This is an I-Heart podcast.

This is Lee Habib, and this is Our American Stories.

Up next, a story from Lori Cohen about how she met the love of her life.

Lori is a writing student of our frequent contributor, Leslie Layland Fields, and we thank her for

turning us on to this story. Take it away, Lori.

In 1972, the cafeteria of the high school was loud, always with an undercurrent of muffled conversations,

high-pitched squeals of newly pubescent girls, and the scraping of aluminum chair feet across the linoleum floor.

There lies in my brain the familiar sounds and smells of the catheteria.

Those pistachio-colored plastic lunch trays with their tidy compartments clattered as students smacked them forcefully against the large trash can to collect the remains of our pizza burgers paired oddly with corn and

orange jello salad. I was about to have my first public date with the senior of my dreams.

As a sophomore, my pulse raced and my stomach fluttered in anticipation of our time together.

Me was a senior.

Through mutual friends, we met on a blind date the previous weekend.

Not having much experience with upperclassmen, I did my due diligence by stalking him in the hallways before her date.

When I first met him coming out of a classroom, I thought to myself,

huh, not my type. I was used to choosing my dates by how much they resemble the 1970s rock stars I admired

with long hair and those who carried themselves with that bad boy swagger.

But after the date, I had to say there was just something about him.

I eagerly accepted his lunch date for the following week.

He was clean cut, perhaps shorter than me, wearing white Adidas sneakers with red stripes paired with

cuffed straight-legged navy pants and a button-down light blue shirt cuffed at his wrists.

He sported the ever-stylish Rods belt, smartly displaying the classic shotgun shell at the buckle. As I look down at my hip-hugger

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