Looking for Love
Was he going to be bite-sized like me or a long, cool drink? Would he be a tanned thunder-bolt or have skin so white it glowed, as I have been told, like the moon? Green eyes are sexy. But brown or blue would be lovely too. I was never too obsessed over physical details. Heart, politics, courage and family love meant more to me in choosing a partner. One thing of which I was sure, though, was that when I looked into the eyes, I would know I had found love.
NICE! “Choose someone nice,” my mother always said. My Aunt Esther wanted him to be a “nice little Greek boy.”
Years passed, and he came in and out of my life several times as I tried to achieve the 1950’s nuclear family. He arrived in several sizes from 5’7 to 6’3. Sometimes he was pale or boasted a toasty almond hue. Once his eyes were blue and later arrived as a sensual shade of green. But for one reason or another, he either wasn’t “NICE” enough to keep or “NICE” enough to stay.
A fifth decade unfolded as the final one’s niceness dissolved into a puddle around his ankles. It grew to flood home and hearth. It drenched the pilot light that kept the dream alive. Tears added to the deluge that swept away hope.
All efforts ceased. Yet, happily, life continued and was fun, beautiful, challenging and full.
One day there came a clear, loud knocking – a pounding so near it shook my bones and rattled my psyche. Every sense screamed that the one I would love with all my heart finally was here.
Lo and behold: my love was half Greek, like me. My love’s skin glowed like the moon. My love was no taller than me and shared the very same green eyes. And best of all my love was “NICE” and would be with me always. I looked into the earthy eyes and discovered that my love was me.
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