Memories of a snowy evening

I love the way the snow plays against the charming street lamp outside my house, making the world look beautiful for the moments before the snowplough comes and messes it all up. And when that magic happens, I tend to wander through the dustbins of my mind....

When I was younger, nights like this were usually spent in a warm little pub called The Portside Inn on Washington St. in Marquette, Michigan. Great pizza, the best breadsticks I have ever eaten, and the company I often kept there helped to shape my sense of humor.

Warm and comfortable.

And then, there was Barbara Anderson.

Barb and I shared a sphere, but we travelled in different hemispheres of that sphere. She was a year behind me, we were busy with many different projects, and we shared nothing but the occasional social moment. The thing was, I had a crush on her.

I had graduated and returned for a brief visit, having been out on the road for the previous six months, doing three shows at various venues around the southeastern US. I was exhausted, mostly, and longing (as we all do from time to time) for familiar places and faces. So, I headed back north, and stepped through the door of the Inn.

We talked for what seemed like the first time. We shared things we hadn't shared before. And we lived an entire relationship in just a few days......for she had a crush on me, as well.

Anybody who knows me knows how stupid I am about things like that. A woman has to do everything but kick me in the face for me to understand that they have any feelings for me at all.

She didn't kick me in the face; but she did lay one on me that changed the color of my hair.

We spent a few days together, and lived an entire relationship in about 72 hours. Draw what conclusions you may.

And then, I had to go. Places to go and commitments to uphold.

The last time I saw her....we were standing in a hallway outside of a dressing room in a theatre. She was preparing for A Christmas Carol, and I was preparing to leave.

We embraced.
She told me how she felt, briefly.
I reciprocated.

And as I walked away, I heard her giggle. I love the sound of a female giggle.
And then she said, in a sing-song voice, "I don't believe you."

And literally, seven days later, on a snowy evening, on a lovely but lonely stretch of road between Marquette and Escanaba, she was gone.

Many years have passed now; I'm married to the best and greatest women I have ever known, a life I could have only dreamed about just a few short years ago, and I wouldn't trade anything for it.

But there have been times when I wish I had a place like the Portside Inn.
There have been times when I wish I could look upon a snowfall with that sense of wonder and amusement.
There have been times when I wish I could hear that sing-song voice again.