based on a true story

We've seen each other around, at a club night here, a party there, at the sorts of events where they have their friends and I have mine. We've been introduced multiple times before, but enough nights pass between each introduction to make it feasible that one of us has forgotten the other's name. So every time we run into each other we avoid contact. To dodge any sort of potential embarassment, we focus on our respective cliques and pretend we missed each other in the crowd. Besides, I always figured that they thought I was kind of lame, this yuppie computer geek dilletante that can't hang comfortably with their jive talking crew.

Then I saw the male half of the couple at a party, standing in a hallway, looking bored. It was one of those events where it was mostly my friends, and none of his. You've probably been to a few of those. They're the ones where everyone's talking about things that you can't get in on, and they're having fun telling jokes you don't really get. I know I've been to a few, and I know they suck. That's part of the reason why I went up to him and said, "hey, what's up? You're ----, right?"

He lit up and we got into a conversation about something. Can't remember what it is now, the memory's about five months old. It didn't seem to be anything important -- what we talked about, I mean.

I ran into his girlfriend at a club, four months later. We're both making for the same water pitcher and she gets there before I do. She's sipping from her cup and looking sideways at me as I pour some out for myself, then she takes another swallow and says, "you're Cris, right?"

I talked to her once before, after a friend of a friend in London asked me if I knew her because they used to hang out when she spent some time in Europe, and he needed to get back in touch. It was a "It's a Small World" kind of moment that makes for good conversation starters, and now she's asking me if I ever got back in touch with the guys in London, and we trade stories about Europe and travelling and hanging out at the Slimelight. I promise her that e-mail address of her London friend and she asks me if I want to come over sometime to have dinner.

We exchange phone numbers, and the back of my mind reminds me not to hold my breath or have expectations. Sure, we'll do dinner. We'll see if they remember, or if she was just being polite.

There's a voice mail a week later, from him, asking me if I can come over that Saturday. I call them back immediately, begging off because I'm planning LittleSister's birthday party for that weekend, but maybe we can try some other time. Our schedules mismatch for the better part of a month. He's got a performance that he needs to prep for and I've got my own plans that get in the way. He e-mailed me this afternoon, and we're pinned down for something next week. He says that they're sorry that they missed my set at Ceremony, but rehearsal called.

I've lived here for nearly ten years now. It's been enough time for me to form a social circle that I like, and have companions that I trust and cherish. The new friends I make are usually brought in gradually, through common introductions and a prolonged period of conversations in the neutral zone of parties and nightclubs where uncomfortable silences can be disposed by an excuse to get another drink or find another friend. I've almost forgotten what it's like to meet a person without that sort of buffer; to turn to someone or be targeted by another with a message like "hey, you seem vaguely interesting. We should hang out."

I don't know what to expect, but I have to say I'm damn curious.