The Only Flame In Town

Long before Joe, I had another love. He was older than I, more experienced in the ways of the world, politics, and deep thought. He opened my eyes to things going on in the world that I didn’t know existed. He was good looking, had a sweet voice, and I would go starry-eyed whenever I saw him. He didn’t love me, though, and that was okay-- I still loved him anyway.

Years went by and he fell by the wayside. I knew that I would never be his love, and so the accessible college boyfriends came and went. I finally found true love when I met Joe, and we went through the usual friendship, courtship and then got married. I had kept up, somewhat, with the old love and what he was doing, but it wasn’t like we corresponded or anything. He just seemed to fade into the past-- a young girl’s crush. Now I had more important things to do, like diapering babies and doing laundry 100 times a week.

The old love was coming to town, or so all my friends said. My cousin in Atlanta sent an email informing of his impending visit to Chicago. The phone kept ringing with reports and friends kept insisting I needed to see him. They all knew I was obsessed with him so very long ago, and I needed to have one last moment with him. How did all of these people know he was coming, and I didn’t? How out of touch have I become? Who knows when he would be back this way again? It was now or never. The problem was his visit coincided with the very weekend of Joe’s and my twentieth wedding anniversary. How do I explain that one to Poor Joe?! He is usually so patient and understanding, but could he possibly forgo the weekend downtown in some swanky hotel to go see my old love? Is that fair to ask of him? I asked anyway.

He caved, God bless him. Joe made all of the necessary arrangements--scheduled the kids’ activities around the evening, delayed the hotel reservation, and planned for an evening that was all about his wife and her old love. The weekend came; I dressed up, eager to see the old love again. Joe dressed down—he was pretty much just playing along.

My heart raced with excitement as we approached the place. The lights were dimmed and he walked in--suave, confident, and extremely built for a man of 55 years old. His beard was scruffy though, and I have to admit, it disappointed me that he couldn’t shave for me after all of these years. He began to sing and I forgave it all--those years of absence, the no shaving, and the marrying of someone else. My heart smiled and it was like I was 20 years old all over again.

It was an odd anniversary present to say the least, Joe escorting me to see Sting in concert for our twentieth wedding anniversary. It's then when I realized how much I loved him and I think he even winked at me once—Joe, I mean.