How We Met

Once upon a time there was a girl. Not just an ordinary girl, though she had more in common with many other girls than most would think. Still, she had experienced situations that gave her a different perspective than most of the people she knew.
Her mother had left a bad first marriage (for reasons the girl never found out) when the girl was quite young. At the age of five she was instrumental in her mother meeting the man who later become her step-father. During the girl’s formative teen years, that man was quite influential in the decision to allow the girl to tour the world (with a well supervised group of people around her age).
By the time she started her working career she had seen her mother survive difficult times, both emotionally and financially. She also had three younger siblings by then.
There were a few relationships during those years, some good and some not so good. The longest lasting one was also one of the most turbulent, with the fluctuation between on-again and off-again status. Hoping, after several years as a couple, that marriage would improve their relationship they took the vows.
She was disappointed (to say the least) that the ups and downs continued. Finally admitting to herself that it just was not going to work, she took a cue from her mother’s first marriage.

She packed one suitcase and grabbed her guitar, put them in her 1968 Camero and just left.

Her plan was to go to Europe and start fresh. She remembered the south of France quite fondly.
Around that same time, two friends of hers were preparing to return to their base university in New Mexico. Their archeological grant money had run out so they were heading home. Somehow, they convinced her to go with them (re-assuring her she could always fly to France from New Mexico). From her earlier travels, she recalled being intrigued by New Mexico and decided this might be her last opportunity to see it before going to France.
It was a multiple day drive from Virginia to New Mexico. The fact they were using her car to tow her friend’s fully packed Land Rover did not make the trip go any faster. Still, she was able to enjoy the changes in scenery. Once they finally got to New Mexico, they spent a couple of days at a mountain cabin belonging to one of her friend’s parents. This allowed them time to rest from the trip and adjust to the dramatic change in altitude. It also gave her space to reflect and contemplate her next move, without the chatter of a crowded car road trip or the stress of driving.
Her 30th birthday was only a few months away. She was convinced she had enough of long-term relationships and more determined than ever to “be her own woman”. She would do what made her happy. The practical side however, meant she would need to find some sort of employment to save enough money to make the trip to France. Her friends said they knew a restaurant owner with multiple business, social and political connections who would be able to at least point her in the right direction to find employment. So, having breakfast/lunch at his Cafe would be their first stop when they reached Albuquerque.
Although the days in the mountains had allowed her to adjust to thinner high elevation air, it did nothing to prepare her for the culture shocks she was about to experience (in waves).
It was late morning when they drove into Albuquerque from the east. The architecture was very different form what she was accustomed to in Virginia. That was not a shock. She had vague memories of that from her travels through the area in her youth. There were no high-rise office complexes or concrete canyons. The building here were only one or two stories high (three at most). They were not made of rigid brick and mortar or even glass and steel like back east. Instead the adobe and stucco structure almost blended with the landscape, giving them an organic feel… like the grown out of the ground. The low profile skyline gave the city a very open feeling, especially against the backdrop of the mountains in the east and the ancient volcanoes on the mesa to the west.
Her first indication that this was a very different culture came when a pickup truck ahead of them on the four-lane main road through town went from the right-hand lane, crossed the median strip and headed off in the opposite direction… and all the other vehicles seemed to just take it in stride! Even her friends, sensing her alarm, tried to calm her by saying, “Don’t worry about it. He was just making a u-turn. People do that sometimes.”
The Cafe was located near the University, which was quite convenient since that would be their second stop. Of course that also meant when she entered the Cafe she witnessed a wide variety of eclectic clientele. Being the late 1970’s, it was sometimes difficult to discern which people were students and which ones were professors (and which ones were both).
She and her husband had dabbled in the restaurant business in Virginia, so she was looking forward to meeting a fellow business owner (especially if he could help her find employment). But when the owner showed up about halfway through their meal another shock wave hit. With his cowboy hat and boots, his shoulder length blonde hair, his well groomed goatee, and his oversized shoulder bag he conjured up more an image of Buffalo Bill Cody than a respectable and influential business owner she was expecting.
