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February 20, 1999. I had been told just a few days earlier (I think) that she and her stubby, weatherbeaten date had split up. I also had reason to suspect that she'd be at the Redlight Cafe that evening for one of two bands. As luck would have it, a big group of my friends were flirting with "gothiness", so I had a fallback; I would be there with them, not there alone.
The tiny place was packed, probably beyond capacity. My friends were all situated at the back of the bar, so as I greeted them, I informed them of of their sacred duty to scope out a small, pale one with a black bob and luminous smile. Interestingly, none of them gave me shit for this (probably because it had been years since I showed this much interest in dating). Despite having seven other sets of eyes ostensibly on patrol, I saw her first.
In an atypical display of courage, I approached her and said hello; instant payoff, as that smile was turned on me. Mere seconds later, a friend of hers stepped up, and I expected to be brushed off; luckily that didn't happen. We chatted for a bit, and then I realized the folly of being there with friends when I was asked to join her and her party at a table. Declining, feeling like I'd just fucked things up, I made my way back to the bar for the usual show.
All was not lost. After the first band, a lot of the then-faithful were milling about, and who should I see but my reason for being there, heading my way (I should take a moment to mention the ensemble, that heavily featured pale, pale clavicle, supersternal notch, and Audrey Hepburn-like neck; already I was in trouble). We chatted a bit, me floundering slightly. Mention was made of going to the Vault to dance (I think it was meant to be a subtle invitation, but if so, it was too subtle for me). We did, however, exchange contact info, "to get together for coffee or something": my email address on the inside cover of a matchbook. Only later did I discover that one of the big reasons she was there as well was the suspicion that I would be present (many thanks to the associate for making sure that impression was mutual). We mark this date as our official anniversary; what's more romantic than mutual stalking?
The tiny place was packed, probably beyond capacity. My friends were all situated at the back of the bar, so as I greeted them, I informed them of of their sacred duty to scope out a small, pale one with a black bob and luminous smile. Interestingly, none of them gave me shit for this (probably because it had been years since I showed this much interest in dating). Despite having seven other sets of eyes ostensibly on patrol, I saw her first.
In an atypical display of courage, I approached her and said hello; instant payoff, as that smile was turned on me. Mere seconds later, a friend of hers stepped up, and I expected to be brushed off; luckily that didn't happen. We chatted for a bit, and then I realized the folly of being there with friends when I was asked to join her and her party at a table. Declining, feeling like I'd just fucked things up, I made my way back to the bar for the usual show.
All was not lost. After the first band, a lot of the then-faithful were milling about, and who should I see but my reason for being there, heading my way (I should take a moment to mention the ensemble, that heavily featured pale, pale clavicle, supersternal notch, and Audrey Hepburn-like neck; already I was in trouble). We chatted a bit, me floundering slightly. Mention was made of going to the Vault to dance (I think it was meant to be a subtle invitation, but if so, it was too subtle for me). We did, however, exchange contact info, "to get together for coffee or something": my email address on the inside cover of a matchbook. Only later did I discover that one of the big reasons she was there as well was the suspicion that I would be present (many thanks to the associate for making sure that impression was mutual). We mark this date as our official anniversary; what's more romantic than mutual stalking?
