I took a deep breath once I made it to the airport terminal, having just finished spending Thanksgiving weekend in Fort Worth with my family and my brother's in-laws. It was time to get back to college, back to my part-time job, back to normal.
As I walked over to the payphones to call my friend who was supposed to pick me up in Sacramento, I noticed a cute guy standing near the airline desk. Our eyes met. He stood over a foot taller than me, wore a short-sleeved button-down plaid shirt, dark denim jeans and black boots. His hair was fashioned in a light pompadour (that is the style John Travolta wore in Grease), and he had thick sideburns. I've always been a sucker for rockabilly.
But after admiring the guy for his sense of style, I continued to make my call. No use in getting caught staring. My friend didn't answer, so I left a message with the time I was supposed to arrive.
Then, of course, the airline started lining passengers up. As I waited for my group to be called, I noticed the cute guy again, as he waited only a couple people ahead of me. In the recesses of my mind, I thought, "Wouldn't it be funny if we were assigned to sit next to each other?"
Sure enough, we were. It was kismet. He had graduated with a BA in Political Science, one of the two degrees I was going for at the time. He lived in Sacramento, I lived in Davis (only twenty minutes away). We laughed at the same jokes, he got a kick out of all of my Saturday Night Live references, and I thought he was absolutely funny.
By the end of our three and a half hour flight, I'd come to one conclusion: I wouldn't give him my number unless he asked for it. I'd been through enough boys to realize I needed one with gumption. But once we got to the end of the Sacramento Airport terminal, he didn't ask. We parted ways congenially.
I ended up finding out that my friend couldn't pick me up, so I decided to take the bus that ran directly between my college campus and the airport. As I busied myself with the bus schedule, my cute guy walks up.
"Just wanted to make sure you got home ok," he started, explaining his sudden appearance. "My ride won't be here for another hour, so I thought I'd check up on you."
That made me smile, but not enough to outwardly give him my number. I was determined not to be the instigator between the two of us. I knew I wanted a guy with backbone enough to ask for my digits.
We waited for my bus together, chatting away, finding out more things we had in common. By the time my ride squeeled to a halt in front of us, he still hadn't asked. So I did the next best thing.
I told him the days of the week I worked and gave him the name of the laundromat.
Glancing at him through the window as the bus pulled away, I was suspended between regret and hope. A week later, I was found. To this day, the most romantic gesture a guy has ever made--was finding the laundromat, and remembering what night I'd be there.
Let's just say he got my number.
Do you have any storybook meetings like mine? Oh, do share!