February 14, 2004

By Barbara J. McKee

It was Valentine's Day.

A small group of my single, female co-workers and I were lamenting the fact that none of us had a date for the infamous day dedicated to lovers.

Being new in town and divorced after 20 years of marriage, I was tired of the singles-bar scene. Most of the men didn't even notice me, and the ones who did took one look at my wheelchair and immediately averted their eyes or walked away.

I asked the women in the group how they met eligible men. Listening to their stories of how to land the perfect man, I was disappointed to find there were no new tricks.

I asked if any of them had ever used the personal ads. Immediately, the women began to chatter about the danger, the humiliation and, most importantly, the image of any self-respecting woman who would be desperate enough to do such a thing.

I told my closest friend, Lori, that I was fed up with my current state of no-affairs. I admitted I read the personal ads every now and then, and I thought they were amusing and a bit shocking.

She commented on the number of men and women who advertised their "attributes" with an explicit ad. We all sadly agreed that the postings were a candid look at how badly people want to be with someone, almost at any cost.

Deciding that something daring should be done, I challenged all of them to post a personal ad and see what would happen. Out of the five of us, two took me up on my challenge. The three of us set up the stakes. We agreed to write our advertisements honestly, discouraging embellishments we thought might backfire on us.

During lunch, we grabbed a newspaper to begin our research. We took turns reading aloud, laughing so hard at the ones using the usual cliches, desperate comments or pleadings for that "perfect man" that the server told us to keep it down.

We sealed our pact with a promise that each of us would post an ad that night. Whoever landed a decent guy was the winner.

Later that night, I turned on my computer and tried to compose a personal ad that would guarantee my success. I didn't want to appear pathetic, trite or insincere.

After composing several ads, I realized that my challenge was a bit tougher than I thought. Looking over the listings in the evening paper, I wanted to be sure I didn't sound like the desperate woman I was.

Coming up with a catchy title was the first hurdle. After several attempts at sounding smart and beautiful, I gave up and spelled out exactly what I was interested in.

I listed the important qualities, such as someone who liked blues and rock, was a hockey fan and a good conversationalist and who would not be intimidated by my love of cigars.

My heart was pounding as I clicked to post the ad, figuring I would get very few responses to something direct, to the point and not the least bit glamorous.

The first day brought a few responses, and some were quite interesting.

I opened the one containing a picture first. "Biker Mike" described himself as a man of about 40, intelligent, who loved to have fun. I shrieked after I opened the attached photograph. Biker Mike was true to his name: long, blond, scraggly hair, grinning wickedly at the camera and clutching a beer can.

I read the rest of my responses, answering a couple, but not with much enthusiasm. A little depressed, I decided to see if there were any new listings.

I ignored the ones that began with the over-used "Looking for a open-minded woman." Most of the ads had an undertone of desperation, wanting nothing but sex or a long-term commitment that I wasn't interested in.

One ad caught my eye: "Need to borrow a man?" Now that was a new catch-line. It wouldn't be too bad to borrow a man, so long as he's not attached to another woman.

He had everything I was looking for. I especially liked the part about not wanting more children. I am a mother of three grown children. I wanted nothing to do with a man who still needed a family of his own. He liked the same kind of music, and he made a point to mention "having fun." That is what I really wanted, a person who was fun to be with, in and out of bed. His "handle" made me laugh - Goddess Tool.

After thinking about replying to his ad, I decided against it. I wanted him to come to me. I had been chasing men long enough.

The next evening, I opened my e-mail to 10 messages, and seven of them were responses to my ad.

Perusing the list of names, I recognized Goddess Tool. I opened the e-mail and began to read one of the most incredible letters I had ever received from a total stranger.

He was funny, full of wit and subtle sarcasm. I laughed aloud at his jokes about my love of cigars and an insidious comparison to President Clinton. He said that anyone who loved hockey had a unique understanding of the human psyche. He described himself physically in general terms, but that appealed to me, considering most of the other responses were not shy about detailing their "personal attributes."

His closing line was a remark that he was a good listener and would leave a bathroom clean. He included his Web page address, and I immediately clicked on it, hoping to see a picture of him.

He looked exactly like Ron Howard. The Web site had pictures of my favorite musicians and a few new ones who caught my attention.

I wanted to meet him right away. I clicked on "reply" and sent him a brief but witty response.

