It was a drunken mistake. An error in judgment. I shouldn’t have said it to her. Hell, I probably shouldn’t have even been in that bar. If I had been in my right mind, none of this wouldn’t have happened, and that’s a fact I’ll take with me for the rest of my life.

The first thing that hit me when I stepped foot in the bar was the noise. It was as though the patrons and the jukebox were in a war to see if one could overpower the other. The assault on my ear drums was so severe that I nearly turned around and left. Bolstering my determination, I pressed on toward the bar. Unbeknownst to me, I was on a path that would alter the rest of my life.

Several hours and countless shots later, the pain began to go numb. The music no longer hurt my ears. The noisy patrons no longer bothered me. The note I found on my dresser hours earlier no longer burned a hole through the core of my being. It was as though all my troubles had been bottled up and washed away on a sea of liquor.

That was the very moment I first saw her. Looking to my right, my jaw dropped open as a vision of beauty sat down at the end of the bar. Her hair was like the morning light. Her face shone like the sun. She was a vision of perfection, exquisitely packaged in a leather jacket and denim skirt.

Three eternities passed as I watched her. I knew I was staring, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the beauty before me. My mind viciously slogged through a drunken haze, trying to determine my next move. I desperately wanted to do something. To say hello. To tell her she was beautiful. To thank her for making this godforsaken bar a better place. Unable to formulate the words, I remained there, unmoving, as I watched her order her drink.

A moment later, horror-struck, as she looked over and caught me in my enthralled staring. I tried to look away, to busy myself with my drink, but the damage was done. I was caught. My cheeks burned red as I locked my eyes on the bar before me. I counted the seconds, waiting for my moment of reckoning. Waiting to be called a creep, or to have a drink thrown on me, or to be asked to leave.

Instead of any of those situations coming to pass, something even more unimaginable happened. As I sat there, drunk and embarrassed at myself, I heard a voice from my right. Rising up over the noise, the voice of an angel called out, greeting me, asking if I'd been here before. 

Flummoxed, I found myself skipping over her questions and stuttering out a list of apologies. I was so sorry I was staring. I was sorry that I was so drunk. I was sorry if I bothered her. It had been a terrible day, I admitted, and I was completely unprepared to run into such perfection this evening.

Somehow, my drunken rambling didn’t drive her away. Instead, she asked me about my day, and a conversation ensued. Having lost much of my inhibitions, I found myself sharing everything. How my life had seemed so perfect. How I thought I had everything. How I found out I’d been laid off from work that afternoon. How I arrived home and found that damned note. Had I only lost my job that night, I probably could have coped. Losing my fiancée and my best friend on top of it proved to be too much, and now I’d lost everything, right down to three hard-earned years of sobriety.

I can’t say if what came next was an act of compassion, or just pity, but I’ll never forget it. After baring my soul, I fully expected the conversation to end. Instead, she surprised me again by consoling me, telling me that it was okay, and everything would work out someday. Looking me in my eyes as a tear ran down my cheek, she asked me if there was anything that would help.

In my uninhibited state, I found myself answering her honestly. What I really needed, I told her, was to get laid and put my old life behind me. As soon as the words escaped my lips, I realized what I’d said. Going a deep crimson, I waited for her to end the conversation. To slap me. To call me a pervert. Instead, she surprised me yet again.

Taking my hand in hers, she beckoned me to get up, so we could go someplace more quiet. Even in my state of reduced reasoning, I couldn’t believe her reaction. Still, I couldn’t help but go with her. One thing led to another, and by the end of the night, conversation turned into kissing, kissing turned into touching, and touching turned into blindingly hot, passionate sex.

Looking into her eyes as I buried myself deep inside her, I could barely believe what was happening. As our bodies came together and our moans filled the air, a question entered my mind. If this incredible woman was willing to take me at my worst, what would she think of me at my best?

Twenty years later, I’m still asking myself that question. I ask it every time I look into my wife’s eyes. Every time I do—and I mean every single time — I think back to that fateful night when we met in that noisy bar. Have I shown her my best yet? I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that she’s made it clear that she’s here for the long haul. That, in and of itself, drives me to aim for my best, every single day.