Perfect

It’s weird when things happen with strangers. It’s the sort of thing that doesn’t just happen–It’s an anomaly when it happens–It’s the kind of thing that happens in movies and when it happens in real life it’s an experience you don’t forget. There are circumstances, though, such as vacations, such as cruises, such circumstances qualify an exception. Sometimes. But once life resumes though, once life is back in a real world, special encounters with perfect strangers, it is anomalous. And for me, specifically, it is always anomalous.

I don’t know–I do suppose that, if you do online dating, speed dating, blind dating, other organized dating, it’s the norm. So maybe not for all but for me it is anomalous. See I don’t club. I don’t do that. And I don’t do tinder, and I don’t–how some mean by cyber, nor do I pay for phone conversations and I don’t visit prostitutes. And if there is anything else, anything that I’ve failed to mention, cross it out. I don’t desire anything that badly–be it sex or plain affection–to actually go out of my way for it–and not to say I am too busy–but in any case, what I mean is, it’s not like I’m bragging but it doesn’t embarrass me to admit. I’ll rest on that.

I met her in Bishop’s Park. She jogs there daily, which is where I walk my dog. I’d cross ways with her there often, often enough to notice her. She’s pretty, and she jogs in bright neon. She’s hard to miss. It became a thought that perhaps she’d come to notice me, too. With my St Bernard, Goonch I do draw some notice. Goonch is a very big, drooling famous breed of dog. He too is sort of hard to miss, even if I’m not. But what had started with friendly glances and smiles became waves and then heys, and soon enough we were talking.

I know that changes flow–this might no longer sound like a chance encounter between perfect strangers. And the reason for that is because it’s not. This was two, averagely shy grown people, getting used to seeing one another daily over a course of some time. The process, this word which sounds strange to me because it’s not like it was all the plan, took about two months. But once we spoke, things picked up unthinkably fast. And not in some awkward, or desperate fashion either, the pace, fast as it was, was natural. I guess to say we both had noticed each other.

That’s what she said. (I love that set-up. It’s so easy to use. That’s what she said.) We’re not dating. Not anymore we’re not. We’d fizzled as soon as we lit, in all honesty, I have to say. We’re not even friends, we don’t talk. I do still pass her in Bishop’s Park. We don’t meet eyes, or smile, or anything. We did, at first, how could we not, but now we just walk. But one day I looked back as she passed, and what I saw is she’d done the same. I never looked back again. I wonder if she has. It’s not been long, I mean, it’s only been a month. I’m over her. She’s over me. Maybe one morning she’ll say hi again to Goonch, and naturally then me, and that would be cool. Or one day I’ll say hey to her, or whatever. I mean whatever, whenever, or never, really. She’s, like that I guess, and me too. Mature. Or jaded. Whatever. Mature.

Although–and this is a real although–the reasons for why we did jump the train before it could wreck, to me are shamefully shallow, but all the same valid and for that reason. It was politics, really, simply enough. Politics. She’s republican. I’m democrat. And she’s hardline, we were having these debates, and I mean like straight up arguments, and over things like capital punishment, it was not very romantic. That sentiment by the way is mutual. She wasn’t happy about it either. But listen to this: one night, in my living room, she was all weird, she set me up with this five minute convolution of seemingly pointless talk–I thought we were discussing nothing, really I couldn’t make tails of it—first it was Henry Ford, then monkeys, then chimpanzees and then: “What if Mozart was aborted?” That’s what she said.

But I regress. Sex was good. I feel like we both enjoyed that part. And it was also nice kissing her, hugging her, sitting with her, walking with her, talking with her (if about anything but politics,) it was all very nice, it felt warm, and relaxing, comforting, sensible, endearing. I had forgotten about those things. Somewhere along a line I did. Forgotten that it’s worth missing. So I’m ready for more, I am, I want more of that stuff, I do. Not with her.

s-l1000

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