Remember the “Missed Connections” sections of various classified sections of papers? Not the kind where you end up fucking some stranger’s brains out. The other kind – when the connection is something else. If it continued it *may* end up in bed, but that’s not the initial, nor primary goal. The goal is to find out more about the other person, and the feeling is mutual, and it could be triggered by something as simple as a brief locking of eyes from across the street. But when it’s over, you both know there’s been some kind of connection, and, but for the train schedule, but for being married or but for an age difference, both your lives may very well have changed at that moment. I’ve had three of these over the course of my life.
The first was trying to make a connection at O’Hare – hustling along in a suit, with a garment bag and a briefcase working through the throngs of people. There was a woman coming toward me, half a head taller than those around her. Our eyes caught each other’s, for however short a time, and then she was swept past by the crowd.
I was in a hurry. I had to go. I couldn’t miss this flight. I stepped out of the swarm of people and turned to look back. And she had done the same. I let out a breath as if I’d been holding it for minutes. We just looked at each other. I had to go. I jerked my thumb over my shoulder and mouthed “Sorry.” She smiled, “Me too”, and turned away.
I made my flight, and have wondered about her now and then for the last 30 years. I've also wondered if she's done the same.
What's your story?
The first was trying to make a connection at O’Hare – hustling along in a suit, with a garment bag and a briefcase working through the throngs of people. There was a woman coming toward me, half a head taller than those around her. Our eyes caught each other’s, for however short a time, and then she was swept past by the crowd.
I was in a hurry. I had to go. I couldn’t miss this flight. I stepped out of the swarm of people and turned to look back. And she had done the same. I let out a breath as if I’d been holding it for minutes. We just looked at each other. I had to go. I jerked my thumb over my shoulder and mouthed “Sorry.” She smiled, “Me too”, and turned away.
I made my flight, and have wondered about her now and then for the last 30 years. I've also wondered if she's done the same.
What's your story?
