The Second Meet

The Second Meet 

January, 2013 

I met Paul while I was out one night at one the small town’s many bars. I was new to this place and eager to make friends. I moved to this little city in search of work, as employment rates across the country had been plummeting and some light research on my part had revealed that this area was one of the highest employed places throughout the region.  

I walked into the bar wearing my typical low-cut blouse and tight jeans. Oh, how I loved to show off my curves. My brunette hair hung loosely to my shoulders, my hair matching the color of my eyes.  

I noticed the man sitting at the bar. He was wearing a pair of dirty blue jeans, and a t-shirt which was mostly covered up by a red and gray flannel jacket. He had a long, bushy beard the same color as the hair on his head, blonde mixed with some gray. There was one empty chair to his left and one empty chair to his right. There were no belongings or drinks near him other than the one he was holding. This indicated to me that he had come here alone. This prompted me to introduce myself. I did not initially find him physically attractive. However, he was available company with whom I could occupy my time at the moment. 

He was holding a beer in a lengthy-necked glass bottle. I took the chair next to him. He turned and briefly greeted me hello. “Buy me a beverage?” I asked, flashing my best smile. 

He chuckled shortly to himself before asking, “What’s your name?” I told him my name. “What do you like to drink?” he asked.  

“A cocktail,” I responded. He ordered something for me from the bar tender, and the bar tender briskly delivered. I took a sip. I said to this patron, “It’s delicious. Thank you.” I then asked him what his name is. He told me that his name is Paul. We shook hands. Upon meeting Paul that night, I never would have imagined the massive role he would have in my life and for the rest of my life. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said. 

“Likewise,” I replied. 

It was December of 2012 as I sat at my mother’s dining room table researching states which held the highest employment rates. The country’s economy was in a state of disaster, and while residing with my mother was not terrible, I was well into my twenties and felt an urge to be on my own again. However, I could not seem to secure work, even within a multiple city radius. Therefore, I decided to expand my search for a job. And after what I considered to be an appropriate amount of gathered information, I decided to pool my funds, move away, and hit the ground running when I landed in the new state. 

February, 2013 

I had just signed a lease in this new, little town to rent a small house I had found. Since the city was so small, (a population of about 7,000,) it was okay that I had not yet had a vehicle. Anywhere I needed to go was a ten-minute walk away. Anywhere I wanted to venture to outside of that was a small fee through the taxi service.  

I was moving my few belongings into the fun-sized house, but still pondered over how I would get the larger of my things inside. I remembered that Paul had given me his phone number in case I wanted to meet up with him again. I decided to call him for assistance. I figured he would be too busy to help. However, without hesitation, he showed up at my doorstep ready and willing to be of service. He was so strong, but seemed so rough around the edges. He was not my type in the slightest. And, if anything, he was probably only so quick to assist me due to a physical attractive from his end. 

A few weeks later, I found myself needing to run an out-of-town errand. A taxi for this would be a little steep for my budget. I phoned Paul to see if he would be at all interested in giving me a lift out of town and back if I gave him a few dollars. He said that he would. I was very relieved. We hardly spoke during the commute. He answered a brief phone call on his cell phone during the drive. “Hello? Hi, how are you?” After a moment of the caller’s response, Paul said, “Yes, I can do that. I am on my way back from out of town.” After another short pause, he spoke, “Giving someone a ride.” Another pause. “Yes, she had to run an errand.” Another pause, “Fifteen bucks.” Pause. “I know.” A pompous chuckle. “I will get her back home and then I will head your way. Alright. See you then. Bye.” I felt quite slighted! Upon returning to my tiny house, I thanked him and hastily exited his truck. Once he saw that I had gotten into the petite house, he drove off. 

A couple of months later, on my day off from work, when I was bored and he seemed available, Paul and I met downtown for lunch. We had gotten into a disagreement over something of which I no longer recall. It must have been miniscule. Looking back, I feel certain that I had overreacted. “You should be so lucky that I’m hanging around you,” I told him. “You don’t have much to offer a lady,” I said. 

He responded by saying, “You are not as cute as you think you are, ya know?” Something in his tone and deliverance seemed nothing of malice. But I felt a bit of embarrassment. At this, I prompted the waiter for a to-go box, in which I speedily scraped my uneaten portion of the meal. I stood up to leave. I did not like this man at all. 

“Let me drive you,” he insisted, and started to rise from his chair. I declined the offer. That was the last time that I had thought about Paul, until I happened to run into him again two years down the line. 

