One evening, I left the house to go for a walk. I needed to cool down and get some fresh air after arguing with Kate. She was coming toward me, walking her large golden retriever on a leash. The dog had stopped to sniff the ground and contemplate the best spot to do its business when I finally reached her. She appeared to be in her late thirties, early forties. In great shape. Pretty. She said hello and we chatted briefly. Her voice had a light southern drawl to it that I found both pleasant and relaxing. She also had these amazing brown eyes. A bit lighter than her hair. They seemed to glow at times. I imagine more than a few men have found themselves lost inside of them.
Recently divorced, she lives alone. “Finally free.” She was a couple of inches shorter than me and had a way of looking up at me through her eyelashes. She also had a deadly flair for sarcasm. “Sarcasm and I get along well,” she told me. She was confident and cool, like she had it all figured out. Though I suspected that in her mind, it was quite the opposite.
I didn’t learn much else about her that day, but she certainly left her mark, as attractive, outgoing women with lively spirits tend to do. But there was much more to her than that. I could tell immediately that she was interesting and fun. She’d been places. Experienced things. She was someone who left sparks of joy in others wherever she went, despite a few minor traces of sadness I caught hiding within her face. Someone I’d enjoy being friends with. Is such a thing even possible?
Oddly enough, she never told me her name. And I forgot to tell her mine. She did, however, introduce me to her dog, Molly, who gave me a big toothy grin when I greeted her. The whole interaction left me with a rather melancholy feeling in my gut, though I couldn’t pinpoint why. And yet, a smile pulls at the corners of my mouth as I think about it now.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish