What was it like when you two first met?
Was early December — kind’a chilly outside. I’d gone to Guava Lamp on whim — threw on this old tent my mother had bought in the Netherlands a few years before and a hat that didn’t match. I was meeting friends there, the same usual, needy, self-involved group.
It was fairly crowded that night, and we’d gathered around the front curve of the bar, in front of the jungle of wires they call the karaoke monitor. Smoky and loud, I was feeling kind’a sick from the mixture of smoke and overly-sweet milk-based cocktails. We didn’t really talk that much because it was so loud — but it was Christmasy-feeling and everyone was in a pleasant, stable mood. I remember how we’d make social comments on the drab fashion that was gracing the bar.
I remember seeing him at the corner of the bar, thought he was cute — our eyes met, but I quickly continued back to the off-pitch fat girl emoting “Killing Me Softly.” His eyes didn’t leave me. I’d look back everyone in a while, and he was still there. He eventually introduced himself to our group of friends — him and his friend, Laslo.
I was in the back corner, kept to myself as usual. And he went around the group separatly making formalities.
To Clay: “Hi, are you always this plastic?”
Clay: *gasp* “…”
Then he moved on to me. Stopped in front of me, set down his martini, looked me at the eyes and said:
To Me: “… Will you marry me? …”
Me: “When did you have in mind?”
To Me: “When’s your birthday?”
Me: “The 16th — why you gonna make it a gift?”
He asked for my number that night. Never a name, although he knew it before. I left that night feeling alive. A big smirk on my face. He was beautiful. And I was wearing a huge bright blue tent with non-matching hat.
And that is what it was like when we met: Intense. And every day of the next four months was equally as moving as the first day.
