While I was standing in line at a coffee shop recently I
overheard a conversation between two friends.
One young man was telling another young man about a concert he had been
to the night before. The concert was
great but he was even more enthusiastic about the girl he met during the
event.
“She was kind of
exotic looking…you know?” He went on to describe how pretty he thought she was,
how she laughed at his jokes.
“Her laugh was
awesome,” he sighed. This young man was
clearly smitten. He asked her for her
number and she was more than happy to give it to him…but now he was
worried. Should he call her today? Would that appear too desperate? Would she be mad if he didn’t call
today? What if she was having a “concert
high” (meaning she had gotten lost in the excitement of the live music) and
today she was completely regretting having given out her number? His friend told him to “go for it,” and as I
was departing from the shop, coffee in hand, the young man was dialing her
number. I don’t know what happened after
that, but I was excited for him, I was excited for the girl, I was excited for
their story.
I derive a great sense of excitement and pleasure from
stories. I see them everywhere in
everyone. I want to know who and I want
to know how. I find it irresistible how
so many people’s lives can twist and turn and unfold in so many different
ways. That’s why I am a voracious reader
and an aspiring writer. If you look close enough there is an aspect of
fascination to every human’s life.
If I were to write the story of that young man
and young woman, when he called her he would have been brave enough to ask her
on a date. She would say yes and they
would meet at AKA music to browse cheap used cds. They would crack up when they find out they
both like the same obscure band that they thought no one else had ever heard
of, then they would head to Franklin Fountain for some delicious ice cream.
The date will go so well they can’t help themselves, they
must see each other the very next day.
He’ll meet her at a dog park where he’ll be introduced to her dog for
the very first time. The dog will love him instantly.
In ten years that
man will be sitting in a chair way too small for his large frame while a kind
of exotic looking preschool girl pours water into tiny plastic tea cups…I think
I’ll also make him wear a silly looking yellow hat with a daisy on the brim.
That girl he was so smitten with at the concert will breeze by the room unable
to stifle the awesome laugh that he first fell in love with. Yes that is where I see the story going. Does it seem a bit too sappy? Probably (though I’m sure they will have some
bumps in the road), but I feel like today there are too few happy endings so
lets make this one of the few.
*Interestingly enough had I written this particular story
during my melancholy teenage years I would have ended it with some act of
tragic romance. It’s funny how time,
age and or life experience changes how you want your stories to end.
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