Posted on | July 25, 2012 | No Comments
I met him at a casual thing through a mutual friend. We happened to sit near each other, which allowed for occasions of witty banter. He wore a plaid shirt. I did too. That fashion coincidence meant a lot at the time but in retrospect, I probably made the whole ‘plaid shirt’ thing up. It gives our first encounter more gravitas, I think. More signs of kismet.
A few weeks later, I invited him to another casual thing where there would be mutual friends. And he showed up. More witty banter. Possibly more plaid shirts. He came in late, popped out early, and I unfortunately arrived with a (male, platonic) guest who required my attention. But I thanked him for coming, hoped to stay in touch.
Even later, out of the blue at another casual thing, a friend mentioned he moved. “Yeah,” they said. “And he’s doing really well out there. Like really happy. Can you believe it?”
And then the friend absentmindedly listed a bunch of facts about him which made him even more attractive in my eyes.
This trivia I remember acutely. This trivia I did not make up.
He moved before I made a move.
I feel this acutely, too.
Pause. Sip of beer. “Good for him,” I say.