One Man's Story Is Another Man's Shame

This is a story post.

Last August, the twenty fifth, to be exact, I was to leave home for the first time, off to Newfoundland to attend university there. I was nervous, I was fretful, my makeup was running and I was four hours early for my flight time. My mother had to attend a funeral, and I was rather understanding, for I hate being late for anything, at all, so being that early would give me time to adjust and settle and...Read my new Anne Rice novel (Blood and Gold, oy vey, love). I checked my luggage, I hugged my mother goodbye, nodded at my (now soon to be step-father) mother's boyfriend, David, and was off to go through security. I was okay.

I arrive at my gate, still another three and a half hours to go, and settle down, my carry-on on the chair beside me, my sweater to the side and my eyes not being able to settle on the words of my book, but rather people watching. I like doing that, another reason I didn't mind being early. It was about eight in the morning, and a tall fellow with long hair and a very kind smile walked by, giving me a nod. Returning it, I thought to myself 'Well, wasn't that nice' and finally settled into my seat to read.

Half an hour passed, and I'd gotten through maybe four pages, my eyes flying up whenever someone passed, which, as you can well imagine in an airport, happened often. However, one of these glances up was rewarded with the sight of the same tall fellow with long hair, smiling at me again. I smiled back, thinking 'Oh, how lovely, he's back' and thought that would be the end of the affair, but no. The fellow came over to sit diagonally across from me, and crossed his legs, and kept smiling.

Well, that was a delightful surprise.

Saying 'Hi' seemed like the right thing to do at this point, so, naturally, he did, and not I, for I was taken aback (for I get stupid around fellows I find attractive, and this fellow certainly was attractive, and not only by my hideously low physical ones, he was truly attractive, I assure you all, though that is not the point of this tale).

'Hello' I replied, rather intelligently and warmly, if I do say so myself, to which he asked 'How are you?' and I said 'Nervous.' and it really kicked off from there. His name was Marlon (after the actor and not Keith Richard's son, we discussed) and he was a nurse (or in-training to be one), and was in Nova Scotia to take pictures for a wedding. We talked about how I was just heading off to university and was nervous, and then, somehow, we got on the topic of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and how I had never heard the radio version, though I had loved the old BBC series (my dad having shown them to me one weekend, straight through), and suddenly his laptop was out and I had moved across the aisle and was sitting beside him, an earbud in my ear as we listened to the radio series. He pointed out it was 'better than reading Anne Rice' and we snickered together about the '...Behind the door marked 'Beware the Leopard'' line, mainly because I found it rather funny, and he seemed to think it was funny that I was giggling so. It was relaxing, and sadly, soon enough, my flight was being called. He was there for another few hours, his flight to British Columbia not leaving for some time.

I never got his email, I never asked him his last name, and as soon as I was on the plane, still smiling about it all, I was rather upset about that. He was a clever fellow. And I, obviously, still think about him time to time. Mainly recently, for some reason or another. He made me feel so much better for heading off to Newfoundland without any idea of what I was getting into, and he was so very friendly.=. Listening to the Hitchhiker's Guide with him was beyond lovely, gorgeous and spectacular, and I do wish I had had the sense to perhaps keep in contact. He seemed like a nice guy, someone easy to talk to. And it never hurts to have that. I had been worried about making new friends, for, although I am a nice and interesting person, I swear, I can be rather shy or over-whelmed in social situations. What if, once I got to university, I didn't make any new friends? What if no one wanted to talk to me in classes? I was worried, and yet, this fellow made those worries disappear. People were nice in the outside world, they were!

And it wasn't a romantic thing, and it's not that I have a crush on him. I just like people who are good listeners and talkers and clever-fun conversationalists, and he was one.

Sometimes, though, I do think of it as it was; a wonderful experience that won't go any further. He was a passing character in my life. But goodness, he was a nice one.

Hmph.