October 4, 1992, I walked into a cruise bar in Kansas City called the Dixie Belle. It was late. He was a designated driver for a couple friends he had visiting from out of town. He lived about 60 miles west of the city. I saw him, alone, leaning against a wall. I'm very very shy by nature. I walked by and he smiled at me. I made the "circuit" a couple more times to look at him, hoping he would say something so I would have to stop and talk.
He was wearing his black boots, black jeans, black belt with his silver buckle, red western shirt with silver collar tips, black Stetson with a sterling hat band. He wasn't really dark complected but had a black moustache and black eyebrows. I thought he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen. I felt I was wayyyyyyy out of my league, but had enough beer in me to think I stood a chance.
On about the 3rd round, I had the nerve to say, "Hi," when he smiled. He spoke back. I stopped. We chatted for a short while until his friends were ready to leave. This was before cell phones or PDA's, when all bars had "trick cards." He asked me if he could have my number before he left.
Well...I've been through that. They ask for your number and you know damn well, you'll never hear from them and it was just a polite way of parting. So... I asked him if I went to get a card, find a pen or pencil, wrote my number, etc.. would I be wasting my time or would he call. I'll never forget the look on his face. It was a very stern look, as if I had just called him a liar, and he said, "If. I. Said. I'd. Call, I'll call."
That was a Sunday. On Monday evening he called. We made a date for the following Friday. The rest is history. From then on we spent all our time together with me moving in with him the following April.
It seems like only yesterday. I still find it impossible to believe that so many years has passed.