I gave him my physical description, remembering to be honest and not fabricate too much. I told him about my work, poetry and how much I loved living in the city. I didn't say one word about my disability.

With a click, I sent it off and re-read his letter. Realizing I'd forgotten to include my Web page address, I sent a second e-mail.

Almost at once, I recalled the recent warnings from my girlfriends about my last boyfriend: "They always sound better on paper. Don't get your hopes up."

I had just gotten over a serious relationship that began on the Internet. It was a heady romance, filled with love letters, photographs and long-distance phone calls that eventually cost me hundreds of dollars. It came on the heels of my separation and eventual divorce from my husband of 20 years.

The relationship was played out mostly through e-mail for nearly six months. When we finally met three weeks after I moved to town, he was nothing like he projected.

During his first few days, I introduced him to some of my friends. I was shocked when he began telling them that he was going to move in and marry me. When I talked to him about his "announcement," I found out he had never been away from home for more than a few days. He became incredibly homesick a week later, and by the end of his three-week visit, he was not getting out of bed when I had to go to work.

After he left, he never called me, didn't answer my e-mails for days. When I finally did get him on the phone, he told me I was not the person he thought I was and that it was over.

I was devastated. Having no desire to be bamboozled again, I vowed to be as skeptical as possible with Goddess Tool.

On the third day, I went back to the Web site and looked over the ads for any new listings. Finding none, I went back to re-read the Goddess Tool ad.

Acting on impulse, I sent him a third e-mail, this time requesting his phone number. I was determined to find out if this guy was worth my time or not.

Later that evening, I gulped as I read his reply that he was happy to hear from me and was happy to give me his phone number. He commented that he probably wouldn't be at home that evening and to leave a message. I figured he was playing it safe, wanting to hear my voice to make sure I was not some freak.

Lighting a cigarette, I dialed, while my stomach was doing schoolgirl flip-flops. On the third ring, I heard his voice - deep, rumbling and gentle. I swallowed hard and said, with a brave voice, "Is this Mark? This is Barbara. From the ad in the personals?"

"Hey! How are you doing?" he said. "I'm so surprised that I'm here to get your call. I really didn't think I'd be around the house at this time."

I commented that his being at home was a good sign. Nervously, I asked him if he had read my first two e-mails.

"What e-mails? I only got the one where you asked for my phone number."

"You're kidding!" I laughed. "Well, that means I know more about you than you do about me. Outstanding! Now I have the edge on you!"

The conversation picked up from there. We discussed our common interests, such as politics and music. This sparked some sarcastic jokes and stories. We chatted for about ten minutes. I couldn't stop laughing. He said he loved my sense of humor. I screwed up my nerve to ask him the fatal question: "Do you have a problem with people in wheelchairs?"

"Uh, I don't think so," he said.

I was sure he would end the call right there, but he asked when we should meet. He suggested Saturday morning, and I inwardly groaned. I was not a morning person by a long shot, especially on Saturdays.

"Sure," I said. "That's sounds great."

I felt tingly all over. I could hardly wait - three more days until Saturday.

The alarm went off with a shrill ring. I slammed down the snooze bar and rolled over, grabbed a cigarette, lit one and sat up, scratching the back of my neck.

I looked over at the clock - 9 a.m. Groaning, I turned off the alarm and swung my feet over the edge of the bed. I had better get moving.

The cold sting of the shower made me gasp, but it felt good, clearing away the sleepy cobwebs. Drying off with a plush towel, I made my way into the walk-in closet. I took extra care picking out my outfit, putting on make-up and quickly wiping the grime off of my wheelchair.

I wanted to make a good first impression. I had about an hour before I had to be at the coffee house, so I made myself a small pot of coffee and grabbed the paper.

Before I realized it, I had 10 minutes to get Downtown, and I let out a small shriek: "Late again!"

Driving out of the complex, I popped in my favorite White Zombie tape and cranked up the volume. Despite my nervousness, the thundering rhythms gave me an emotional outlet. The traffic on the interstate was moving along at a decent clip, and soon I turned off the freeway onto Central Avenue and headed toward the coffee house.

Turning onto the side street, I spied an open spot wide enough for my wheelchair and parked. Opening the door, I happened to glance down at a shiny object that shimmered in the sun. Oh, money! This could be a good sign.

But it wasn't money. It was a ring. A wedding ring. It was a little beat up but unmistakable. I looked inside the rim to see the hallmark "14K."

