Star Wars, planned for the rest of our lives together. It was everything we ever wanted.
Eye contact. Back home, back to my job, back to life, but with someone there to help me along. Everyday waking up with her and every night falling asleep with her. Eye contact. She was pregnant, we were pregnant, we were thrilled. Months later, it was twins; months later a boy and a girl; months later . . . eye contact. Two beautiful children. Luke and Leia because we were such Star Wars buffs. Eye contact. The children grew, as did our house, our car, and our family with a dog and another kid on the way. Everything was perfect. Family dinners, family games, date nights for mom and dad, another boy – Anakin – that was his name, family vacations, another dog. The kids grew, college came before we knew it.
Eye contact. The house was quiet. The kids were out making their own in the world, their mom and me left together alone. We were now retired and bought a small house upstate. Everything was perfect. Eye contact. Her blonde hair; gray eyes; cherry red lipstick; bright, white teeth; and beautiful smile were all still there. We danced, we sang, we rescued dogs, and we loved. Eye contact. We were growing old, easy tasks like taking a shower or walking up stairs became hard. We mostly sat around and started eating more and more TV dinners. Eye contact. I woke up in the hospital, my wife beside me with tears streaming down here face, almost reminds me of the first time I met her. The doctor told me it was a heart attack. My wife looked at me through the tears and I ran my fingers through her hair, pushing it back behind her ear. That was the last time I was going to.
Eye contact.
