Whitney Among the Seniors

               The adage of a wedding being a good place to meet single women is, in my estimation, not existent.  I have been to a number of weddings and found the number of women that attend with boyfriends, husbands, or significant others vastly outweigh the number of women who are proverbially overcome with the romantic and emotional innuendos of the marriage ritual.   That has never stopped me, however, from trying. 

                It was in this setting that I along with everyone else at the wedding laid eyes on Whitney, men out of lust, and women out of a jealous dislike.  Whitney had a pair of really long legs that protruded from the end of her little black dress (I know, red flag), and a tattoo that was slightly covered by the straps of her black high heels that wrapped around her ankles like a vine of ivy climbing a trellis .  She had reddish brown hair, clipped at the top with what I’m guessing was a burette so that it drooped down onto her shoulders at two decisive lengths, and a face that was as cute as it was naughty.  I could not take my eyes off of her, which eventually became detrimental to conversations.  I glanced intermittently at her all throughout dinner, and then she was gone.  I saw out of the corner of my eye Whitney leaving and I grew anxious.  But even a hurried race to the door after her would have failed due to lack of space.

                She was gone and I didn’t know a thing about her except her ravishing good looks, but I knew someone who did; the bride and groom.  After consulting them I decided that Whitney was in a relationship, the man not present, and that the nature of that relationship was susceptible to suggestion.  I got one piece of information that I could exploit in another effort to meet Whitney then I let the subject go for the evening.  I saw no need to occupy the happy newlyweds with matchmaking.

                Whitney worked at a restaurant, and I decided to pay here a visit one day.  A lot of thought went into planning when exactly to go.  I chose a Saturday afternoon around four o’clock in the afternoon.  There would be some people there, but not enough that I would burden her, or that she would be too busy to talk.  Little did I know that the ‘family’ restaurant was a popular place for senior citizens and at four o’clock in the afternoon the place was packed!

                I found a seat at the counter where Whitney happened to be working and ordered lemonade.  As Jerry Seinfeld said “I’m not force feeding myself at four o’clock in the afternoon to save a few bucks on the early bird special.” I grabbed Whitney’s attention when she had a minute to stand and look at the television and asked her if I looked familiar.  She answered in the negative.  I told her the story of the wedding, how she left before I could introduce myself, and how her beauty captivated my.

                “Which is what brings me here today.” I continued. “I was wondering if we could talk again sometime, when you’re not busy working?”

                “I’m married.” She replied.  Now,I knew what that answer meant, and forgive me for being a bit of a cad… but it did not answer my question.

                “So, is that a no?” I asked again, a bit deviously.

                Whitney thought for a moment, took a deep breath and then nodded her head one time.  “That’s a no… for now.”  She was interested, and I found out in post operation discussions with the aforementioned groom that they had broken up before. 

                “I can live with that.” I said with a sly, little smile.  I’m not going to ask a married women for her phone number with romantic implications attached, that I feel is wrong.  I did however write my phone number on a piece of paper and slid it across the counter to her where she accepted it.  “It’s there if you want it.”

                “Ok.” She replied as she picked up the folded piece of paper and opened it up to have a look.  I smiled at her, she smiled at me and with one final line we parted.

                “I hope to hear from you again Whitney.”  But I never did.  Let’s hope it’s because she is happily married and living ever after. 

Kerry- The Semantics of Lunch

I recently returned to college after a large hiatus.  I put myself into an environment in which I knew absolutely no one.  My compositions professor said “I chose these topics (for papers) to get the kids out of their comfort zone.”  I excelled at these assignments because as I told him…

            “I have no comfort zone.”

            The first step in his editing process is to have the class divide themselves into small groups and engage in a ‘peer-edit,’ with the groups being limited to three or four students.  A student in my row initiated that our row of four would suffice as a group and we started to exchange papers.  I noticed that two attractive young ladies had convened, and were calling themselves a group, breaking the ‘three or four’ rule. 

            “Nothing personal,” I said to the group as I excused myself, got up from my seat and joined the smaller group consisting of only females.  “I noticed you don’t have three, hi, I’m Joe.” I initiated.

            “Emily.” The first one said with a glance.

            “I’m Kerry.” Said the other and offered her hand in a formal hand-shaking fashion.