Engraved on the outside were three perfect starbursts. I was certain it was a man's ring and tried it on my thumb. It fit to a degree, but it felt odd. Shrugging, I locked the car and went into the coffee house.

Looking around, I knew immediately that Mark wasn't there. It was cool and quiet, with about five or six people inside. The delicate smells of baking bread and fresh coffee wafted around my head.

Noting that no one had the anxious look I had on my face, I got in line to order.

I decided to get a cafe mocha and wait, setting a boundary of 30 minutes. If he didn't show, I was chalking it up to my gullibility and faith in people.

Moving along the order line, I looked down at the ring on my thumb. I felt an odd sensation in my stomach. It was such a strange thing to find. I began to think of the possible meaning the ring could have. I slipped it off and stuck it in my change pocket, afraid to give the ring too much importance.

The clerk set the steaming cup of coffee on the counter as I counted out my bill.

Suddenly, a warm beam of sunshine peeped over my shoulder. I turned around, and as I squinted against the brilliant rays, a shadowy figure blocked my vision through the picture window. I wheeled closer, trying to see who it was.

Someone stepped aside, and a redheaded man stood in the entryway. He smiled at me and waved. I felt a ripple of recognition but dismissed it immediately.

"Oh, thank goodness you're still here. I thought I'd missed you," he apologized.

"Oh no, that's perfectly fine," I said. "I just got here myself. I was working out a way to apologize to you."

"Well, I set my alarm, but fell back to sleep," he said. "I just woke up about 15 minutes ago."

I gave him an understanding smile. I was relieved that he wasn't much of a punctual person.

I stepped aside while he ordered his coffee, and I scouted out a table by the windows. Once we were seated, I asked him if he was a smoker. He was, and we decided to go outside to the benches and get acquainted.

It was a beautiful day, with light breezes that were unusual for February.

The avenue was filled with cruisers, and people walked by on their usual Saturday jaunts. It was bustling, but not to the point of crowded.

I began talking first, mostly to cover up my jittery nerves. He joined in the conversation, cracking jokes, and gave his opinion freely. I was completely enamored, and I could tell he was enjoying my company.

After about an hour, Mark suddenly became very quiet. He looked over at me and, in a very somber voice said, "I have something to tell you that might change your mind about me."

My heart sank. I fired off "the list" in my head as to what he would tell me: married, gay, impotent.

"I'm a New Jersey Devils fan, and I'm really sorry we swept your butts out of the finals in '95," he said, ominously.

I burst out laughing, thrilled that he remembered that I told him I was a dyed-in-the-wool Detroit Red Wings fan.

"You poor bastard!" I said. "Well, I'll let that character defect go, only because we are the Stanley Cup champs two years running. I have to be gracious to the lower-end teams."

He laughed and told me how delusional I was about my hockey team. I was delighted to have someone to argue with, on a friendly level, about hockey. I couldn't believe my good fortune.

By this time we were both famished, and we decided to go to a nearby diner for lunch.

Walking down Central, I commented that I'd never been to most of the shops and restaurants in the short time I'd been in town. Mark offered to show me the town, and I happily accepted.

Settling down in one of the diner's cozy booths, we ordered the same entree, a Southwest chicken salad. Upon the arrival of our meal, I asked him if he would like the onions that garnished the salad.

"That's what I was going to ask you. How much more do we have in common?" he chuckled.

"I'm beginning to wonder the same thing!" I laughed.

Looking at his warm smile across the table, I felt a sense of security I'd never experienced with a new man before - or with any man, for that matter.

Giving me a steady look, he said, "I feel so comfortable with you. It's like we've known each other awhile."

"That's just what I was thinking," I said.

Blushing, we went on with our meal and conversation, discussing music, art, books and films. I was amazed at how many things we shared and asked him if he would spend the day with me.

"I'd love to, but I promised my lead guitarist that we'd go look for a new amp head. It's pretty important," he said. "But I could meet you later tonight, if you're not busy."

"I'm going to the big poetry slam at the El Rey tonight," I said. "Would you like to meet me there?"

"Sure," he said. "I haven't been to a slam in months. What time?"

"It starts at 9, but if you want to meet before that, give me a call when you get home," I said.

He walked me back to my car. As we approached my car, I asked him what kind of car he drove. To my surprise, I learned that we both drove station wagons, laughing at the coincidence.

"Can I give you a hug?" Mark asked.

