Sixties and seventies music blared on my car radio as I got into the drive-through at Braum’s. The line was long, almost to the street, but I didn’t care. I was singing “I Can’t Stop Loving You” on the radio with Ray Charles while I thought about dancing with my honey. Then I looked in the rear view mirror.

There they were: a 20-something couple in a big truck having fun sharing intimate glances in their over-sized colored sunglasses. He’d tip his glasses down on his nose, and give her the look. She’d put on her blue-tinted sunglasses and flash him a smile.

There wasn’t an inch between them as they talked, laughed and I’m certain made goo-goo eyes under those shades.

It was like I had a front row seat to their romance.

It made me smile. So after I ordered my ice cream cone I continued to watch them.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked the mirror. “Why do I keep looking?”

But it wasn’t just that couple.

That day.

That place.

This pandemic turned me into a people watcher instead of a people person. I watch them from my living room window every day: neighbors who walk their dog or jog or work in their yards; kids on bikes; mail carriers, and delivery drivers.

I’d turned into Jimmy Stewart from that movie, “Rear Window.” It’s where he was a bored photographer in a wheelchair who watched the world outside his apartment nonstop.

“His character witnessed a murder, and now I’m watching a cute young couple in love,” I told the steering wheel.

I wished it was me in that truck.

My honey and me.

A young 1970s us, but us.

I missed us, and that Monday would have been his birthday.

So I decided to treat the pair since they’d triggered wonderful memories of my husband, and “a case of the feel-goods,” as he used to say.

Besides, I wanted some good karma.

So I told the cashier I’d pay for theirs.

“You sure?” she asked. “It’s $17.85.”

I gave her two tens, and told her to keep the change.

On the way home I vowed to stop living vicariously through others. I planned to call a friend every day and stay in touch with the real world. I haven’t done it yet, but it’s high on my list.

Wait! I think I hear the trash truck.