 I sat, we exchanged papers, and we read.  We were all a little generous with the reviews as no one wanted to start off a relationship negatively. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt the feelings of the first two names I had learned at that school.  Not to mention I didn’t feel I was any reliable source, at the time, for critiquing anybody’s writing, as the semester went on… that changed.

We got our papers back about a week later, after a few more personal edits and rewrites, and I decided to use this as an opportunity to talk to someone outside of class.  I caught up to Kerry a few meters outside the building; her face buried in her graded paper and asked how she did.  We walked and talked about our grades for a bit, and then I inquired as to her schedule for the day in a very broad, unassuming way.

“I’m done for the day.” She said.

“So now what?” I said a bit prying, but still casual and still walking.

“I usually meet some friends and we have lunch.” She answered.  

“Well maybe sometime we could grab some lunch?” Lunch to me is the most unassuming plan one can make. I offered a question that clearly she wasn’t expecting, but wasted little time in answering.

“Yeah, ok…sure.”

            I kept my reaction very loose and casual.  I left plan decision of when up to her, and she offered next Friday (one week) as the time and place for my socialization at that school to commence. 

            “That works,” I replied. I took a step in a perpendicular direction as I had to go to my car, stopped and said as I walked “And I have a car so we don’t have to keep it local if you don’t want. I know a lot of really good places to eat.”

            We parted for the weekend, me very happy, her very confused I’m sure.  She didn’t know exactly how old I was, but she knew I was older.  I let that slip inadvertently in class one day, never to be done again.  When class let out on Monday, I walked by Kerry at the foot of the steps leading out of the building.  She was engaged in a conversation with a young man.  Jealousy was not even a twinkle in my eye; I smiled and passed a silent wave good bye never breaking stride.  I ascended the steps and greeted the air outside the hall where class was located.  This time somebody hurriedly snuck up on me. It was Kerry.

            “About our lunch,” this was not good, “I was caught off guard when you asked me to lunch on Friday, and I was hoping that we could keep our relationship… academic.”

            My stomach sank.  I had not attached any romantic assumptions to our lunch; it was merely a jumping off point for socialization, clearly she had.  But I had to be as cool, if not cooler than when I requested lunch in the first place. After all, it was a long semester and we had a lot more of each other’s papers to read. 

            “No worries,” I offered with a single swipe of my hand.  “But hey, let’s consider it an open invitation.  If you change your mind…let me know.”

            “Ok.” She said, and then we parted. 

            I felt this pit in my stomach, because everything had been misconstrued.  I attached only small romantic aspirations to the lunch with Kerry as she was cute, but not assumptions.  I am older, she is young.  I was new at school, she was established.  I just wanted to talk, have a bite, and then who knows, one step at a time.  I felt like I wanted to clarify this to her, but after thinking about her ‘academic’ response I averted.  She obviously spent the weekend planning what to say to get her out of her obligation, so I let it go at ‘no worries.’

            The semester went on, we read each other’s papers like nothing had happened, critiqued each other with a little more bias and both got good grades (as did the third member of our peer edit group).  I have not encountered Kerry since class ended, which I thought was bound to happen at some point on campus, but if I do, I’ll make sure to tell her “the lunch offer still stands.”

Julie & The Tortellini

It was interesting meeting Julie for the first time because I already knew her.  We went to the same school for a brief time and I knew who she was.  I thought she was very pretty, but our activities and friends never put us close enough to associate.  It’s safe to say that when my friend hung up the phone and said “Julie’s comin’ through…” I was a little nervous.

Julie was an athletically built girl; curvy yet fit.  She had black hair past her shoulders, a scar cutting through her right eyebrow which hovered above her big, beautiful, blue eyes.  And a fantastically full lower lip.  She was gorgeous.

The car door shut and Julie joined my friend and I on my front porch, we were awaiting her arrival.  The greetings between us superseded the awkward and she progressed right into the small dramas of her day at work.  We went inside and I fixed us all a drink.

Over the next few hours we all hung out, with no expectations.  Jokes were made, people were picked on and the fact that we all should have known each other better than we did was completely ignored.  No one cared.  Then someone got hungry.

