“One more drink. Please! I think the guy I’m talking to is gonna ask for my number. ” Said her friend just five minutes before. With two aching feet and one faltering back, reluctantly she yielded to her friends demand, something she knew her friend would do for her, ordering a white wine spritzer, knowing she had already reached her liquor max, and she turned around to give the budding couple space when blue eyes locked on her from across the crowded dance floor like an experienced target bomber on a battleship. The music pumped a sultry rhythm through the overgrown speakers and traveled deep into her groin, faster than a vultures impulse and there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she had just been unexpectedly bitten by a thing called love. What was she going to do about it, considering blue eyes was starting to move, and not towards her, away from her, which she found odd, because she was sure she read his eyes right, in the same we she reads and rereads A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns.

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the sea gang dry.

Never a shrinking violet, yet never a woman to initiate a pursuit, she went straight into the crowd and the dancers parted like a red sea, as if they were divinely ordered, seeming to pave the way in the name of love, and as she approached him he seemed startled as if she was dropped from the sky, not as a cold foreign metal object dropped from a spacecraft, but rather a precious gem, a stray diamond that broke free from a lost meteor, landing on him like the birth of a newborn baby. Again their eyes locked and she said the first thing that came to her mind in a naturally seductive tone.

“Are you wandering aimlessly?”

And he replied as spontaneously,

“Not any longer.”

The music disconnected, but in reality it did not. Everything around them stopped, except for their intense immediate connection.

By the end of the night he told her his reason for walking away, not towards her, with the vulnerability of an old friend, “I thought you were a mirage or a hallucination because I saw some type of aura around you after we locked eyes. I know how ridiculous that sounds, but it’s the truth, and quite frankly, it scared the crap out of me so I wanted to circle the room first, to catch my nerve, and make sure you were real, but it seems you beat me to the finish line, and I’m glad you did.”

They exchanged numbers and he called her the next morning before his coffee at 7 am; she expected the phone to ring and they talked so long they were both late for work on the first morning of the rest of their lives together.

Twenty- five years and a whole lot of shared coffee later, they say good night to each other every night as they did on that first starry night, comfortably tucked in, as husband and wife, a love story built on first sight.

“Grandma,” Laurie said, scrambling onto her grandmother’s lap in the rocking chair,” tell me how you and grandpa met. Please.”

“I’d love to, darling. Let’s see,” she closed her eyes, rocking gently and holding Laurie.

“Well, I was working in an office back then, and one day one of my co-workers said that there was some gorgeous guy down in this place called Sweet Imports. You should see him, she said. Drop dead gorgeous, said another.”

“What did you do Grandma?”

“Well, the next day, I went there. It was a kind of café.”

“What’s a café, Grandma?”

“It’s a place where you can buy foods like sandwiches and salads, muffins and cakes and things like that. And coffee, of course. Café means coffee in French.”

“Do you speak French, Grandma?”

“Yes, darling,” she laughed.

“What happened next, Grandma?”

“Well, as soon as I opened the door, it was as if no one else were there but Grandpa and me. He looked at me and we smiled at each other as if we’d been waiting for that moment all our lives.”

“Did you say hello?”

“No sweetheart; actually, I just bought a muffin.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, I left and my heart was pounding.”

“Why, did you run from the coffee?”

“No, sweetheart, I didn’t run from the café.” She looked into little Laurie’s face. “Think about this: When you get really excited or happy about something, does your heart seem to beat a little faster?"

Laurie scrunched her face and thought. Then it lit up with understanding. “Yes, Grandma! I get it. It’s like when we’re going on a trip or coming to your house, or like when we got the new puppy!” Then she frowned. “But I jump up and down a lot too, Grandma.”

Grandma laughed, as did you from the other room. “Well, I was jumping up and down on the inside, honey,” she smiled, hugging Laurie close to her. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, smiling at the memory she was sharing.

Although you were in the next room, the warm timbre of her voice caressed your skin, enveloping you in the memory, touching your heart. You closed your eyes, and remembered…

You had looked up and though you didn’t know, her knees quivered. You saw a familiar face though you had never seen her before and felt your heart leap. She looked into your eyes, big and brown, framed by long thick lashes, and smiled. You looked into her eyes and returned the smile, shy and sincere. Your face, open and innocent.

You didn’t speak. She walked to the back of the line and watched you work. Another took her order. She paid and left. You watched her from beneath those lovely, longed for lashes until only the echo of her heels remained.

Later that same day, she returned. The bell above the door tingled. You felt her before the door opened. Your skin felt like electricity ran through your veins, alive with her gaze upon it. You looked up, your eyes met; she smiled, not as innocent as you, a little nervous, a little wary, already in love. You smiled and your heart was in your eyes.

“May I help you?” you asked with a lovely accent she could not place.

“Um, a strawberry, yogurt shake, please.”

“Right away,” you replied.

She watched your every movement. You felt her gaze burning your skin. You flushed.

Your hand trembled ever so slightly when you handed her the shake.

