I have a lousy linear memory; at any given time, I probably wouldn’t be able to reconstruct fifteen minutes of what’s happened to me in the last day. But there are some timelines I remember pretty well.
A while ago, one of my internet friends decided to stop by for a visit. By then, this was not an uncommon thing for me — I’d go and visit people I’d met over the ‘net and sometimes they’d come and visit me. All it really necessitated was making sure the spare bedroom was made up, most of the dirty dishes were in the dishwasher, and the bathroom was reasonably clean. It made vacation planning easier and more social for people that were often less than outgoing in real life. It was also very friendly and welcoming and generous, as that’s what online communities were like back then.
I do try to be a good host, though, so I’d spent some time at least planning what we’d do upon arrival. I lived in a real cow town back then, so finding a decent place to get a snack after the late plane landed was a real pain. I eventually settled on a bar just south of downtown that was reported to serve a good macaroni and cheese until midnight and had a jazz band in the lounge. No small effort was put into making this decision — I am wont to over analyze every little thing over which I might have some control.
Being a master of the trivial, I am the most annoying tour guide. I can’t answer substantial questions about the places I’ve lived, but I can overwhelm with random facts and obscure occurrences. This continued as we made our way across the city and down to the bar. There was a cover charge, but I think I had enough cash to cover both of us. We sat at a table, and a martini and I believe a cosmopolitan were ordered. My visitor proceeded to eat the olives out of my martini, which was fine. I think that was the first actual martini I’d ever had. We listened to the band in the other room, enjoyed the four-cheesy goodness, and made small talk as people do. A second round arrived and was consumed leisurely; there was no hurry as all of this seemed quite natural.
The hour grew later and we were both tired. I drove home and carried in the bags. A brief tour of my stately abode was provided, and some minor unpacking and settling in took place. I had gone out and procured a wireless access point just for this visit — previously I didn’t trust myself to be productive if infinite distraction was available from any room in the house. Again, it all seemed so comfortable, so expected.
After a while I went into the guest room and my guest and I talked some more, but said very little. Some other stories were told and a few secrets were shared, as friends do in the wee hours in strange places. I sat on the floor for what seemed like an eternity and wondered why the air seemed so heavy and why those brown eyes looked so deep. I was over analyzing again.
Then I kissed her.
And that’s a story of how people fall in love.