John and I went to a concert of Renaissance music at the local castle. My memory drifted back thirty some years to when we danced there with a five piece band in college. I wore a black velvet dress, and he gave me a gardenia. John and his roommate had made dinner before hand for their dates, after which we all strolled down the street to a gracious evening among world class art. The grand lady who lived in Glencairn was still alive then, and sat on her balcony enjoying the music and laughter of youngsters four stories below.

Two rows ahead of us sat a couple who were about our age on that romantic evening in 1979. They are college sweethearts, and looked their best as he escorted her to their seats. She was in the flower of beauty, and blushed sweetly as he spoke in her ear. They betrayed that awkwardness of sitting closely, yet being nervous about being too close. There were no promises made, and it would not be wise to be forward. I wondered if one day I would be dancing at their wedding. Too soon to tell. 

As for John and I, the promises made and kept give me license to sit as close as I dare, and tuck my arm under his without asking. I enjoyed not being awkward. 

A few rows to the left sat a widow, who lost her husband before she was ready. The thought crossed my mind that one day, it might be me sitting alone. 

Too soon to tell.