proximity

There he is, far away, a random occurrence in my world. His initial reactions to me were always cold, mean almost, a stern meeting of the eyes, a quiet fuming. For the longest time I thought he was a huge snob. A force to be reckoned with. And then I spoke to him. What I discovered is that it was all a cover up for someone who just wasn't very bright. There he was surrounded by verbose, loquacious folks and he had nothing to say in response. Half the time he was probably trying in great earnest to keep up with the swirls and whirls of our conversations.

Once I learned this, the power he had over me expired. I was no longer set into a trance when I met his eyes. I was no longer nervous about the uncertain man at the bar. I stopped being immediately clumsy because he was so mysterious and handsome. I didn't care what he thought of me because he could barely think!

About the same time his appearances at the bar tapered off. He'd moved away. He still came, but infrequently; I rarely saw him.

Then one night, we happened to both be there at the same time. And we both happened to be alone. And we happened to be in close proximity to one another. We had a very long, very nice conversation. I realized I'd been presumptious yet again. He could and did think, in fact, he had quite a lot to say and most of it was coherent and structured thinking. We talked so long and so much that the next day everyone assumed we'd spent the night together. Our conversation was so deep and connected that everyone else fell away.

I would never go home with him because he has a girlfriend, despite their obvious arrangements (I often see him escorting women away from the bar). And, I would never go home with him because I imagine I would fall harshly in love with someone that couldn't really be with me.

And yet, it is fun to play with him. Before, we stared at each other with blank faces, now we stick out our tongues at each other across the bar. I discovered that his knowledge of music is vast, but he has similar tastes to mine. We choose songs at the jukebox together. When I arrive at the bar and he is there, we greet each other warmly with smiles.

Lately, we've taken to hugs. Sometimes the nicest thing about the range of human contact is a hug. This last time I received a hug from behind, his long arms swooping across my chest, his head nuzzled in the crook of my shoulder and he whispered in my ear, "I'll see you later. Have a good night."

I turned to ask him about a band I made him promise to listen to. He'd forgotten it. He told me to text him. I said I didn't have his number and "who are you (one of my favorite jokes, because he seems to be a new person to me each time)?" He saw my phone sitting on the bar and reached for it, typed in his number and said, there, now you have my number.

And I have to admit, even though I know it's nothing, even though I know nothing will ever happen between us, it sends a thrill through me that I'm embarrassed about.