I met my current boyfriend in the downfall of 2001, the end of an era - my very first real boyfriend and I were coming to a close, and I had seen this guy around campus left and right. I was convinced he was a Calvin Klein model, fully equipped with sleepy blue eyes and dark hair. (He is reading this right now, feeling uncomfortable and gross, I just know it) He was also lanky, with a shaved head and a recurring Radiohead longsleeve t-shirt. He was playing keyboards for a band with my friend Andrew, so he was musical. He was quietly mysterious, showed no interest in me, and was rumored to have a girlfriend. I was still dating my 1st-ever boyfriend but started taking risks in getting to know the "elusive Big I."
The band was playing one night & I dragged two friends with me to see it, which they were more than willing to do the stakeout since everyone was convinced that my current boyfriend was, in fact, the devil & I needed to git up, git out, and git sumpin'. Little did I know that the Big I was quite a drinker, and good Christ he looked hot on stage in his funny beanie. After the show, everyone came down to mingle with the crowd - all 8 of us - and I was dead-set on talking to him and... and? I had no intention to carry things out further, but I wasn't necessarily saying no at all.
I wore these black boots I liked to call my Madonna boots, because they were an exact replica of the boots she wore on an Elle photoshoot a few months before. With gray Levis, a striped and floral vintage Niq Niq shirt, I started up a conversation with him, and got an invite to a bar downtown. Sure, it was a half-hearted invite, full of nervous intention and some sort of disclaimer ("I'm meeting a bunch of girls from work downtown, so..."). It drove me a little crazy - a little jealous - so I had to go. It implanted a furious desperation - the kind where you feel panicked and forced into trying to make something, anything happen. I blame this sort of feeling on growing up in a small town where nothing happened and all too often I forced myself to do things. Frequent reminders of "just get out of the car, walk up to the house and see if he's there" or "just go up and talk to him - what is the worst that can happen" - the worst that can happen is that still nothing happens. I had to get my ass downtown in this instance. I had to continue my you-only-live-once-make-a-go-of-this-opportunity-you-retard. I just had to.
So, he left the place we were at. We drank a little more, and then I dragged my two friends downtown, searched for him unsuccessfully at the bar he said he'd be at, and then went to a bar next door, thinking it wasn't meant to be. As we decided to leave, I ran into him right outside the bar. He was alone.
I have never felt anything like that moment when I walked outside and saw him walking up towards me. I thought something exploded in the back of my brain, imploded in my heart, and gave me a vicious case of nausea. My two friends left me with him, we went upstairs, ordered some drinks and proceeded to have the worst first real meeting ever.