We met at the train station of life where so many people meet. You were doing your job, looking for a ticket to something better, and I was waiting for a train to take me in a new direction. Our experiences were so different, yet we had more in common than I ever imagined.
I probably shouldn’t have sent you that text, one evening in March, but I was genuinely concerned. I heard you had suffered a minor injury that day. You said you didn’t handle the sight of blood very well but for me not to worry. Then you bid me goodnight, and that was that, until May.
Next, you sent me a text and asked if I wanted to see a baseball game in the park. I hate watching baseball, so, I said yes because it was with you. The thrill of driving your convertible with the top down through the city on that warm, spring evening was unforgettable. I don’t remember much about the game, just long enjoyable conversations.
Another night, it was beer and pizza at your favorite place, and I didn’t even like craft beer. However, the pizza was incredible and the conversations even better. Your stories about growing up in Europe were so fascinating; imagine my surprise when I learned we shared many common interests. The way you put your bare feet up on the dash of my car as you chatted away blew my mind.
Next, it was ice cream under the awning while it rained. It must have been good because we talked about the passing of your dad and you cried. Embarrassed, you asked if I wanted to talk about every depressing detail of your life, and I said yes because it was you. At this moment, I saw the person you never shared with others.
Then, your ticket came in, just as we were getting comfortable with each other, and you started to wear your hair straight for me. Our conversations became cold and your departure quick. You said we don’t want to make this any more painful than it already is. Therefore, I left a farewell gift by your door and walked away. I did it, despite the regrets, because it was you, and we had more in common than I ever imagined.
Read more by Kevin F. Wishon.