I ran into an old  friend  at a sushi place in Tulsa. I had always been attracted to her, but she was married. I had never met her husband. I was glad to see her and delighted when she sat down next to me at the bar. “What have you been up to? I have not seen you in years,” she said after she ordered a glass of white  wine. “It is really great to run into you. I heard you  ran off to South America and got married.” “It’s wonderful to see you too.  I did get married. I live in Bogotá, Colombia. My wife’s Colombian. I am almost a family man with a dog and a cat. They don’t speak English , so I had to learn Spanish, I still work part of here in Oklahoma. But I spend part of the time in Florida now too. I´m  trying not to kill myself learning how to  wake board and kiteboard. “You have always lived an unconventional life.” She laughed. “I think it started the day after I was born in Evansville, Indiana, when Zula, my grandmother hauled me out of the hospital to save me from all the quack doctors. Everybody said she kept me alive with the same  eyedropper that had saved countless baby squirrels, puppies, and kittens. “Eyedropper?” She laughed and took a big drink of her wine. “Yes, she took me home to St Elmo, Illinois.” “What about your mother and father?” “I was raised by my grandmother until I was six-years old. When I started  grade school, I was made to live with my parents .” “Made to live with them.” She laughed.  “I was. I thought I was the son of an oilman. I  learned to read and write more or less while being hauled around, first through Southern Illinois, out to Wyoming, then down to South eastern Oklahoma, and finally, back to Illinois in the back seat of a Cadillac—Zula at the wheel following behind trucks carrying oil field equipment for most of the way.” I laughed. “Wow. That was a lot of hauling.” She laughed. “I have not been out of the State of Oklahoma, except one time, we went to Florida,” “I went down to Miami right after I barely managed to graduate high school at the end of my seventeenth year in 1960. I wanted to play football for the University of Miami, but I wasn’t big enough, so I ran away to the University of Oklahoma instead.” I laughed. “I’ve run away a lot—Florida and the Gulf Coast. I’ve always been drawn south to Mexico, Central America, and now finally to South America—Colombia!” “You played football for OU, didn’t you?” “I got a scholarship as a walk-on, but I wasn’t very good. Three years and two broken noses later, I ran away again and put football in its proper place. I became a student—at least a better student.” “Football is a silly game.” She signalled the bartender for another wine. “My husband loves watching football all the time, and he’s late, as usual.” “You’re right, it is a silly game, but it paid for my education until I went to graduate school at the University of Arkansas. I studied Spanish Literature and fell in love with writing and art.” “You always were drawing pictures,” she said, “doodling and leaving little poems on scraps of paper. ” “I think immortality can only be achieved by creating, building, or writing a work that  transcends time and has universal meaning.” “Good luck with that.” She laughed. “Well I am trying. I wrote a book, A Life Uncharted, and I am going to write more. Maybe they will win me  a little bit of immortality. If not, they’ll make good gifts for friends and family, or better, good door stops, if nothing else. A hundred years from now I won’t know or care.” “Me neither,” she said and took another drink of her wine. “It’s always been hard for you to distinguish and separate fantasy from the sometimes-  mundane world of work and family.” “Actually, I might be a workaholic; I just don’t want anyone to see me working.” I laughed. “It would be bad for my image. I’m sort of a homebody too.” “I can’t believe you live in Colombia,” She said.  “I know. I seem always to act on whims and without much planning. Moving to to Bogotá and getting married is typical of how I have lived my life,  Everything seems to work out for the best,  but who knows what my last years will bring?” “Does anyone know? ” she asked. “I’m not sure I want to know.” “I am not sure we can know, but for now,  I like writing and doodling , as you called it, and living in South America with the Colombian.” “Well, David, I have enjoyed talking to you after all these years. I see my husband has arrived. I better go meet him; he’s too vain to wear glasses and will never see me, if I don’t.” She got up, and I watched her walk toward a tall, bald guy in a dark suit. I looked down at the bar napkin she had slid over my way as she got up to go meet her husband. She had written her phone number in blue ink with the words, “Call Me.” About David Hinkle Southard Learn more about   Author’s Art Work Home David’s Blog