I was pacing the room, turning on my heels when I reached a wall. Crunching on ice and reading the event program for the umpteenth time. I could feel a nervous grin creep across my face.

It was like I was in 11th grade again, waiting for my prom date to show up.

Even better, I was waiting for my valentine.

Any second now, I would be meeting the world-class poet, Maya Angelou — minutes before she was set to speak in front of a sold-out crowd in the Student Union Theater

I should explain.

It happened toward the end of Mardi Gras break. My editor-in-chief, Andrea Gallo, made my day, asking if I was available to interview Maya Angelou later in the week in preparation for a lecture she was giving.

I laughed when I read the text. I could make time.

The interview was scheduled for Wed., Feb. 13 at 11:30 a.m. — an hour before Mardi Gras break officially ended, but I didn’t gripe.

Twenty minutes before the phone interview, I was informed that Dr. Angelou had to reschedule for the following Monday, almost a week away.

It was a total buzz kill. I was high on adrenaline from the once-in-a-lifetime conversation about to happen, and suddenly I had to wait.

But only until later that day when I received word that Angelou would be able to speak with me the following day. Same time.

It was Feb. 14, Valentine’s Day and nobody to call mine. It didn’t matter because I had an interview nobody else had that day.

The time came, and I dialed Angelou at her home in North Carolina. She answered, and I could hear her wisdom seeping through the phone.

We engaged in stimulating conversation for about 15 minutes, and after already squeezing in a couple more questions than time allowed, I pushed for one more.

She giggled but played along. She couldn’t deny my perseverance, perhaps.

I told her that I was sure she had been asked this question at least 100 times today, but I wanted to know if she would be my valentine.

I could hear her smile, and she said, “I am your Valentine you cute boy.” I must have blushed, and maybe she did too. She invited me to meet her backstage Thursday, and I wasn’t about to refuse.

Giddy as can be, like Cupid had gotten me good, I scuttled off to write the advance story for my Valentine’s upcoming lecture.

A few days passed, and I was invited by the University to attend a reception with Angelou and others involved in the event before she went on stage.

When Thursday finally came, I put on my Sunday’s best and even splurged on a fresh haircut. Cheesy, I know, but this was a special occasion. I was meeting a legend.

And after the pacing and the crunching and the pretending to read, Angelou was brought out in her wheelchair, but her presence was steadfast. Every person in the room was focused on her.

We took pictures and listened to her random words of wisdom. It was an hour wait for a five minute visit, but it could have been one minute and been OK.

The event began at 7:30 p.m. and lasted until 9 p.m. The energy in the Theater was unbelievable.

Angelou sang folk tunes and recited her poetry and told stories of Tupak Shakur and her youth and cracked jokes at every opportunity. The audience members couldn’t look away if they wanted.

I darted to The Daily Reveille newsroom as soon as the curtain closed on Angelou to write my coverage of the event, finishing around 11:20 p.m. — the latest I’ve been for the 4 p.m. deadline.

Did my editors care? I don’t think so.

Did I care? Definitely not.

Did I have a night that I’ll brag to my grandkids about? Well, you would too if you were Maya Angelou’s valentine.