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Once, several years ago, I was coming into our building, which is a brown brick, two-story affair.  I was walking by the elevator and there, standing within, was possibly the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life.  She had long dark hair with bangs.  She had on a pair of glasses in a very delicate gold wire frame.  She was wearing a tight form-fitting long-sleeved apricot-colored turtleneck blouse. The material was thin so you could clearly see she was well endowed but, at the same time, her stomach was absolutely flat.  She was wearing a plaid skirt, which was short enough to show off quite a bit of her thighs.  As much as I could see, her legs were long and shapely, just this side of muscular.  She wore calf-high, black leather boots with 3” heels.  She looked to be about my height but with the heels it was hard to tell.  She was carrying a leather handbag, which seemed overly large, almost like a feminine version of a briefcase.  For no reason that I can fathom, she seemed British, not American. She could have been anywhere from 25 to 40 years or older, no way to tell, as she was in perfect condition.

Even though there were no obvious markings on her bag, she might have been a representative for a pharmaceutical company.  I didn’t see any promotional materials but that doesn’t mean anything.  Drug companies always hire beautiful women to march out into the field to hawk their wares.  In an age where doctors, still mostly male, are too busy, overbooked with patients, trying to pack in the co-pays; to hear about one drug or another, it’s a guaranteed way for manufacturers to still gain an audience.  Male doctors are still men, after all.  What man couldn’t find 10 minutes to speak to a beautiful woman, if it was in the name of science?  Being British wouldn’t hurt.  What is sexier than a British accent?  Look at Elizabeth Hurley.  They all wear a special perfume, probably loaded with pheromones.  Who wouldn’t want to take the time to inhale just a bit while getting all those free samples to test out on patients?  There’s no harm in that, right?  It’s a very effective marketing maneuver.

No words were spoken between us but our eyes locked as she straightened up after pressing the button on the control panel to go up.  This has happened to me too many times to not acknowledge it.  You lock eyes with a stranger and suddenly you are flying forward in time: 10, 20, 30 years.  You see your future together.  In her case, she turned out to be warm, witty, extremely intelligent and sensitive. I saw a long, happy life together, full of laughter, genuine companionship and a ton of sex.  We traveled a lot.  It was fascinating.  Her family was from Amesbury, England and we went over to visit quite often.  I got to see what was left of Stonehenge.  It was a life of riches, not in monetary wealth, but in human kindness and fulfillment.  In that moment of fantasy, she was the most real woman I had ever met.  Then the elevator doors closed and she was gone.  I never saw her again. For a long time thereafter, I’d find myself dreaming about her. In fact, I still do.

It makes me wonder though: how could there be just one and only one The One?  You’d think there would have to be many The Ones; otherwise, how could True Love flourish? If there were only one The One in the world, out of 6 billion people, what are the odds that your paths would ever cross?  Getting back to this particular woman though, just in case she is The One, if you could track her down, I’d be much obliged.