She saved my life. I brushed into her for the second time as I stopped in the local Christian coffee shack for a java to ease my throbbing hangover and delay my time at work. (I frequented the Christian place ’cause the local art-house beanery took itself too seriously and was far too loud to do any writing in. It didn’t hurt that the girls there were buxom, and when I’d asked the manager if the “sanctuary” part of the company logo meant he was morally, legally bound to grant me asylum if I were under persecution, he assured me it did). Anyway, I was about to walk past her when I remembered her face and noticed she was sitting with the manager’s wife. My drunken mind responded and I accepted the offer of a seat, even though I was horribly late.

The manager’s wife prattled on, but my mind was gone. Too much booze, too much pain, that angel face had me cold. I couldn’t look away. Someone asked me something but all I could say was “fuck! you have a gorgeous face, do you know that?” she was appropriately stunned, but managed a “thank you, Jason,” and got up to order a drink. I stared at her as she moved. I knew she was Christian. I knew she knew that I was not. I knew she knew that I was a drunk and a thug and a fuck. It didn’t matter. I was totally in love. Love at second sight.

I went home and phoned my mom. I told her I was in real trouble. She said that if it was meant to be, it was always trouble. I spent more time in that fucking cafe than you can ever believe. People in the neighborhood thought I had converted. She was kind, but distant. So warm and real and so beautiful. Everything she said to me made my heart hurt. I confessed the most horrible truths to her and she never blinked, just kept accompanying me outside for a cigarette, which she would fumble between those full, gorgeous lips. I never believed she would be mine. I drank so much coffee that I developed colon problems and went completely paranoid. I was in love.

The duress added to my already full mental chart, and I went full-on suicidal. I had ten bucks left on plastic. I wrote a short, sharp death poem, pulled down my toque and tucked in my shades. I was taking my last walk to the liquor store. I had gone two blocks when I heard my name float over the waves of rage and loathing that were keeping me moving. Again, I saw her. Again, I sat. Her male companions fled and she walked me to the store. We watched three of her trains go by as she sang the tale of love gone wrong.

As I moved to go, she offered to buy me a beer. You can imagine the depth of my solace. Still, there was nothing to give me any real hope. I felt she had been decent and kind and more gorgeous than any one person should be, but she would never, never, let me in. I was the devil. I was the boy your mother warned you about. I wanted her so bad my head squeaked. I drank my breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

The weekend came, and I’d somehow got her number. I called and asked what she was up to. She was surfing the sofa with a friend, watching a movie. She asked if there was a reason why I’d called. I freaked out, said no, acted like a jerk, hung up. Three beers later I asked her to meet me for a drink. She said she’d love to.

The pub was across the street from my house. I knew she’d have to train down, so I sat, in pain, drinking like a pig and lighting one butt off another. By the time I wandered over to the pub I was pretty gone. I walked in, took a panicky look around and thought she’d stiffed me. I went back out, had another smoke, and went back to take a better look. She was there. In my booth, in my favorite seat, in the dark, back part of the pub. She smiled and twisted her head and I sat down and told her that I was in love with her. No lead-in, no small talk. Love. She said she felt for me, but our worlds were too far apart. I wouldn’t hear it.

She came back to my place, she tried to leave, telling me that it was all going too fast. I told her she was safe, I would never let anything happen to her and to my surprise, she said that she knew that. I closed the door and put on Massive Attack’s “Protection.” We shared our first kiss in my micro-apartment, listening to that great track and falling in love. Now, five years on, she’s gone. And I’m stuck up here in the dark, crying into my half-empty beer and dying for the day that song doesn’t send me back to the bar, longing for the love I let slip away.