the blonde on the streetcorner

It started a week or so ago. Devin and I were sitting in La Colombe drinking coffee and trying to wake up after deciding on a new apartment. We were in good spirits. I was half asleep, but happy.

A beautiful blonde walked in. Really beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She was amazing. I watched as she ordered her coffee. I watched as she chatted with the guys serving her the coffee. I watched as she sat down with some friends at a table across from us. I watched as she looked at me and waved.

I looked at her. She was waving at me. Instinctually, I looked in every possible direction to make sure she wasn't waving at anyone else. When I was sure that yes, she was waving at me, I waved back. She asked me how I was doing. I yelled at the top of my lungs across the five feet separating us that I was fine.

I wondered who the hell she was.

Finally, shortly after she left, I decided that I knew exactly who she was. Her name was Darrah, and she had given me her phone number one drunken night at Bar Noir. I never got in touch with her because her number was unintelligable. She was gorgeous. I had just come off like a stumbling idiot in front of her. I decided that I would not try to decipher her phone number anymore.

Today, again, I was sitting at La Colombe with Devin shortly after signing our new lease. She walked in. She was getting a coffee to go. I had just been summarily dumped the night before, so I was feeling brave.

There was certainly no way in hell I'd just sit there and let her walk away. I had to leave for work anyway, so timing was everything at this point. She picked up her coffee, and I explained to Devin that I had to leave for work. I walked out right behind her. I felt confident.

When I got outside, she was talking to friends. I decided that this was no time to interrupt her, so I kept walking. Then, from just behind me, I heard her.

“Hey!”

I turned around. She was looking right at me, and her friends were leaving. This was my window. I walked back towards her.

“I'm so sorry,” I started, "that I didn't recognize you at all the last time I saw you. How have you been?”

We talked for a while. She talked about where she was working now, I talked about my two jobs. I leaned on a parking meter, trying to look cool. We both pulled out cigarettes at the same time, so I lit hers for her. I decided it was time.

“You know, I have to tell you, your number was completely unintelligible. I tried a few variations on it, but I gave up, you know?”

I watched her face to see if perhaps she gave me the wrong number intentionally. She merely laughed silently and smiled and nodded. I took this as a good sign.

“That wasn't me,” she said.

“What?” I replied, deftly.

“I used to bartend at the Happy Rooster. That's how you know me,” she explained.

I realized then that it was possible to curl up into a fetal position from a purely emotional standpoint and still remain standing.

“Right,” I said, “You're not Darrah, you're Jen.”

She nodded.

“I'm going to go now, and I'm going to jump off of a very tall building.”

I turned and walked away.

“It's okay,” she told me.

“No, it's not,” I informed her, and continued walking away from one of the most attractive women I've ever met.

I had to go to work at that point, and smile at all the rich people. But I realized that no matter how sad or depressed I may get, my own ability to embarrass the hell out of myself always makes me smile.

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