“Two-fifty. You can pay the cashier.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

You shared another smile. She left.

For a week, no day was complete unless she came in twice a day: muffin in the morning, shake at noon. Finally, you decided five minutes was not enough. You wanted to know this woman. The woman behind the smile.

“I would like to see you,” you said Thursday afternoon.

“I see you every day,” she replied, surprised, scared, excited. Scared.

“No, you misunderstand. I am working. I would like to sit. Talk. You know? Know you better.” You were nervous now. Had you misinterpreted her eyes, her smile? Your English wasn’t very good, but you had thought some things needed no translation.

“We’ll see,” she said, smiling and almost running from the store.

The next day, she came in and smiled but ran out without saying a word. The weekend was long. You played videogames with your brother and watched the clock, counting the minutes until you could go to work on Monday. You even cleaned the bathroom – shared by four men who didn’t like to clean - to make the time go more quickly. Sunday afternoon you went to a flea market and bought a pocketbook handmade in Turkey, your home. Sunday night you drank an entire bottle of vodka and chain smoked two packs of cigarettes to calm your nerves. Your friends laughed at your drunken tears but also tried to boost your courage.

Monday morning finally arrived and when she came in you said, “Don’t go. I have something for you.” You came from behind the counter and handed her the pocketbook.

“Oh my! Thank you so much!” She hugged you and you almost fainted. Your knees quivered. “What time do you finish work?” she asked.

“4:30.”

“Well, if you don’t mind waiting until 5:00, would you like to have dinner tonight?”

Silence. Did you understand correctly? Did she just invite you to dinner?

“Yes” you spluttered, afraid she’d take it back. Afraid.

She smiled. “Good. I’ll meet you by the fountain at 5:00 o’clock.”

“5:00 o’clock,” you repeated.

She took you to a health food restaurant. The food was horrible. No meat and you didn’t recognize anything on your plate. Then, you didn’t have enough money to pay so she had to pay. You gave her every penny in your pocket except what you needed for the subway. You thought, what an idiot, she’ll never go out with me again. Then, she took your hand as you walked to the train station and your heart soared at the same moment that you began to tremble and then worry about your sweaty hands.

That was Monday. Every day that week she came in, smiled, bought her muffin or shake and left. But the smiles were a little brighter. The eyes spoke a little more clearly. No translation necessary. All of a sudden it was Friday.

“Would you like to spend the day with me tomorrow?” you asked. “We could walk around the city and then I will take you to nice restaurant for dinner?”

“That would be lovely. What time would you like to meet?”

“Noon? By the fountain?”

“Sounds great.”

It’s Saturday and you are banging your head on the subway door. You have been sitting in the middle of nowhere for an hour. No moving. They make announcements but you don’t understand. You just think, she will leave. She will think I’m not coming and she will leave. She will hate me. First, I couldn’t buy dinner, now this. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And you bang your head to the rhythm of your thoughts.

One-fifteen. You are running through the station. You take the steps two at a time. You are sweating, praying, panting. You can’t breathe, but you run. Hoping. You run through the lobby and push through the revolving doors and stop. You see her by the fountain, reading a book. She looks up, smiles and waves. In that moment you think, that is the woman I am going to marry. And you do.

“Grandma, where are you going?”

“To give Grandpa a kiss.”

Laurie giggled. “Why Grandma?

“Every time I tell that story, I remember how much I love him.”

“And I you,” you say coming through the doorway and pulling her into your arms.

“Ooooo! Grandpa, grandma! Mommy! Grandma and grandpa are smooching again!”

I don't believe in love at first sight. I find it kind of shallow.

I have to know someone before I can like them.

And I think that's what love really is -

accepting someone, despite all of their flaws, because you know them completely.

Not just falling for a pretty face and hoping it's not hiding something ugly beneath.

My heart is brimmed with emotion

For in golden writing

On the warmesth part

Is engraved your name

The name of a stranger

Whoes thread is woven into my seams

By the delicate way our eyes meet

Like the meet of the bow and arrow

Both gentle understanding

conspires between them

But yet

I have not met my bow

But he has seen the arrow

In the night you came,

Amid announcments and cluttering ,

And screeching of wheels on lenoleum floors,

You looked like a strudel,

You looked like a burrito,

Wrapped in your pink fluffy blanket,

I.V drip in the background,

Small face,

Little fingers,

Tiny toes.

You cried when I held you.

Nothing could have prepared me for this,

Nothing was like this before,

The doctor took you away again for a while.

Then brought you back to me,

I hope forever.

I believe a lot of people mistake lust for love. So falling in love with someone's appearance at first sight seems a little shallow to me. But I do believe you can know someone's the one after the first date or after meeting them at a business meeting/etc. I've seen that happen to some people I knew. So I guess my statement is that you cannot fall in love with someone and their whole being (like their personality and everything else that makes up this person) with just one sight. But I do believe you can feel that love connection after meeting just once, even if you don't act on it until further in the future.