I first saw her in January of 2002. The company I work for was putting together a new unit, staffed completely with handpicked individuals. And me. Who was assigned to the new unit by an acquaintance several measures of power above my new bosses. I used to be somebody, what can I say? For part of the first day of the new unit’s existence everyone shared an orientation into our new roles. As people filed into the room I did what every normal male does: I was checkin’ out the ladies. For the sake of brevity I will just say that there were two knockouts in the room. But I didn’t have much time to admire their gorgeousity until one of them left with a smallish group to attend training sessions with her new section. The other didn’t show back up after the first day because, as it was later explained, she had come down with meningitis. (She eventually got well, but it took her a few weeks.) The sick one turned out to be married—her guy is the luckiest man on the planet—which was no problem, so was I. Married, that is. We got along famously both being veterans & all. And it was with a mixture of delight and dread a month or so later that I found the young lady seated across the aisle from me would be knockout #1, who had left with the smaller group. Secretary, you might call her by her job description, but she was much more to all of us, and she knew it. She was the only one with any sense, who could work efficiently and complete her own workload and carry two or three other of her peers who always had some reason to not show up to work….
Delight for the obvious reason: She was pretty, had a wit as quick, sharp and deadly as a scorpion’s tail, and “got” my brand of humor. She was a divorced mom, took no shit from anybody, sugar coated nothing, and was fluent in Spanish (Venezuelan?) as a second language. We used her for translating on occasion when working with our many Spanish-speaking clients. I think she was pulling in, maybe $17k/year? Dread? Yeah, for all of those reasons and the shiny gold one on my own left hand that kept me from exploring that relationship further. She was the only time I ever regretted meeting the woman I married. Still, we were good friends and I was able to keep my infatuation to myself. Eventually I pointed her in the direction of a much better paying job that would make better use of her skills…and get her away from me! Regardless of what she may or may not have felt for me, I was thinking of her WAY too much and going places in my mind I had vowed to forsake. As fortune had it, she excelled at her new job and we fell out of contact for the most part. A couple years later she married a guy and made a baby. She was on her way to the big happy family she’d always wanted.
Fast forward. “The November Incident.” “The Inigo Montya Saga.” Without her kind words and no-bullshit advise I wouldn’t be boring you with tedious posts today. She got me through all that and endured my drivel day after day. She’s a pal. And now her marriage is crumbling for a number of reasons and I’m trying my best to be there for her as a friend. Mercifully I’m pretty much over my crush by now.
So imagine my surprise last night when I found us making out in my apartment. And the business in my room a couple hours later. And imagine me waking up alone at 3:00 a.m., as I had been all evening in this world, and wondering what the hell she was doing in my dreams! I e-mailed her this morning and asked her to please stop that astral projection crap, that I don’t need to complicate my life just yet. Heh, she thinks I’m crazy now. “What was I doing in your dream?” she asked. Right. Like I’m gonna send THAT across company e-mail! With each passing day I grow increasingly convinced that God is real. And that he’s one cruel bastard.