That Happened
(Written by Heidi on 5 May 2015, 2 years, to the day, after Heidi and Jeffrey met)
I'm about to look for a poem. I don't yet know which one but I'll know it when I find it for it will be sensual and it will surprise me and later tonight I will read it to my sweetie when I meet him at the place where we met exactly two years ago on a Sunday night that for all I knew was just another in the string of lonesome Sundays I was experiencing that spring except for how this particular Sunday evening would find me waiting at the end of the bar where (he had joked in our brief email exchange) "the old folks sit," then blushing and shaking hands and then eating hot dates that weren't actually so hot and which later I would say would have done better with a blue cheese rather than goat but what the hell everything tastes good on a first date with a man with soft and sparkling eyes where everything is going pretty darned well. Anyway...where was I? Oh yes... Right after the dates or maybe it was after the m-m-mussels and in response to him asking what I'd done all day I blushed a little and scrambled inside my head ohmygod wondering whether I should actually tell him but then what the hell I went ahead and did and then what the hell I even went ahead and read him "Agua Sexual" because that was honest to goodness the Neruda poem I'd translated that very Sunday morning at which time I had no idea that that very evening the man I'd move in with a year later would, himself feeling every bit as brave as he felt shy, lean across our drinks to plop a big fat kiss on my cheek when I hadn't yet raised my eyes from my phone from which I'd been reading about big fat raindrops among other things. Later that night I would have the thought: That happened. And later that week we'd blush and laugh and say: That happened. And every so often over the last now nearly three years one or the other of us will say, remember when that happened?
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