Part I

So I get a call week or two later from Mr. Right, and we talk for a while about the party and then about how things were going with him and Georgia- they had just met a few months earlier through a friend of my little brother's, and their relationship had been having some early growing pains. As our conversation is winding down he asks me if I remember the dark haired woman from the party and what did I think. I told him that she seemed pretty awesome but I'd actually been kind of an asshole to her. Well, it seems that she and Georgia had gotten together for lunch and my name had come up. He thought there might be some potential there. I felt an immediate rush of excitement.

Mr. Right tells me that a bunch of our friends are going out that Saturday night to see a band at Johnny D's in Somerville. The band is hot, and it looks like BP will be there. Maybe I want to come along, do some dancing, have a good time, and see what happens. I tell him it sounds like fun and maybe I will be there. I make a few phone calls to see if I can rouse any other interest in a night out. Turns out my brother wants to go, and maybe a few of his friends. I call my sister Sheila on the North Shore and see if I can crash at her place for the night. She's curious. She wants details. Who is she? When did we meet? I assure her that I will fill her in later. Nothing has happened. Sheil, really. Nothing. Has. Happened.

Saturday night comes, and thankfully, I do not chicken out. We are at Johnny D's and it happens to be a great night. Our giant group takes over this table that goes along the entire back wall of the bar. Beers are are flowing, people are finding connections and talking and shouting to each other along the length of the table. In the far back corner, some friend of my brother's and a friend of BP's just suddenly start groping each other and kissing with ferocious intensity. (They would remain in that pose for the entire night.) Lots of dancing is mixing is going on.

I dance for awhile with the blonde woman who was also at the party at the lake house, but I have no idea that she has any interest in me at all. I am looking past her, focused on finding the right moment to talk to BP.

At some point, I turn to look down the table towards where she had been sitting, talking with her brother. She is looking straight at me, and the chair across from her is now empty. Her look is unmistakable- it says "Are you going to sit down and talk to me or what?" I feel a surprising calm as I saunter slowly across the space between us, place my beer with a clunk on the wooden table and settle into the chair next to BP. Our conversation is unforced and the topics come easily. We find commonality of interests and of sensibilities. We laugh, and her laugh is real and vital and good. She is beautiful. She is smart. And she likes me. I can tell.

Eventually, we dance- a slow dance. We're holding hands, and I have my arm around her back and we're slowly turning and I can feel her legs touching mine. At one point, her breast brushes lightly against my chest. The music slows. A little voice whispers something in the back of my head.

When we part that night she says it would be okay if I call her. On the drive back to my sister's, all is well and right with the world.

By 10:00 the next morning, however, the world is once again returning to its normal state of complexity and devolution. There is, of course, no way that a romance is ever going to work out. She loves the city- I like the country. She's all continental manners and higher education, I'm a self-avowed snob hater and friend to rednecks. She's younger, smarter, thinner, cooler; we've got a generation gap, a gender gap and a culture gap.

We're drinking coffee, eating bagels, and reading the Sunday paper in my sister's sunny kitchen. Sheila's having none of my bullshit. "You have to call her today, T," she says. "Do not wait until tomorrow. If you wait until tomorrow it will seem like you're not that interested. Today. Call. Now. Phone. Call." I try out a few more reasons why a relationship with BP appears totally impossible. "Yup, T, that's true," she says, as she crunches on her bagel. "That definitely could be a problem. I'm glad we got some definition on that. Now call her. Or I will."

It takes me until about noon to pick up the phone. Thankfully, BP is home.

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