It must have been at least midnight, but I wasn’t sure because my watch had stopped ticking at a half past nine.
The clouds rolled across the light of the moon like hand puppets against the wall of my childhood bedroom; lions twisting into rabbits, then to men in tall hats.
I walked without destination along the gridded downtown sidewalks. The heels of my worn, brown church shoes made up for my failed wristwatch, and kept time on the concrete like the drip of a leaky kitchen faucet.
I counted my steps.
At 123 I came upon the corner of Third and Main. The traffic light signaled no one through, except for the ghosts I pictured driving their jet-black Chryslers across the intersection.
Freshly polished whitewalls threw the puddles of water out of the way as the 12-inch fins cut the night air and powered across the street with the red glow of the taillights thrusting its way into second gear.
It was precisely at step 198 that I noticed her, though it took me until 234 before she really came into view.
She stood on the corner of Third and Lorelie under a street lamp.
How incredibly lucky that street lamp is, I thought at step 240.
Its pale yellow curtain framed her in light I swear I had seen in my grandmother’s hallway.
Frosted edges and gold olive branches cradling that light… that girl.
She was wearing a long white nightgown with wide-cut sleeves that rippled in the wind.
Her long golden hair matched each wave, occasionally the curls would fall lightly on her perfect shoulders, embracing her for just a moment before the wind would dance with them again.
At 248 I saw her smile — her incredible smile — a smile that I am sure would have stopped traffic had there been any, but it was just her and me.
When my right foot marked step 259, I stopped, and I can’t recall why. Maybe it’s because of her smile, that half-shy half-smirk, all-lip smile.
That smile would have stopped traffic, I’m sure of it.
I’m not sure how long it was before I noticed I had stopped, my heels stood flat on the sidewalk.
I checked my watch again, but it still read half past nine.
It seemed as though all the clouds had passed, for the moon gleamed uninterrupted.
There we stood with only the two lanes of Lorelie Street between us, and all time had stopped.
The sleeping buildings and the quiet streets gave no indication otherwise.
She looked out at me, and I took my 260th step.
And with the sound of my heel hitting the wet concrete of Lorelie, she disappeared.
Time had caught up with me, and the street-lamp that once held the most beautiful girl I had ever seen just flickered with heartbreak.
Anywho, that’s my best love story.
Happy Valentine’s Day.