It can be hard to identify the beginning of a memory. Life doesn't stop, and experiences accumulate, but we remember precious few. Looking back, my memory started when I recognized that I cared about my outfit.
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His comment was cute, and sincere, and funny, but my giggle was extended because of my own thought process: I knew I shouldn't have cared. But I did. I was happy that my attire was friendly, maybe even a bit flirty. I laughed because it shouldn't have mattered that I was wearing a bright yellow sleeveless wrap dress, but I sure loved it when he called it a sundress. I love the sun.
"Are you serious?" I smiled.
"Yep - totally serious."
I paused to consider his thought, then wondered if it was just a good line, so I asked him to repeat it.
"Repeat it?"
"Yes, I just want to be sure I get it."
"It's not rocket science, gorgeous."
And there it was, the fifth time he commented positively on my appearance. But I would not be put off. "I don't care what type of science it is - I'd like to hear it again".
"I think you're dressed for that book. It's a beautiful fall day, warmer than usual, and you're rocking a sundress. You're holding on to a season, Love, but that season is passing. You're casting wonderful shadows backward, but the future is inevitable. That's how you look, and that's your book."
I was a bit shocked. Not just that he knew the book, but because he seemed too young for such a deep perspective. "I've never focused on the good-bye aspect, I've focused more on the philosophy." I replied.
"You have to start with the good-bye! Almustafa dishes on all those topics because homeboy is about to leave." I was surprised by how well he knew Gibran's The Prophet. "And I think that's the trick, sweetheart: all good-byes should leave us with memories."
My good-bye was almost overdue. Afternoon's light had long faded and I needed to leave my sanctuary, the library, and head home. "I really like your perspective. Thanks for sharing it. I have to head home."
"Not yet." He pleaded as I stood.
"I'm afraid I have no choice."
"Alright. But I'll walk you to your car." I was flattered, but shook my head no.
"I won't take no for an answer. It's dark outside, the parking lot isn't well-lit, and a pretty girl should never walk alone."
I smiled both my acceptance and my surprise. I haven't been called a girl for a long time, and certainly not by someone less than half my age.
We walked in silence at first. Once I played through the randomness of our meeting, and the ease of our conversation, I became aware of his presence. His face was kind, and almost familiar. His gait was strong, and his movements confident. He was tall with a runner's body. He spoke as we left the building.
"Did you see that?"
"See what?" I asked.
"Every guy in there wanted to be me. It was fucking awesome."
"I'm not sure ..."
"Yes you are. They wanted to be me because you're so hot."
I was becoming a bit nervous, and then more so when he put his hand in the small of my back. "Don't tell me that you don't notice how men look at you."
I was in stunned silence as he continued. "Seriously, girl, everyone wants you."
His comments were less flirty now, and more overtly sexual. And even with the Police Station right across the street, I was concerned with the darkness enveloping my car, which was still a good distance across the lot.
"Everything about you - from your blonde hair, to that tight body wrapped in that sundress, to your gorgeous legs screams goddess."
