It's a sad story, really, of wasted opportunity and squandered chances. Which, I guess, are one and the same. According to some philosophers, maybe I let the moment slip by because it's not really what I want, even though I think it is. But it's not; I'm not ready, not in a real way, to let anybody back in. It's too scary, it's too intimidating, and no, I'm just not ready. It makes me sad, but I guess it's some sort of solace for me to know myself enough to know that I let that very cute boy slip through my fingers on purpose.
I was having drinks with I'm No Phenomenon last night at the San Jose when he walked in with three women. Clearly not with any of them, and multiple times he craned his neck, quite unnaturally, to look at me, sitting almost behind him. Phenomenon backed me up on this; I was not imagining it. We made eye contact three times; I smiled at him once and he got nervous. Phenomenon tried to convince me to just give him my number already; he was clearly begging for it.
I wrote it on our receipt with trembling fingers and we started to leave, but as we passed by his table I paused then exited stage left, quickly. Once outside, Phenomenon started scolding me, trying to convince me he would be impressed, I looked good, I had nothing to be afraid of. She said, "Go back in through the bar; that way it just looks like you went to the bathroom."
I can do this.
What is there to be so afraid of...?
I start to enter back through the bar, when suddenly, there are he and his friends, coming my way, opening the opposite door from the outside bar. We look at each other, I freeze, then suddenly turn and bolt back out the way I came in.
And not at all obvious.
Phenomenon can't help but laugh as they walk by us, and I try to act natural as he looks at me again as he leaves, me having just made a total ass of myself.
Why am I acting like a 16-year-old girl? And being so obvious about it?
She hugs me goodbye as the boy walks out onto the street - of course going the same direction I'm going. So despite his seeing Phenomenon leaving me in the bar, yelling "Call me!" behind her as she goes, I stand and wait, so as to not have to walk directly behind them all the way up to Guero's where I'm parked.
On the way to my car, he turns and looks behind him not once, but twice, at me, about 20 feet behind, trying to play it cool.
But so not cool.
So I'm telling myself I did it all on purpose. Who needs it.
I hate sharing my bed. You know, I like to sprawl all the way across it.