I smiled as he took me in a gentle embrace. I wanted him to kiss me so badly. And he did. As I pulled away, he kissed me again, longer this time, with a hint of passion. I was breathless.

"You are such a hottie!" he said.

I giggled. It didn't sound corny to me at all. I hadn't had a compliment like that in years.

We said good-bye, and Mark promised to call me that night. As I drove away, I felt the butterflies in my stomach calm down. I couldn't wait to see him again.

The poetry slam was terrific.

I was picked to be a judge. I had a blast sitting up front, listening to the animated poets, giving them high marks when the other judges wouldn't, with the crowd cheering and booing.

Mark enjoyed "influencing a judge." Toward the end, my back was getting stiff from sitting in my wheelchair for three straight hours. Mark began to give me a neck rub that evolved to my first hand massage.

The evening turned out to be incredibly romantic - just what I had hoped for.

"When can I see you again?" I asked, as we walked to my car.

"Whenever you want," he said.

"How about tomorrow?" I asked. "Would you like to come over for drinks? A couple of friends of mine are stopping by in the evening."

"Sure," he said. "Just give me directions."

I smiled and told him to call me tomorrow. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.

The next evening, Mark called and came over, as promised. I introduced him with a proud smile. The evening was full of great conversation over a couple of beers and an antipasto platter that I put together.

Mark had a wonderful knack for telling stories, complete with voice imitations of his Texas relatives. He had everyone in stitches.

I read a couple of my poems to keep the entertainment going. The night was one of the best I had since moving to town. We made a date to see each other on Monday.

On Tuesday, at work, I was rummaging through my wallet, looking for change while parked in front of the vending machines. I found the gold men's ring from Saturday and smiled.

Mark had a rehearsal that evening, and I realized I would miss him. We had only known each other three days, but I was falling for him - and hard.

As I looked at the ring closely, my mind began to whirl. My stomach started doing flip-flops again.

I turned away from the soda machine and went to the office of my supervisor, Denise, who's a good friend. She's very spiritual, and I often asked her advice.

"Denise?" I asked. "Do you have a minute to talk? I need to show you something."

I proceeded to fill Denise in on the events leading up to this morning and showed her the ring.

She quickly looked at me and said, "Oh, my sweet Lord! Do you know what this could mean?"

"Yes!" I said. "That's why I'm talking to you - to make sure I'm not imaging things. It is a man's wedding ring. I'm falling for him in a big way, Denise. I think it's more than just a coincidence that I found it right outside my car that day. I also think it will fit him. I checked out his hands, and I'm pretty sure."

"Have you told him about it?" she asked. "No, wait! You shouldn't."

"I haven't," I said. "I'm going to wait and see how this relationship pans out first. The last thing I want to do is freak him out with some silly psychic interpretation of a lucky find."

"You're right," she said. "But don't tell anyone else about it, either, unless you really feel the need to. You don't want to ruin the karma."

We both laughed. Denise told me to keep the ring in a safe place but where I could see it daily.

Once I got home that night, I put it on my jewelry box, where I could see it every morning.

I spent Tuesday evening catching up on my e-mail, and re-reading the ones Mark sent me every day. We started a habit of e-mailing each other, as soon as he left my apartment to go home and several times at work. I loved to hear from him. We shared jokes and told little stories about ourselves that would have been too embarrassing in person.

I told Mark that I wanted to know more about him. I felt I'd been dominating the conversations when we were together, and I wanted to hear what his life was about. We made a date to see each other the following night.

It was a beautiful evening, with clear skies and a hint of spring in the air. We went to a local bookstore and shared some coffee and a bagel.

He told me about his first marriage, his family and his job. I made a point not to interrupt him and sat quietly soaking in every detail.

After awhile, I suggested we go outside on Central and smoke. He picked a bench in the courtyard of the local university, and we sat down holding hands.

Suddenly, Mark took both of my hands in his and said, "I'm going to tell you something that might freak you out, but just remember - I really want you to know this."

"What is it?" I asked nervously.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he said. "I know we've only known each other a few days, and this is only our third date, but I've fallen in love with you. I hope that doesn't scare the crap out of you."

I was stunned. My heart was pounding, and my hands were sweaty. Mark looked at me with a serious face, and I could tell he was holding his breath. I put my head down, looking at my feet while squeezing his hands in fear.

"You don't feel the same way, do you?" he asked.

