People who know me know I’m well-grounded, practical, fairly logical, painfully honest, and I don’t believe in love at first sight. I do, however, believe in something at first sight — wait, I’ll tell you what happened. Maybe you can figure it out.
You know, it’s curious what a memory can call up from the recesses of your mind. A certain smell, a taste, even a sound you heard long ago can be recalled and relived, as though it happened only minutes ago.
There’s a day that lingers in my mind. I can still taste the gritty dust blowing across my face on a sweltering summer day. I can still hear the ding-ding-ding at the old fashioned red and white gas pumps as someone filled their tank, and still smell the mingled aromas of diesel and gas.
As I recall, it was August, the dog days of summer. It was stinking hot. I was on a road trip to nowhere in particular, just going from here to there and taking a few days in which to do it. I had stopped for gas and a cold drink at a truck stop along a two-lane road somewhere out west. I remember the hot wind, too — it was hard to forget. That dust was blowing a powdery dust everywhere and it was gritty in your mouth, and it covered everything.
Not ready to get back inside my steamy car, I sat on a large rock under the only tree I saw within miles. I savored the ice cold soda and wiped the sweat and grime from my face and neck with a wet paper towel from the ladies room.
I remember looking up and seeing this man, a perfect stranger. He had just climbed out of a beat up old blue pickup parked at the side of the road and he was walking straight toward me. Even now, I’m not sure why I was so mesmerized by the sight of him, but I was. I can still picture him walking — he had these run-down leather boots on and the wind was ruffling up his sandy hair. When he got closer, I saw a tanned face with a roadmap of lines, and he was squinting right at me through the most extraordinary ice-blue eyes I had ever seen.
When he caught me staring, he touched a finger to the hat cocked rakishly to one side, and threw me a wink, a quick nod, and then a crooked smile. “Ma’am.” That’s all he said, but that was enough. I had heard the deep Texan drawl. I only hope my mouth was closed.
He was muscled and tall. His long legs moved him along in a slow, bowlegged stride that literally reinvented the sexy swagger. He was pure poetry in motion. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, but as he passed by, my eyes were drawn to the back of the tight, worn blue jeans and the perfect butt that filled them.
I can’t say that he was Marlboro Man handsome. What he did own was a rugged outdoor look, one that spoke of riding sweaty horses, roping cattle, squinting into the sun all day and sleeping out under the wide bowl of stars at night. It was all of that and more, and him so perfectly packaged in those tight worn jeans and blue plaid shirt with little pearl snaps and rolled up sleeves.
To be honest, my emotions ran high that afternoon. Maybe it was from my love of westerns as a child that it hit me like that, I still don’t know for sure, even now. The only thing that ever passed between us was a wink, a nod, and a crooked smile. But I’ll never forget the day I fell …no, not in love, but definitely something by the side of the road with a perfect stranger, someone just passing through.