The three of us packed into my car and headed to the convenient store open at the hour to fulfill the need not to be hungry anymore.  I didn’t find anything that looked appetizing, but Julie and Eric barreled about, grabbing one item after another, replacing the one in hand with one that drew the next appeal.  I grew antsy.  I found the two of them staring at beverages.  Julie shoved bottle of water in my face whose description, drawing inference to a famous rapper of the time, got a laugh out of all three of us

“If you want,” I interrupted, “I got an idea for some bangin’ munchies.  But we’re not gonna find it here. “ 

“Oh yeah, what?” Julie asked, intriguingly.

“It’s a recipe I have for tortellini.” I replied.  Julie’s intrigue grew. 

She put her bag of chips down on the first shelf she could find and excitedly but confidently said “let’s go.” 

So the three of us were now wandering the aisles of the all night supermarket.  I had a basket and lead the way. Julie watched my shopping with anticipation as the contents would make up the food she would soon eat.  And Eric, well Eric was looking for a bathroom.  (Whether or not he found one is debatable, but after a while he no longer searched.)

Back at my apartment Eric occupied himself with contraband, Julie occupied us with friendly chatter and I chopped garlic.  Banter went back and forth between Julie and I; light hearted banter about my cooking, the shape of my apartment.  It was a very jovial mood.  The meal, one of my favorites, won them over, and the prosciutto was a big success.  Especially with Julie because as Eric put it in the store, “Be careful with prosciutto, you’re cooking for an Italian girl.”  We ate and watched TV.

The night drew to an end, partly because Eric was asleep, partly because I was getting there, and partly because it was morning.  Julie announced her departure and I walked her out.  I was incredibly attracted to Julie and got the feeling that she felt the same.  On our way out she thanked me again for cooking and reiterated how nice it was of me.  I made an offer to her. 

“You should let me cook for you again sometime.” I said.

“I’d like that.” She replied with a smile.  The only problem, as she drove off, was that she didn’t have my phone number nor I hers.  But I knew someone who did… I couldn’t ask Eric for her number because I think he held out hopes that Julie would be interested in him.  If he did, he didn’t show it, to me or her.  Either way, I just couldn’t ask him.  I could however open his mobile phone as he slept and take it… which I did.

The next day (later on that day) all I could think about was Julie.  She literally worked her way into every aspect of my day by occupying my brain.  I asked some friends, a couple, if it was too soon or too much to call the next day.  The man emphatically said yes and the woman said that it all depends on the girl.  I thought that was the perfect answer.  I felt like talking to Julie, and I felt like she wanted me to call her, so on my way home I did.

Julie didn’t answer initially but called me back within minutes.  We chatted for a bit then decided to get together when she got off work that night.  I was ecstatic.  She began to ramble about what we should do, where to meet, what to drink and things when I cut her off and said “Why don’t we just talk about it when I get there?”

A silent pause came over the phone and surprisingly Julie asked “You’re coming here?”

“If that’s ok?” I added.

“Sure.”

When I got there the smile on Julie’s face was as big as mine.  I think they call it ‘ear to ear.’ Julie got me a drink and I waited off by myself.  We threw glances at each other of different meanings as she passed by me waiting tables.  When we got a chance to talk we both admitted that we’d been thinking about one another all day, and that we’d both been caught by someone else, in a smile.

Julie and I dated for a few weeks, got to the point where we were calling each other ‘boyfriend and girlfriend,’ and were, for the briefest of moments, head over heels in love.  But it did not work out.  Neither of us was ready for what the other had to offer so we went our separate ways.

I saw Julie make a post a few years later on a social network, mutual friend page and requested a connection.  It was denied.  I didn’t let that bother me, but a few months later when the same thing happened I sent another request, this time with a message…

“I understand if you don’t want to be ‘friends’ with me but know this… I think about you from time to time.”

She accepted this request and has since grown into one of my favorite connections.  We interact on a personal level and it is always in good fun, even at times one on one.  Julie has proved my theory that I adopted from a quote (the name of the movie or TV show eludes me),

“When you truly love someone, a part of you always will.”

p.s. On the first night we hung out alone after her work, Julie shocked me, hours, days, even weeks before I expected it… she kissed me.  It was an electric kiss that has scarred me to this day.  It is a scar that I brag about.  I offer a quote from a letter I wrote to Julie on her birthday, “I am proud to have, at one point, had you call me your boyfriend.”  Julie… I’m still proud.