Monday, December 15, 2008

Head Over Heels

Every few weeks, without fail, I fall head over heels for someone. I guess it says something nice about the world that there could be so many people who might strike my fancy. Or it could say something about me and my fickle nature. Regardless, here is a little love story to fawn over:

Approximately one year ago:

Getting a bagel for breakfast, I discover a tall, dark, handsome new stranger. He toasts my bagel and makes me my latte.

Approximately six months ago:

I'm working at the bar, slinging drinks, or more likely detail cleaning behind the bar while a regular systematically pours and drinks his daily pitcher of the beer on special. Mr. TDH walks in and orders a Bloody Mary (I make a good one!), it's a shift drink taken post-shift-ly. I discover that Mr. TDH is now a co-worker.

Approximately two weeks ago:

I'm hanging out with Miss A, who may possibly have (had?) a crush on Mr. TDH. She invites him to join us for dinner. We, Mr. TDH and I, discover that we grew up in the same place in Oregon and we spend much of the evening trading stories from youth.

Approximately two days ago:

I'm at the 'Vous with Miss P, we are chatting with Miss HS and Mr. TDH, we decide to go on an adventure. Usually the adventures are just me and Miss P and they are lovely. Once I had an adventure with someone else, he and I sat on the docks and drank beer and smoked cigarettes, chatting about communes and personas, that was another one of those head-over-heels things. The four of us walk to Marine Park, look out over the channel at the mountains on Douglas, then up at the sky, clear enough that one could actually see the stars were it not for the impossibly bright moon. We four huddle together on the waterfront, star gazing, shivering less with the shared warmth. Despite there being four, I felt like I shared the moment with Mr. TDH alone. Miss P may be right when she calls me a romantic.

As the evening progressed I socialized properly, flitting from group to group as I tend to do, but at the end found myself walking across the street to the Alaskan Hotel with Mr. TDH for an after party in the suite (no, you dirty minded reader, not for scandals). We walked in to find the door opened and a handful of friends inebriated and philosophizing. We climbed out the window onto the roof, quietly so as not to disturb the owner or manager or whoever. We stood in the cold, clear air and looked down on the night time world and up at the night time sky. Through out the night I never got to see a shooting star, but the night was still lovely. When we climbed back into the suite, the room renter was fast asleep on the couch. We covered him in a blanket and someone removed his shoes and we showed ourselves out. Mr. TDH announced his intentions to walk me home.

Walking a lady home is a nice gesture. It is entirely unnecessary for me, as the walk is short, my legs work just fine, and Juneau is not a particularly dangerous town. It's particularly nice when the intention is not to walk her home and then directly to her bed, or at least when the gentleman is good enough at hiding disappointment when the bed is not the destination.

We walked through the biting cold air, he less prepared for the longer walk than I, talking about life and the view from the hillside. When we arrived at my apartment, I invited him in for water. We sat on the couch for a little while talking some more. When he announced his departure we had a nice long hug and I felt that the night was not wasted, even though I never got my star.

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