Introduction.
"How do you begin talking to a total stranger?"
Did I say that aloud? Is that how I began talking to this total stranger? That is not what I planned. One thing is as good as another, though. Perhaps. Perhaps it was a mistake altogether.
"Excuse me?" She looked at me with what could have been a startle, or restrained bemusement, but it was too late for me to back out now, no matter her early opinion of me.
It felt like an eternity. It felt like she brushed a wind-swept curl of her ash blonde hair out of her eyes, sighed out a heavy breath, and waited impatiently for my reply with a look of boredom in her startling blue eyes. But it only seemed that way, for I replied again brashly, without thinking--
"I'm sorry," was what fell out of my mouth. "I didn't mean to say that."
"The real question then," she shot back, "is how can you say something you don't mean to a complete stranger?"
"You have me there." And she did. I was conversationally checked by a young lady I'd only known for seconds, and it made me want to speak to you more. "But I do mean it when I say that I'm glad I talked to you."
"Of course you are. It was a feat of bravery."
"It was?"
"Yes. You're the only stranger I've met today; and not the only stranger I've seen today, mind you."
"But why me?" I wondered aloud, directed to both of us.
"Because you're in love me."
"Really?" She answered me with a nod. "Is that a good thing?" I asked.
"It's horrible, of course." My heart sank out of habit. But she continued: "You should get to know me first."
"I would enjoy that."
"All right, I'll see you tomorrow," she said, wholeheartedly confident; defiant to the point that it seemed she was shaking her fist at fate and daring it. Then she walked away from me.
Would I ever see her again? Would I ever learn her name? Thoughts like that flowed through my head as I continued walking to my destination, contrarily located to hers, and those thoughts turned to the philosophical: can you ever truly love somebody you've only met? Could you will yourself into a second chance encounter? Should you trade one serendiptious meeting for another without even as much as a lightning rod to assure it struck twice?
As I was thinking, looking into the thick billows of cloud covering the sky, I stepped surefootedly into an open manhole.
Did I say that aloud? Is that how I began talking to this total stranger? That is not what I planned. One thing is as good as another, though. Perhaps. Perhaps it was a mistake altogether.
"Excuse me?" She looked at me with what could have been a startle, or restrained bemusement, but it was too late for me to back out now, no matter her early opinion of me.
It felt like an eternity. It felt like she brushed a wind-swept curl of her ash blonde hair out of her eyes, sighed out a heavy breath, and waited impatiently for my reply with a look of boredom in her startling blue eyes. But it only seemed that way, for I replied again brashly, without thinking--
"I'm sorry," was what fell out of my mouth. "I didn't mean to say that."
"The real question then," she shot back, "is how can you say something you don't mean to a complete stranger?"
"You have me there." And she did. I was conversationally checked by a young lady I'd only known for seconds, and it made me want to speak to you more. "But I do mean it when I say that I'm glad I talked to you."
"Of course you are. It was a feat of bravery."
"It was?"
"Yes. You're the only stranger I've met today; and not the only stranger I've seen today, mind you."
"But why me?" I wondered aloud, directed to both of us.
"Because you're in love me."
"Really?" She answered me with a nod. "Is that a good thing?" I asked.
"It's horrible, of course." My heart sank out of habit. But she continued: "You should get to know me first."
"I would enjoy that."
"All right, I'll see you tomorrow," she said, wholeheartedly confident; defiant to the point that it seemed she was shaking her fist at fate and daring it. Then she walked away from me.
Would I ever see her again? Would I ever learn her name? Thoughts like that flowed through my head as I continued walking to my destination, contrarily located to hers, and those thoughts turned to the philosophical: can you ever truly love somebody you've only met? Could you will yourself into a second chance encounter? Should you trade one serendiptious meeting for another without even as much as a lightning rod to assure it struck twice?
As I was thinking, looking into the thick billows of cloud covering the sky, I stepped surefootedly into an open manhole.