Pizza, Chinese Food, and Documentaries

In 11th grade, he fell in love with a girl whose hand accidentally brushed up against his as they scampered through the hallway to class.

He asked her to the movies. She giggled.

The popular boys gave him advice but he could never play the game.

After asking a dozen girls to the prom, he gave up and stayed home. His sister and mother’s heart bled for him but he assured them he was fine. He spent his time writing stories about dreams coming true and fairy-tale romances.

Just after college, his written words finally wore down the hesitation of a sweet girl, “I want to tell you you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen but that wouldn’t be enough….”

He loved her to the point of obsession.

He thought she loved him too…just not as strongly.

When they kissed he thought he had died…his wildest dream runneth over.

He fell short, and the love of his life simply said, “I’m really sorry.”

He was not a rich man nor was he on a track to become one, but he made a steady living and lived within his means — a small studio apartment, a comfortable bed, books, enough food in the fridge.

He was alone, ill-equipped. Lost.

He’d treat himself to pizza on Friday nights and Chinese food on Saturdays. He enjoyed watching television, wrote in his journal, and pushed away thoughts of despondency.

Marrying a woman with a young daughter, he raised her as his own, made it through the you’re-not-my-real-Dad rebellious stage, and she ended up loving him like her “real” father. They enjoyed years of theme parks and Santa Claus and the tooth fairy and all the delicious adventures of family.

But time created a gulf and his wife left him and his daughter grew up and he was alone.

One particularly rainy night he heard a knock at the door.

It was his first love from college, still beautiful, drenched.

They sat at his tiny kitchen table and she said, “I still have your love letters.”

Never doing well with nuance, he looked directly into her eyes, “Why did you leave me?” he softly asked.

I didn’t think I loved you.

His eyes welled up.

“I’m sorry,” she said, grabbing his hand.

“Is it wrong that I still think of you?” he asked.

Thunder shook the windows.

She looked at him for what felt like forever. “I lost my…,” she couldn’t finish.

They held hands for a while. Having aged a bit, wisps of their youth shone through.

“I have to go,” she stood and kissed him.

And he was alone.

He grabbed his half-eaten carton of pork fried rice and turned on the television.

On weekends he liked to walk in the park. There were gorgeous trees and ponds and flowers and butterflies. For several weeks he noticed there was a woman who sat alone on a bench in between her strolls.

He was very apprehensive and insecure but felt she might be staring at him.

He would smile and she’d smile back.

He got up the nerve to ask her if she’d like to walk with him and she agreed.

On the very first walk, something happened.

Without a moment’s notice or any advance warning whatsoever, he felt something touch his fingers.

This woman, who was likely spending her Friday nights eating pepperoni pizza and watching the same documentaries, decided, all by herself, without a gun to her head, with no external pressure whatsoever, to gently, seductively, yet boldly, slide her fingers around his, across his palm.

As she intertwined their fingers, something miraculous occurred.

He felt lightheaded, and for a split second, thought he might be having a heatstroke. His arms and legs were tingly, blood rushing to his head. He was as light as a feather.

His feet barely touching the ground, she must’ve known it was the perfect time to hold on to him because if she didn’t, he would have certainly blown away.

Was this the beginning of a whirlwind romance?

Would he disappoint her?

Did he have any idea what to do, or say, or plan, or hope for?

No.

But it didn’t matter, because she was still holding his hand. And the sun was hidden by the clouds so there was no reason why they couldn’t keep walking.

And while he knew he couldn’t freeze time, he was taking very small steps…baby steps.