"You don't understand, Mark," I said. I reached up and stroked his cheek. "I'm falling in love with you, too."

I leaned over and kissed him. I poured all the feelings I had been keeping at bay since our first cup of coffee into that kiss. Mark broke out into a huge smile and hugged me so hard that we started laughing. We sat on the bench, kissing and laughing, looking foolishly in love to anyone who walked by.

I thought of the ring and my conversation with Denise the day before, but something told me not to reveal anything to him yet.

Mark drew me close and asked me if I wanted to see his house. I nodded yes, and off we went.

The following week, I was anxious to get out of work and hurry to meet Mark at his house for band rehearsal.

It was Friday night, and I just finished a long week that was littered with computer problems.

Lori was meeting me at my apartment for a drink. We had become good friends outside of the office, and occasionally we met up on the weekends for drinks or dinner.

I finished the work on my desk, waved to Lori to let her know I was leaving and hopped into my car.

When I got home, I changed and refreshed my make-up. I heard a knock at the door as I poured two glasses of Cabernet. Lori was right on time.

Settling down with our drinks and cigarettes, we caught up on each other's personal lives.

"So, how are things going with Mark?" Lori asked. "I can't believe it's only been a little over two weeks since you two met. It seems like you've been together forever."

"Yes, it amazes me, too," I said. "We are so comfortable with each other. It's like we were destined to meet."

"Oh, I don't believe in that kind of stuff," she said. "I never have believed in kismet. You know what you're looking for in a partner and go about finding that person. It's all about choices."

"Yes, in a way you are right," I said. "I did choose to meet him after I got his initial e-mail. But what happened afterward leads me to believe that it's more than just `hunt and peck' in the partner department."

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

"Well, you're only the second person I've told this to, and you have to promise not to tell anyone else," I said.

"OK, I promise," she said. "Now, what in the world are you talking about?"

I told her about the day I met Mark, giving her all the details and thoughts about finding the ring. I told her about my conversation with Denise the week before and how Mark told me he loved me three times on our third date.

"Lori, it's all about the Divine, you know," I said. "I've read in theology that coincidences that happen in threes are from God. Ones that happen in sevens are human interventions."

"Really?" said Lori, "How interesting. When are you going to tell Mark about the ring?"

"I don't really know," I said. "Maybe when he asks me to marry him. Maybe tomorrow. I'll know when it's the right time. You know how much I rely on my intuition."

"Yes," she said. "But what makes you think that the ring is a sign from God, so to speak?"

"Because of all the things that have happened," I said. "I placed the ad on Valentine's Day. He answered it three days later. He didn't return my e-mails until he got the third one. He told me he loved me on our third date. And the ring has three tiny starbursts engraved on it."

"Well, I guess it could be a divinely inspired meeting," Lori said. "I hope this works out for you."

"Me, too," I said, with a hint of fear. "I really love him."

Next Saturday morning, Mark and I were having coffee. The weather was warm and the sun was shining brightly through the blinds, casting a warm glow in the apartment. We were in no hurry to rush through the day. It was our three-week anniversary, and we began talking about the day we met.

"It was like I'd known you before, and I hadn't seen you for a long time," Mark said. "The minute I saw your smile, I felt like we were being reunited."

"I know what you mean, Mark," I said. "When I saw you standing in the doorway, I thought, `Oh, there you are,' as if you'd been gone."

Mark smiled, taking my hand in a gentle grasp.

"I have something I want to show you," I said.

I went into my bedroom and retrieved the ring from its spot on the jewelry box. Squelching the butterflies that danced in my stomach, I wheeled to the table and gave Mark a steady gaze.

"I'm going to tell you a story," I said. "Promise me that you won't laugh, and realize that I take this very seriously."

"OK," he said, with a puzzled but amused smirk.

"The day we met, I found something that didn't have much significance at the time," I said. "Now that we've been together three weeks, I think it's time to show you. This was on the ground next to my car as I opened the door outside of the coffee house."

I had the ring clutched inside my fist and slowly opened my hand.

Mark looked down at the ring and said, "Oh, my!"

He picked up the ring and looked at it closely, smiling.

"Try it on," I said, quietly.

Mark slipped it on his left hand. It fit his ring finger perfectly. He chuckled softly, and told me how rings usually never fit over his knuckles.

"I guess your intuition is right," he said. "We are meant for each other."

He took me in his arms and kissed me. I knew he would kiss me like that for the rest of our lives.