Postcard 5

I met a boy on a plane.  “Cincinnati your final destination?” “No. New York. I was just in Milwaukee for a wedding.” He had the warmest smile, but enough mischief in his eyes to keep you interested.  He was the kind of boy Midwest mothers pray their daughters will bring home at Thanksgiving. They’ll beg to feed him leftover pie at breakfast like he’s ten, fussing over whether it’s warm enough, whether he wants fresh whipped cream. “Just coffee, please” he’ll say, but before he can ask Dad for a section of the paper, there's a slice in his hand and that same grin on his face.  Mother melts; father sighs.

We talked about everything: Work; politics; books we were reading; basketball; Nas versus Jay-Z; our favorite poets; our families; our friends; the bookstore in that photograph. We talked about everything except her.  

 He handed me his business card as we began our descent. “Do you come to New York often?” I cooed, entering his information into my phone. “Absolutely.” He replied. “Do you come to DC?” “Only if someone gives me a reason.” I was about as subtle as a polka dot suit, but I had to make sure it wasn’t all in my head. "Do you have roommates, or are you a real adult?” I asked. “I have one roommate…” I stopped listening, and began daydreaming. Hope is a thing with feathers…

We departed to our respective gates, already texting as we are wont to do these days.  He decided to come keep me company, as he had a later flight. We shared popcorn, and more stories. I couldn’t stop myself; I was drowning in him, in what might come to pass. We got up to say goodbye. Emboldened by his gesture to wait with me at the gate, I kissed him on the cheek, and he walked me to the boarding area. The texting continued: Safe flight, great meeting you today, goodnight, talk soon. Emails the following morning and the day after that. I continued to drown. Bound 2 Falling In Love. 

On our third day of knowing each other, after several long conversations, through various mediums, he called me, presumably to discuss the details of our respective visits. “Hey, I’m sorry, I feel I may have been a bit disingenuous …” his tone had already revealed so much. 

“You have a girlfriend.” I replied, weakly. “Well, yeah, well, actually, I’m engaged.” It was like taking a bullet. “Oh, congratulations!” was all I could think to say. Like the doormat that I am. I don’t remember anything he said after that, I’m sure he apologized, said some kind words.  Probably the same kind words he texted me later that day. “I’m usually much better at reading the signs,” I wrote. “You didn’t read signs cause I didn’t give them...let’s stay in touch.”

I don’t know her name. I don’t know anything about her. But, I imagine she’s the kind of girl Midwest mothers pray their sons bring home for Thanksgiving. And, I wonder what they talk about on the plane ride home.

Wish You Were Here. 

B