Smile

I remember that night I saw you

sitting in a pew at church

playing your guitar and singing,

practicing your performance 
for that evening.

The youthful innocence 
of your beautiful music

seemed to drift and float
through the cavernous hall

directly to me.

Then you looked up

and gave me the smile of a friend

with a strange familiarity 

I just couldn't place.

Puzzled,

I smiled and stared 

and tried to attach you 
to some fuzzy memory 

of a nameless person I once saw,

but even then

I wasn't sure I knew you,

but your smile said I should.

You played and smiled again.

I smiled again,

convinced now 
I must be listening to music 
from a friend I'd misplaced.

I began madly rummaging 

through closets of dusty memories,

certain that your name and place 

must be around there somewhere,

while my mind splashed and played in your song

and really didn't want to be bothered

in remembering.

You played and sang and smiled.

I smiled and listened and stared

until the moment finally arrived

when I realized...

...we had never met,

and I had been staring and smiling at you

for the last 5 minutes

like long lost friends reunited.

I felt my face flush red with embarrassment

as I winced slightly at the prospect

of concealing my false bravado

while you finished our private concert.

When we finally met

you were very sweet,

and when you gave 
your performance,
I had to keep reminding myself

that your memory 
had only just arrived.

It took a while,

but I realize now 

what that night was all about:

it was a lesson in trusting 

the power of a smile.

I haven’t seen you since,

but whenever I remember that night

I always smile.