"Thank you," I said to my server as she brought me my order of chicken, rice, and broccoli. I was at the diner, and I'd just completed another long day of classes in my program. I opened up my copy of "Son of a Witch" and began to read and eat with gusto.
Dinner was one of my favorite times of day. Not just because it gave me the time to stuff my face, but also because it gave me a chance to catch up on whatever novel I'd picked up to read. There was a bookstore across the street from my school in the Merchandise Mart, and I loved to just browse the shelves. On my last visit, I'd picked up "Son of a Witch" by Gregory Maguire after reading and thoroughly enjoying "Wicked". I settled into my routine, and let my mind slip away into the novel.
I glanced up for a second while reaching for my water glass, and at that moment, locked eyes with a guy that was walking past the picture window. His eyes were deep and brown, and I could sense him sizing me up. I returned the glance (allowing him to see just what he needed to) and returned to my book.
"Hmm," I thought to myself. "Say what you want about Chicago, but they have some good looking men out here." I didn't give our 3 second interaction much afterthought.
Now, the few of you that know about my years BEFORE I moved to Chicago, know all about the various men I've had in my life. I'm not a bad-looking chick---as I've been told so by various men (and women if you can believe it). Pretty eyes and hair, a nice skin tone, and legs that don't stop---courtesy of my very attractive parents. I've never really seen it, I don't see where I look too different from other females, so I kind of accept the comments with a grain of salt. Needless to say, my eyes and legs got me into A LOT of trouble in my 20s, and I've ended up making some bad choices in men thanks to my anatomy. Here's a quick run-down: My first love was a guy I met while making my way home from work when I was about 20. It was the middle of the summer, in downtown Pittsburgh, and I was walking with a PURPOSE to my bus stop to get home. I was hot, and I'd spent the past 9 hours in a tiny wooden booth at Kennywood Park selling admission tickets and sweating bullets (they've since replaced the wooden booths with high-tech stainless steel booths with central air conditioning and bullet proof glass. We could have used those when someone tossed an 8-inch knife in one of our booths to hide it from the metal detectors). I was beyond exhausted, and my fuse was really short. I was so focused on getting to my destination, I didn't notice the guy standing in front of me and staring. He was about 6'3" with gorgeous eyes, light brown skin, and curly hair. "Oh hell yes," I thought to myself smiling. We struck up a conversation, and exchanged numbers. This was followed up by one of the most horrific, stressful, and terrifying years of my young life. It ended when he was sent to prison for drug possession when I was about 23. It ended for him---for good---when I found out he was killed the day before Christmas in 2006. Before him, there was a guy I'd met through a mutual friend. I knew from the start he was only after one thing, and I hate to say it, I was willing to go there. I was 19, and feeling my independence. There never was much of a relationship, and I called it quits when I found out he had a 3-month old son. After these two fools, I cooled my jets for a while (4 years to be exact) before I got back into the game. In quick succession: the one who had 3 kids, the one who was a pathological liar, and (regretfully) the pathological liar's best friend. I never said I was an angel.
The liar's best friend was a bit off, and I knew this from the start. He would quickly vacillate between being happy and playful, and being moody and violent. I found out too late that he was most likely suffering from untreated bipolar disorder, and I often found myself the recipient of his abusive actions and behaviors. I spent the next four months crying and going to a therapist before I found the courage to tell him to kick rocks. I moved to Chicago soon after that (I actually tried to spark another relationship with a guy I worked with, just BEFORE I moved to Chicago but let's just say I wasn't the recipient of his affection). In between these episodes I called relationships, there were a few one night stands, several missed opportunities----and 2 or 3 (negative) pregnancy tests.
So my track record isn't squeaky clean and I admit that. I've since cleaned up my act, and I'm engaged to be married to the love of my life (I love you Seth) and for the first time in my life, I feel safe and at complete and total ease with a man. But back to the story at hand.
I paid my bill, and made my way out the door and to the hostel. It was an unusually warm night for the end of September, and I was enjoying the breeze that was coming in from Lake Michigan. There were lots of people around---kids riding bikes, older couples out for walks, and guys in front of the train station smoking and talking. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar face approach me. My window guy.
"Hello Miss," he said to me. "I noticed you while you were in the diner, and I thought to myself, I just have to talk to that gorgeous woman. How are you tonight?" All of this without missing a beat. His voice was as smooth as chocolate, purposeful and deep. He had a bit of a Midwest twang in his voice, and I could hear the street cadence in his word formation. He had me at "hello".
"Uh, hi. I'm good I guess," I said smiling and shouldering my bag. I am one of the most awkward people when it comes to meeting men. It's like I have two left feet, and no brain. But I held it together long enough to have a short flirtatious conversation with this guy. He said his name was *Damon, and he lived about 2 blocks from the train station, and that he would be more than happy to walk me home as it was getting dark.
"Well damn, who says chivalry is dead?" I thought smiling as we walked toward the hostel. I wasn't concerned---there were tons of people out, and the people at the hostel had good security. He promised to call me soon, and I went up to my room, where my roommate Beth was laying across the bed reading a book. Beth was from Maine, and was making her way across the country, stopping in Chicago to visit with friends. I tossed down my bag, and she looked up.
"Well aren't we all dreamy eyed tonight. Whose got your panties half off?" she said giving me a knowing smile.
"I don't know yet," I said sitting down on my bed and taking off my shoes. "I met this guy while I was walking home from dinner, and he's kind of cute."
"Oh, I see....you straight girls KILL me going gaga over guys you just meet," Beth said laughing. She was a lesbian, and would often playfully tease me about what I was missing my copulating with the opposite sex.
"Oh shush it, we just exchanged numbers," I told her. I flipped up my cell phone to see a text message from a Chicago number. "Just wanted to make sure you got in okay," it said. It was from Damon. I was surprised, and slightly pleased.
"Hmm...must be from your beau," Beth stated gesturing to my phone, and returning to her book.
"Yeah, well. He ain't my beau....not yet. We'll see how it goes." I said grabbing my towel and heading to the shower. He wasn't my beau yet. But in the next year, he would be more---much more---than I could ever imagine.
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