My heart tells me to do stupid shit all the time but I always listen.
And I'm always glad I did.
Running headstrong into the night.
Or the morning.
Or whenever the fuck I decide to follow my heart.
I stayed out really late.
Or really early, actually.
At what hour in the night does it shift from being out late to out early?
Seriously.
I wanna know the answer.
All I know is we'd gone to four different bars.
I felt like some hip college kid.
We're so cool, we're bar hopping.
Because adults don't have energy to do that.
We don't wanna keep closing our tab.
We want the bartender to get us good and drunk.
And then take us home with him.
Or not.
There's always tomorrow.
So when Jimmy suggested we go back to his place I thought, Yeah! Party continued! But I was starting to feel kinda tired so I checked the time.
2:03am
Two in the morning?!
How the hell was it already two in the morning?
I had to work in the morning for fucks sake!
I needed to get to bed & snuggle with my Cartier.
My cat is the only person welcome in my bed. Don't judge me.
So by the time I got home & closed my eyes I got just enough sleep to feel really hungover at work the next morning.
I didn't even drink that much but since I never got the chance to sleep it off it was apparently enough.
I managed to paint my face like the goddamn makeup artist genius that I am so when I saw the girlfriend I woke up to that morning (Apparently I also let my drunk girlfriends in my bed who don't want to drive home) later that same night she said, Wow. You look stunning.
Because she'd seen the hot mess I woke up like.
Dis.
It made me feel really good because I wanted to look stunning.
Effortlessly so.
But in that way that girls do when we're like, I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard but I want to look cute. Like ravishingly cute. And stunning. But casual. You know, like, oh this old thing? I just threw this on without any thought, even though the polka dots on my scarf are the same polka dots that are on my shirt and the other shirt is ruched but not too ruched just enough to make me look skinny so I don't have to suck in my gut cuz these jeans are kinda tight but they make my butt look good but I'm gonna be sitting so I better go to the bathroom a couple times so hopefully he sees me walk by and notices my great butt.
See I put like no thought into it.
At all.
And when my girlfriend said I looked stunning I had to refrain from shouting FUCKYES!
But where was I?
Ah, yes.
Hung to the fuck over.
I really kinda wanted to go home and go to bed.
But it'd been my genius idea to meet my mother for drinks to see him.
I couldn't very well stand my mother up and I did want to see him even if I was too tired to keep my eyes open.
Being so out of it actually worked in my favor because I was too out of it to have any energy to worry about how he might react having me there.
I drove down and parked my car.
It was pouring.
I got out to fill the meter and just stood there.
It's been so hot in Portlandia the past two months I hadn't been rained on in ages.
I realized as the water started to change the color of my shirt like some mood ring that while I wanted to savor my moment with Mother Nature that I also wanted to look good when I walked in and I should probably stop being such a fucking hippie and start walking towards the bar.
I found mother without looking up to where I already knew he was.
I wanted to be there but I almost wanted to blend in to the scene.
So while my vanity wanted to yell THATS RIGHT IM FUCKING HERE DO YOU SEE DO YOU SEE WHO THE FUCK JUST WALKED IN
Instead I quietly found my seat with the hushed diligence as though I was being seated just as the opera was beginning.
I waited longer than I expected before I let myself look over and see him.
There he is, my inner teenager elbowed me in the side. Look!
There are certain people in this world whose mere presence paints a smile on your face.
They don't even really have to do anything.
Just being is enough.
I told mother of my latest adventures and the book I've been obsessed with and --
"Has he seen you yet?" Mother interrupted me.
I glanced in his direction scrutinizing his every movement.
'I don't know,' I said, 'I can't tell.'
Just then he threw the liquid nitrogen that had been steaming in the glass with such force at an angle that was exactly towards the table.
As though if I'd been laying down instead of sitting up it would have hit me in the face.
'He knows I'm here,' I said mostly to myself.
Him and I were vastly different in a lot of ways.
In more than I would ever find out.
But we were alike in one way.
Everything we did had meaning.
Our behavior wasn't accidental.
It was with purpose.
And intensity.
Funny enough that one gesture contented me.
Because I felt that I'd been seen.
I'd had a desire to see him and be seen.
And that was it.
Beyond that I just wanted a drink.
The man makes a damn fine cocktail.
We continued visiting and I occasionally glanced over to enjoy the view.
A good while went by, enough that I wondered if he was just going to ignore me indefinitely--Twenty? Thirty minutes had passed?--And then somehow a shift and I looked up and saw him looking right at me.
This was it.
Like some sort of science experiment what would happen when you dumped one chemical into the vial that had an already existing chemical in it.
Who the fuck knows until you just throw that shit together.
He smiled and waved.
Like.
A sheepish, hand right by his face, quick hello, the way a boy on the playground might wave to the first girl he doesn't think has cooties.
The corners of my lips shifted upwards into a slight smile of acceptance back and my hands stayed placed in my lap.
I didn't need to reciprocate.
Me being there was my hello.
"He waved at me," I finally included mother in the moment.
"Am I a terrible person for feeling good that it took him twenty minutes to work up the courage to do that?"
'No, it just means that you were right about the connection you two share.'
I ordered a drink he'd never made for me before, and realized as it was being made that it was another bartender who had my order in his hands.
Dissatisfied I asked mother if she might like that one and I ordered another.
I asked the waiter to please make sure that bartender made my drink this time.
I watched as the waiter walked over to him to relay my request and as he prepared it he once again threw the nitrogen right in line with me like the glass had a string that attached to my wrist.
And once the drink was finished he handed it to the waiter to bring to me.
I drank the Manhattan with the same appreciation as though I were sipping diamonds.
Mother took a sip to compare.
Her eyes grew large.
"Wow. Do you think he used the good stuff in that one?"
'Probably,' I said.
No words.
Just the best.
For the lady.
I brought the card to one of the bartenders to close our tab and as I started to sit back down I saw him walking my way, from the other end of the bar.
For a moment I just stood there, staring.
It was dark but even amidst the shadows I saw a smile form on his lips.
But something in me had to move, had to break our gaze, like I almost didn't want him to walk up to me and say anything.
I don't know why.
I just had to sit down.
"I'm going to use the restroom if you want to go over and say hi," and with that she left me alone at the table.
I watched him work and reflected on how simple our interaction had been.
I was content.
What I'd needed had been simple.
He thought everything about me was so damn complicated.
But I'd just needed a wave.
Suddenly I was ready to go.
I didn't want to go say hi.
He wasn't ready to talk to me.
Because if he had been he would have delivered that Manhattan himself.
And even though I'd shown up that was as far as I wanted to take being invasive.
If he wanted to talk to me he would come over to me.
I got up and walked out into the crisp air that no longer held the rain.
I looked at him through the glass door, talking to some customer, explaining the complexities of some liquor, of some history of the drink.
I thought how we were in different worlds now, I on my boat, he on his.
And how lovely it had been that he'd waved to me across the sea that existed between us.
That was enough.
It was all I'd needed.
Acknowledgement.
A momentary connection.
As I drove home, my contentment manifested on my lips.
'I love you,' I said aloud.
And I sent it straight to him.
And it was then I realized I still could.
Even if we never spoke again.
The love danced in my heart unabashedly for no one else to see.
Simply for the pure joy of feeling it.
And feeling the release of any expectations, of all those I held tightly with such determined ferocity.
And instead just smiled.
All the way home.
Connected.
Still.
But this time.
Accepting.
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