It was my senior year at Van Nuys High. I had noticed her, especially because two of my buddies were drooling over her best friend who cruised the quad of the San Fernando Valley high school with the air of a temptress. Head over heels, my friends did everything they could to lurk in close proximity to her, and I tagged along.
One Friday afternoon, Mike, Larry and I were driving together to Ensenada to surf away the weekend. We took a right off Ventura Boulevard onto Sepulveda Boulevard. By a stroke of luck, we spotted yet passed by their source of attraction walking in the direction of the hills with two girlfriends. A crazy, screeching U-turn later, we were all chatting, and the girls invited us up to my future wife’s house and pool.
We acquiesced and drove up Woodcliff Road, forgetting all about picking up another Mike at his parents’ garage for our trip. Poolside, I ended up staring into the dark brown eyes of my future wife accompanied by her bleach-blond friend, while my friends tried their best to act cool next to the girl they had lusted after for much of the past school semester.
I had an epiphany, realizing she was the most gorgeously attractive girl my 17-year-old self had ever encountered. I wanted to skip the Mexico trip but couldn’t convince the others. So, hours later, we eventually took off to pick up the other Mike. All weekend I dreamed of Monday when I would see her again in school.
The girl with dark brown eyes and I eventually got married — a marriage that lasted 32 years and three kids but ended when she died from breast cancer in 2012.
Confused years ensued. I was devastated yet found first-class therapy from yoga and ocean time. Eventually I started dating — month-long liaisons as well as some for a year or so. My dating go-to spots mostly lined the Venice stretch along Abbot Kinney Boulevard, especially Wabi-Sabi or the Tasting Kitchen. But my heart was truly never looking for short-term hookups. It desired another chance at 30 years with deep, magical, encompassing love. Friends told me I was being unrealistic. I said it was complicated.
I had long refused to be set up, gently turning down any attempts by friends and family to arrange dates or promptings to meet this or that woman. Also, the idea of a dating app was not in the picture. No dis, but I was fortunate enough to meet women in other ways. Then again, nothing stuck. Not until the day when a woman from an infatuation a few years back introduced me to Michele.
For some unknown reason, I happily agreed to her get-together. Maybe it was my state of mind at the time. I can’t explain it. Also, it wasn’t even a date. Or so I told myself. A dinner for three, without even having seen what Michele looked like. All I knew was that my ex cryptically said she was “Filipino or something … Asian anyway,” without me inquiring.
I was early, so I parked outside the restaurant, which was close to the place Michele managed. On the spur of the moment, I walked down to the small shop, peeked in and saw a woman who matched the description. Still, I decided to wait outside until the customers had left, when she would be alone since she was about to close. I even had time to walk back to my car and change from my T-shirt into a clean white dress shirt I had brought with me.
I walked in smiling, introduced myself and asked if she was Michele. I realize it was a bit of an unusual move to just barge in, but, seemingly unfazed, she smiled back. There was this immediate organic connection. We spoke for at least 15 minutes, and the conversation flowed as if we had known each other for decades.
At the restaurant, we talked about everything. Past and present. My ex moved over to talk to some friends as Michele and I carved a path in each other’s eyes, getting down to personal emotions right away as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I’ve never been able to be any other way, and her heart, she later revealed, seemed to blossom in a way her almost 60-year-old well-traveled soul had never experienced.
Michele kissed me as we parted. (She still says I kissed her.) Four days later, we went on our first real date. All this was right before Christmas, and soon after, I was taking a trip to Sweden. I had known her only a week, but as she drove me to the airport, I asked her to join me for a Jason Isbell concert at Walt Disney Concert Hall two weeks later. She said yes.
Once reunited, I gave her a book of mine with the inscription: “You’ve tattooed your name on my heart” … and here we are five years later and married. Her Taiwanese heritage and my Swedish background have cemented a foundation that grows and flourishes beyond all barriers, cherishing what SoCal and the world have to offer.
All relationships encounter challenges. Michele emphatically maintains they make you stronger. Adjust, gain insight and integrity, yet embrace loving compromise. That’s progress. Love transcends it all if you work on it.
The author is a writer who has shuttled among Maui, Sherman Oaks and Stockholm while producing radio and television in collaboration with the BBC. Today his company publishes a current events quiz for schools.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
