Another Husband-less Trip To Barnes & Noble

20 Sep

Day 10 of the 90 in 90 blog challenge.

I’m sitting in one of those big fluffy chairs at a Barnes and Noble. The kind that are scarce, that only a few people in the whole store get the comfort of sitting in. The kind that gets nice and warm while you sit in it, so it’s almost like you don’t even want a blanket to combat the incessant air conditioning anymore.

And across from me, in an identical comfy, warm chair is a boy. I call him a boy because I can’t tell from his outward appearance if he’s a guy or a man yet, so to be safe, I’m calling him a boy. He looks to be 20 or older. His ankle is folded onto his knee, almost making his legs into the shape of a folded number 4. He has on a shirt that looks like he got it at Goodwill. I decide that I like that. Not the shirt. God, no, not the shirt. His shirt is heinous. But I think I like the fact that he shops at Goodwill.

His chin is resting in his clenched fist, and he’s wearing a gray hat backwards. But it doesn’t look douche-y. Where my purse rests in front of my chair, a motorcycle helmet rocks sideways on the floor beside his. His shirt is too long for him. I can tell that now because as I was correcting my incorrect spelling of the word “heinous,” he stood up and walked away. Before he left, he looked down at his iPod and switched the song, sending a muffled heavy metal sound marching from his earphones to my ears. He purposely didn’t glance my way. I think I’ve probably given myself away, and he’s afraid that whatever I’m typing is about him. He’s so right, poor fella.

I had sat down casually enough, trying not to rejoice in the fact that I had managed to grab a Comfy Chair. And as I put down my belongings and sat down to read, I felt his eyes on me. I felt him watching me, and when I looked up to shoot him a glance of mutual “Can you believe it!? WE got these chairs! What luck!” he averted his eyes quickly and acted like he was completely absorbed in his book.

I’m writing this because I have this sick fantasy that I’ll meet my husband in a Barnes & Noble. I know. It’s so stupid. Just writing that on here is making me feel childish and girlish and dumb. But it’s true. Any time I go into a B&N I sort of get excited and fluttery, and I can’t decide if it’s the smell of new books that gets me going, or the chance of meeting The One. So, naturally, I keep my eye open for Mr. Perfect while I’m here (and shove my face in a few thick-spined winners and take a whiff.)

Goodwill Shopping Motorcycle Man-Boy is obviously not Mr. Right. I could tell that right away. How, you may ask? For one, he averted his eyes. My soul mate wouldn’t have been able to look away, and neither would I. We would have locked eyes for eternity in an instant, and even though I would have blushed and looked away, we would have kept playing “I glance up from my book to catch you looking at me, so I glance back down and hope you see me smiling like an idiot.” Then he would have asked me casually what I was reading, in a very non-creepy way. I would have answered with a shy, “Oh, just a John Green book.” Also, my soul mate would not drive a motorcycle. At least I don’t think so. And he wouldn’t have a backwards gray hat. Or be flipping through a book just to look at the pictures. Unless, of course, he was a photographer…

And so I sit here, writing about the nameless man-boy who was in my life for the blink of an eye, who probably doesn’t even know that he represents an entire ideal, swirling in my head like a school girl’s fantasy.  And now he’s gone. He’s off on his motorcycle, probably driving 7 over the speed limit. He’s headed to do something predictable, normal.. like meet up with his buddies, drink cheap beer, and play Xbox until 3 am or something. He CERTAINLY will not think of his ex-girlfriend, or his pregnant little sister, or the grey patch of hair he found on the reflection of his head this morning.

And I will let him go with a slight smile. He was not Mr. Right, but in a way, he was a Mr. Right Now. Forever sealed in my mind’s eye as the flimsy and unrealistic opportunity that I let pass me by. And here he will rest, romanticized in my mediocre writings, as an idea, a specimen, a moment inspected under a giant microscope in hopes of discovering the secret desires multiplying and growing within myself.

All in another husband-less trip to Barnes & Noble. *Fond and contented sigh.*


One Response to “Another Husband-less Trip To Barnes & Noble”

  1. Jeff Chamberlain September 20, 2012 at 2:30 am #

    Your writings are far from mediocre. Also, you need to add a running count either in your title or at least in the tags so we know how far into the 90 you are!

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