Living For the Only Thing I Know

From the first time I caught his gaze in a photo, I knew.

Our first date came on a Friday.  I couldn’t concentrate on work that entire day.  We’d been getting to know each other after meeting at my condo one night a few weeks before and I was all stupid tingly, but in a new-best-guy-friendish sort of way.  Not to mention, I was seeing someone else at the time, a guy named Ian, and had been dumped by someone I seriously envisioned having a future with just a few months before, so clearly, I was NOT in a girlfriend material state of mind.

He picked me up and from the first few minutes, we laughed.  It set the tone for the entire evening.  He chose the restaurant, a local microbrewery, and we sat at a table near the front door.  It was October, and our waitress sported a slut-tastic devil costume in celebration of Halloween, which was just days away.  Although I don’t remember what I ordered, he chose the pork chops.  Odd choice, I remember thinking.  Different.  It was the special of the evening, and he never questioned the price, which was, I haven’t a clue why but, refreshing.

By the time Satanista returned with our food, the conversation was well on its way.  We’d begun singling out other couples besides us on their first dates, and we mocked them endlessly.  Dinner seemed to float by.  One meal and a few glasses of wine later, confident in my go-to date outfit (a french blue button down, black jacket and my best jeans topped off with adorable black boots), we walked across a few Hartford streets to the arena to see a hockey game.  Being that I’d involuntarily been exposed to hockey by an ex-boyfriend who worked in the sport (thanks, Jimmy!) and, ironically, became a fan, and seeing as D is Canadian and, well, bleeds ice, it was the perfect end, to the perfect first date of the most perfect relationship I’d ever have.

He drove me home, kissed me politely and drove back to his apartment.

That was October 26th, 2000.

There hasn’t been a day since that we’ve gone without speaking.

This weekend of Hallmark engineered holidays, of roses and candies and balloons and date nights, my valentine will be in Calgary, Alberta some 3000 miles away from me, brokering some meetings with high falutent doctor types to help save the world.  Sure, he’s doing good, which is a fine excuse to be gone, but I will be without my one and only on the day we celebrate some mysterious patron saint.  Even though we’re a bit too poor to exchange lavish gifts, we might’ve grabbed a movie, snuggled on the couch, gone to bed early or…not.  He’s not even gone yet, and already I miss him terribly.

But, although I’ll be alone on Saturday, he makes it so I’ll never be lonely.

Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.