January, 2015 

It was approximately seven o’ clock in the morning. I had just completed my overnight shift at the assisted living facility with which I had landed employment. I liked the job, but hated the commute. A full twenty-five minutes it took to drive, which, to someone like myself who battles with amaxophobia, feels like a lifetime.  

I spotted Paul from my car window. He was standing outside. He was dressed how I had remembered his being dressed the evening of our initial meet. Old blue jeans, grungy t-shirt which was overlapped by a red and gray flannel jacket. I don’t know why I felt compelled to let my car window down to say hello to him; something inside of me just felt it necessary to do so. He was leaning into somebody’s car chatting with the person through their open driver’s side window. I slowed to a stop, my foot resting on the brake pedal. I did not pull over too closely to him, as to respect his privacy during his conversation with whomever it was behind the wheel of that car. I pulled just close enough so that he would recognize who would be calling out to him. I spoke his name in a slightly raised voice. He looked up and noticed me. He wore the same, lengthy, bushy beard and shoulder length hair to match. This time, however, I noticed how his graying, blonde hair gorgeously complimented his hazel eyes. I also took notice of how pretty his pink, plump lips were. Without a change in his facial expression, as though he expected me right then and there, he looked back toward the driver of the car, appeared to have politely bid the friend adieu, and began walking toward my car as the other driver slowly pulled away. “Hi,” I said, not knowing why, or what I would say next. 

“How are you doing?” he asked. I told him that I had just gotten off of work. For some reason, I asked him if he would like to grab a drink with me. To my surprise, he agreed to this. He made his way around to the passenger side of my vehicle and hopped in.  

We entered one of the several nearby restaurants in town. He did not order any breakfast, explaining that he had already eaten. My system was not in the mood for breakfast at this hour. So, we both just ordered a drink. He ordered a beer. I ordered a cocktail. I did not expect for him to pay for my drink, but as we finished our beverages, he handed the waiter enough money to cover both, as well as a small tip. I was caught off guard, but pleasantly surprised. I suggested that we each have one more. While he agreed on doing so, he first informed me politely that he will not be buying my second round. “I didn’t expect you to buy my first,” I winked at him. He shyly smiled. “You’re very pretty,” he said.  

Every now and then, I would bump into Paul while out and about in the community. We would often have a drink together downtown, then eventually at his place or mine. During our hang out sessions, he would kindly offer to cook for us a meal and would often send me home with some of his home grown produce. We had grown to become fun fast friends. I took him for a great guy! 

Paul and I were riding in his truck one snowy afternoon when we happened upon a lady trying to shovel her vehicle out from a heavy drift. Paul pulled over and slowed to a stop near the edge of the road and shifted into park. “What are you doing?” I asked him, fully aware of the deed in which he was about to partake. I did not want Paul to help the woman. The scene could have been a set up for some thieves to surprise Paul and rob him. 

“Just a minute,” he replied. He opened his truck door, hopped out, and shut it behind him. He proceeded to the rear of his truck and retrieved a shovel. And as I watched in admiration at the man rescuing the woman’s vehicle and waving a friendly goodbye to her as she drove off, I realized that there is actually some good in the world via actions of our angels. 

“It could have been a set up, you know,” I said to Paul after a few minutes of silence as we continued our trip. 

He flashed his pistol that he carried on his hip. “I am always prepared,” he replied, in sort of a mocking, condescending way. I didn’t mind. I marveled over his wisdom. I saw a slight smirk creep over his lips as if he could feel how much I adored him. 

I was the subject of a similar rescue one night when I was driving home from work in poor weather conditions. I was terrified to be on the road, but just wanted to get home after a long day at work. I was gripping the steering wheel so hard that my fingers seemed frozen to it. Suddenly, I went into such a horrified panic that I could no longer see through the tears that flooded my sight. I pulled my car to the shoulder of the busy road and called Paul, remembering his past career as a trucker. Surely, he would not come into this windy, dark blizzard at that hour of night. And I would not blame him one bit. Who would perform such an act of, not only extreme selflessness, but danger, just to help a thing like me? But when I dialed his number, he answered. And without hesitation, he headed my way. I could not have felt a more immense sense of relief at seeing his headlights flood the inside of my car through my back windshield. What a brave man! What a true friend! 

Paul is someone who has truly changed my life for the better. From knowing this saint of a man, my outlook on the world is transformed into positivity and hope. Such a change in mindset has taken my entire perspective on life and the world from bleak to optimistic. Some things may not seem to be in the stars initially, but this does not mean that they will not be in the stars eventually. This is one of my greatest takeaways from an unexpected second encounter with a friend whom I call Paul.