But I saw her. You know in the movies, where they play the film in slow motion, and there’s this ethereal angelic choir singing? That girl.

I was sitting in the eastbound lane of Main Street in Ventura, California. It was 1992, or thereabouts. I was in my car, at a red light, at the corner of Chestnut and Main. I was just sitting there, waiting for the light, waiting for the light, waiting for the pedestrians to cross. She strode right in front of my car, and I was spellbound. Enthralled. I have never experienced this feeling, not before, not since, never.

She was tall, and blonde; she wore a light steel-blue mini dress that clung to her body. Her hair was light, almost platinum blonde, it was just long enough to fly in the wind, and short enough to show her age, her experience, her wisdom. The hem of her dress fell on her long, lean thighs, and ruffled in the wind. The wind pressed the light material to her body. She strode through the intersection with her head held high, aloof, haughty, proud. SDhe knew axactly who she was, where she was going, and what she was doing. She was so purely confident in every muscle of her body,and she knew she was putting on a show.

I fell victim to her pretentions. Nobody can be that perfect, that confident, so angelic. Not really. So she had to be vulnerable. The pretentious ones always are. But she pulled it off so perfectly that I fell for it, and for her, heart mind, body and soul. There is love at first sight, and I am a victim.

She wasn’t perfect. There was a small tattoo on her ankle. Tattoos were still new enough then that they were radical, still a statement. I have never fallen for that kind of marketing tripe. Tattoos are a stain.They may be beautiful, may be meaningful, but ultimately, twenty years down the road, they are the equivalent of permanently attaching a lampshade to your head in a drunken, stumbling, stupid attempt at what - meaning? humor? significance.

But her tattoo only served to make her human. To mark her as vulnerable to the silly things that anchor us to earth, and her case, keep her from flying away to join the other angels. She chose to be one of us, if anyone can choose. It was a statement of her love for humanity.

I can see her now as if she strode across my path just minutes ago. She was perfect. Paradoxically, I felt as if she were both putting on a show for everybody, which she was - and putting on a show just for me, as if she only existed in that moment, as if God himself just wanted to tease me with, an example of what He would do if He actually cared. Just for me.

I feel silly. Like a smitten schoolboy, which is pretty close to what the truth is in this case. But I still feel like this is a special moment. I knew it for exactly what it was when it happened, and I feel it exactly the same now.

I saw her. She was an angel, striding along through mere mortals. Slumming it amongst us heathens.

And all I could do was watch, for an instant, until the light changed.