Sunday, April 08, 2012

An entire year

April 8, 2011 was a Friday.

I interviewed for a new position – a new position that is now my job – on April 8, 2011. I felt good about the interview but I did not feel great. It wasn’t a home run. It wasn’t a slam dunk. It was far from a sure thing. I left the interview, stepping out into a cold and heavy rain, feeling cautiously optimistic and characteristically unsure.

I worked late that day. I worked late because I went in late and because it was a busy, busy time of the year. My brain was fried when I left the office. So I went shopping. I didn’t shop long and I wasn’t shopping for anything in particular; I needed that time to mindlessly wander. I needed to be alone in a crowded store with my focus trained on nothing other than the dress that I held at arm’s length or the shoes that I had slipped on my feet.

I was wandering through the housewares department when The Coach sent me a text message. I just stood there, in the middle of the store, staring at my phone. Completely oblivious to everything but The Coach’s suggestion that maybe he would stop by later in the evening.

Even then, I still thought he was all talk. I still thought he was completely full of shit.

I left the store without buying anything.

I went to dinner with Lucy and Chet and Chet’s best friend on April 8, 2011. I was wearing a black boatneck tee with 3/4-length sleeves and my favorite pair of jeans and the most fabulous and perfect pair of black heels that I have ever owned.
I still have that black shirt. I still wear those heels. The jeans are still hanging in my closet and they’re still my favorite jeans. They just don’t fit; I’m sad about that.

I can’t remember what I had for dinner that night, but I bet that I could look at the restaurant’s menu and figure it out. I don’t recall what I ordered to drink, though I would wager it included a shot of vodka. We sat at a table in a corner. There was a band. Lucy and I were a little giggly and a little silly, as we are known to be.

We didn’t stay out late. We didn’t drink much. I went home early. Sober.

I was surprised. When The Coach called – he might have texted first, then called – I was surprised.

The Coach was words. The Coach was not action. The Coach was fantasy. The Coach was not reality.

The Coach was on his way to my house. Action. Reality. My favorite jeans. His shoes by the front door. It was real. It was April 8, 2011. He made the first visit of what would turn to many.

One year ago. An entire year.

It was only supposed to be fun. I was never supposed to care. It wasn't supposed to last a year. But somehow it has. A year. An entire year.


Accidentally Me said...

That was really a whole year ago? Wow! That went by fast!

A said...

Yes -- really and truly one whole year ago. I cannot quite believe it.

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