After a brief introduction, he graciously picked up the tab for their meal and set about glad-handing some of the other patrons and checking with employees to make sure things were running smoothly. When they had finished eating he came back to their table and invited them to his office, which was located in the back of the building, down a long hallway, past the kitchen and through another area (almost as large as the Cafe) that he rented to another business.
She was still processing all those shocks as they entered his office. It was modest, but it did have a large window with a view of the alley behind the building. A small bookcase was on the right, and to the left in the corner was a foam mat on the floor. The medium sized desk faced the door with its back to the window and two small chairs between the desk and the door. That was when the next wave hit, but this one was more like a tsunami.
Her gaze was transfixed on the occupant of the chair behind the desk. Leaning back with his feet propped up on the desk was a young man whose skin was almost as pale as the white cook’s uniform he was dressed in. She was certain he was dead, especially when he did not rouse as her friend and the Cafe owner picked him up by the shoulders and feet and placed him on the floor mat in the corner. The owner explained the young man had been up all night doing renovation work in the kitchen and the cooked the early morning breakfast shift and he was “just tired”. Her two friends had taken the chairs in front of the desk, so the only place for her to sit was on the floor mat next to the “dead man”.
As they discussed employment possibilities, she found herself periodically glancing over to make sure the “dead man” was still breathing. When they left he was still on the floor mat, but still breathing.
Through their connections at the University her friends got temporary use of a one-bedroom apartment in a student housing building. Since it was only one bedroom, it meant she would be sleeping in the front room.Her friends gave her their sleeping bags and she managed to make a reasonably comfortable bed. It didn’t really matter much as tired as she was. Starting with the early morning drive to Albuquerque and followed by wave after wave of unusual situations, it had been an extremely long day. Glancing at the clock, she let out a deep sigh of relief. It was almost midnight, the day was finally over. Just as she closed her eyes to get some much needed rest, there was a knock on the door.
In a startled, almost panicked voice, she called to her friends in the back room. She stood to the side and backed away as her friend ambled toward the door. He opened the door and gave a welcoming greeting to the two men on the other side. He invited them in and called to his wife in the kitchen to open a bottle of wine.
Any hopes she had for an end to the cascade of bizarre encounters this day provided quickly vanished. Her mind was spinning to fast to even consider talking. The two were dressed in classic western wear… boots, hats, leather vests, jeans… she caught herself scanning for six-shooters.
Thoughts of not only may she be on another planet, but possibly in another universe filled her head. Where else would two mostly inebriated men be so warmly welcomed in to share more alcohol? In what possible reality would two drunken cowboys knock on a door just before midnight and be treated so graciously?
She recognized one of them, the talkative one, as the Cafe owner, but couldn’t quite place the other one. She and her friends sat on the small couch with a coffee table between them and the Cafe owner who sat in the only chair. As the wine was poured (repeatedly) and stories were told by her friends and the Cafe owner, she noticed the quiet one occasionally studying her as he sat on the floor next to the chair. She was so glad to be sitting on the end of the couch closest to the door in case a quick escape was needed. Although there was no sense of danger, it was a comforting feeling in the world of unexpected events.
An hour or more passed before the men decided to take their leave and let everyone get a night’s rest. All agreed they would see each other in the morning. The quiet one opened the door and let the other man leave first. Then he turned and looked down at her sitting on the couch. He looked her directly in the eyes and calmly (and confidently) said, “I’ll see you, later.” Then he turned and left before she could react.
Still trying to absorb what had just happened, she realized she was subconsciously listening for the sound of horses riding off.
The next morning she and her friends went to the Cafe for breakfast and another meeting with the owner. Walking down the hallway to the office, she slowed at the door to the kitchen and peered in. Sure enough, there was the “dead man” from yesterday… but now very much alive. It wasn’t until their eyes met and he gave her a sly grin and a nod that she realized he was also the quiet cowboy from last night.
And that, dear friends, is the story of how she met me before I met her. We were married the following year… with many more stories (and adventures) both before and since.
The most important thing we learned is that when you stop trying so hard to find something, sometimes it will find you.