How I Snagged Joe (And the Rest Is History)

Hot August, 1974, I was back for my second year at college, having just settled into a new place at Anita Apartments, right next to the guys’ apartment complex called Tanner’s. My first night, we answered a knock at our door. Steve Dietrich, a friend of my roommate, entered our apartment, but my eyes went immediately to the younger man with him. That would be his brother Joel, there for his first year at BYU. My first thought was this: How shy he is, so reserved. . . but so adorable. He was tall and thin and cute as the dickens. They stayed for just a while, and by the time they left, I’d formulated my big plan: to get to know this boy Joel (who everyone just called Joe). There was to be a parking lot dance that weekend, and so I waited expectantly, hoping all week to catch a glimpse of this boy I’d found so attractive, but no matter how often I strolled past his apartment, my opportunity for a “chance encounter” never occurred. The night of the dance arrived and I was right there, all decked out in my colorful tight top with bellbottoms, long luscious lashes curled and pink frost lipstick applied. When I caught sight of Joel, he was slow dancing with some girl. A blonde with glasses, she was rather plain and smaller than me. I was not pleased to see her with Joe, and I thought to myself: Hmmmm, who does she think she is? I saw him first, and he is NOT going to stay with her tonight. As they danced, I fixed my eyes on him, my beautiful, long-lashed, sultry green eyes. He looked up and saw me then. I must have taken him by surprise because I did not lower my gaze. I wanted him to know that he was going to be mine, so I willed him with my gaze to break away from that blonde and come to me. And so he did. . the rest is history. Beside me at this moment, lying on our bed, watching TV, is the man who today bears little resemblance to that very young man I met 35 years ago. I turn to him and ask, “Do you remember the VERY first time you saw me?” He replies, “I don’t know; a parking lot dance?” Well, at least he came close. . . For Frank Herrera's Contest: Love Story