It was the middle of July, 1991. A friend of a friend decided she wanted to see a movie, and get dinner afterwards. I got an invite, so I went.
At the theater, I noticed a girl with long, dark hair, and her back to me. Since dark hair is key for me, I looked. After hair, the next thing I looked at on a woman washer left hand. No ring. I could not sit by her at the movie, but I maneuvered myself close to her at the restaurant. I listened to her closely, and heard about how she was born in Houston, but raised in Saudi Arabia. I caught her name, Aisha Al Amir. That is not her real name, and it was years before I knew it.
I managed to sit next to her in the theater next time, and, as much as I wanted to put my arm around her, I managed to be strong, though I was concentrating on the woman next to me. I also sat across from her at the restaurant, a pizza parlor called Boston's. Very good pizza, but not as good as Pizzeria Uno. She asked if wanted to share an order of calamari. I declined, but suggested bacon wrapped sirloin skewers. I realized an obvious error, and apologized for ordering a pork product. It was not that, she told me, as she is no longer religious, it just sounded a little heavy. We settled on a dish that had two small pieces of pepperoni pizza, and wings. Aisha loves pizza and wings or all kinds, so she was happy.
She owned a little Arabic importing business, specializing in vases and rugs. We talked a great deal about religion, and I introduced her to the idea of Sanctuary. She told me i spoke like Bin Ladden. Not one person in a hundred had heard of by that time, but I was the one, and I was offended. She told me not to be, since Bin Ladden spoke very well. She told me I used English like a poet. Not so true, but I have formidable vocabulary. I never lose in Scrabble. I know literally dozens of words.
This movie/pizza night went one more night.
On the night of September 11, the Irving Islamic Center was shot up in a drive by. The next night it was firebombed. And Aisha's front door was splashed with red paint. She called me up and asked for my address. About an hour later, she arrived at my door and asked for sanctuary. She explained to me that night that she owed me a favor. She did not like that situation, and would take care of it be sex. I declined, I thought it was just too much.
On September 16, unbidden, she came into my room. "This is gonna happen tonight," she announced. "You're gonna like it." The way she moved was enchanting. Her confidence in her own sexual skills was not even arrogant, it was hubris. She backed it up in spades. What amazed me the most was just how enthusiastic she was. She still is.
So, September 16 is our anniversary. 12 years, now. Logically, I see her flaws. Emotionally, she is not. This is what happens when I fall in love. A flaw becomes an asset; she is perfect.
At the theater, I noticed a girl with long, dark hair, and her back to me. Since dark hair is key for me, I looked. After hair, the next thing I looked at on a woman washer left hand. No ring. I could not sit by her at the movie, but I maneuvered myself close to her at the restaurant. I listened to her closely, and heard about how she was born in Houston, but raised in Saudi Arabia. I caught her name, Aisha Al Amir. That is not her real name, and it was years before I knew it.
I managed to sit next to her in the theater next time, and, as much as I wanted to put my arm around her, I managed to be strong, though I was concentrating on the woman next to me. I also sat across from her at the restaurant, a pizza parlor called Boston's. Very good pizza, but not as good as Pizzeria Uno. She asked if wanted to share an order of calamari. I declined, but suggested bacon wrapped sirloin skewers. I realized an obvious error, and apologized for ordering a pork product. It was not that, she told me, as she is no longer religious, it just sounded a little heavy. We settled on a dish that had two small pieces of pepperoni pizza, and wings. Aisha loves pizza and wings or all kinds, so she was happy.
She owned a little Arabic importing business, specializing in vases and rugs. We talked a great deal about religion, and I introduced her to the idea of Sanctuary. She told me i spoke like Bin Ladden. Not one person in a hundred had heard of by that time, but I was the one, and I was offended. She told me not to be, since Bin Ladden spoke very well. She told me I used English like a poet. Not so true, but I have formidable vocabulary. I never lose in Scrabble. I know literally dozens of words.
This movie/pizza night went one more night.
On the night of September 11, the Irving Islamic Center was shot up in a drive by. The next night it was firebombed. And Aisha's front door was splashed with red paint. She called me up and asked for my address. About an hour later, she arrived at my door and asked for sanctuary. She explained to me that night that she owed me a favor. She did not like that situation, and would take care of it be sex. I declined, I thought it was just too much.
On September 16, unbidden, she came into my room. "This is gonna happen tonight," she announced. "You're gonna like it." The way she moved was enchanting. Her confidence in her own sexual skills was not even arrogant, it was hubris. She backed it up in spades. What amazed me the most was just how enthusiastic she was. She still is.
So, September 16 is our anniversary. 12 years, now. Logically, I see her flaws. Emotionally, she is not. This is what happens when I fall in love. A flaw becomes an asset; she is perfect.
oracle:
Happy Anniversary!
engie:
sweet!!!!!!!!!!