THE LINE

Oblique reference to sex and language

***

I don’t know which sense is responsible but somehow we can just tell when someone is staring at us and that’s even when, as in this case, it’s coming from behind. But then there’s an automatic question - is that stare friendly, appreciative, leering, what?

The promise of an answer starts with a polite “Excuse me?” I turn around and come face to face with soulful blue eyes topping off a tall and very handsome man. Wavy black hair, tanned face, and toned physique complete one heck of a picture.

“I don’t mean to seem forward,” he says, “but I noticed the Big Paul's Resort logo on your jacket and wondered if you’d been there or maybe it was a gift.” Ah geez, add in a deep baritone voice.

“Actually I go every year, never found a better place for nighttime skiing,” I reply. “Especially the Bunyan Run.”

“Brave girl, good for you. That’s my favorite too. I've done the Lookout at Stowe and the Limelight at Sun Valley and I swear that one is almost as steep."

We turn a little in place to make it easier to chat. "I'm Jeff," he tells me and offers his hand. I slide my hand into his firm grip and say, "Christy."

"And I love the way they illuminate the slopes with all those colored lights. Makes it seem like a party even before you go into the lodge afterward.”

“And when you do go inside, the party just gets even better. There are always those sing-alongs and everyone joins in.”

“And the drinking games!”

“And then for sure everyone joins in!”

As we share a laugh I can’t help but feel something is happening here. Really, this quickly? I take a few steps and then he does too.

“It’s a good thing the rooms are just down the hall there. Though as an alternative, you can also soak up some of the alcohol in their Fireside Room. Great chef, great food.”

“Great food, yes! Oh my gosh Jeff, have you tried their bison burger with bleu cheese? Or the babybacks with the smoky sauce”

“Sure have, love both of them, but my favorite is the Cowboy Steak which looks like something Fred Flintstone would have on his plate. And next to it that mountain of fries that you could almost ski down.”

Another shared laugh. And now I have to add a sense of humor into this bundle.

“And the desserts! Oh my gosh, that brownie sundae with both hot fudge and marshmallow toppings must have a bazillion calories, but I manage to do it total justice.”

“I don’t see any brownie sundaes sticking to you. Oh, ahhh, I’m sorry, that was probably inappropriate. I just meant it looks like you probably work out.”

Is my face as red as it feels? I should be offended or maybe even worried, but the fact is I am neither, and my composure makes a quick comeback.

“It’s OK, I do work out. At least three days a week you can find me at Town & Country Fitness. Wait, I didn’t mean you should find me. Ummm, just that’s where I go to exercise and . . . “

“My turn to say it’s OK. I know what you meant.”

The fates intervene. We’re distracted by furious yelling.

"HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN! ARE YOU ALL IMBECILES HERE! AND YOU MUST BE THE HEAD IMBECILE, BECAUSE CLEARLY YOU CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO FIX THIS. NO, I'M NOT FILLING OUT THE DAMN FORM, AND YOU KNOW WHAT YOU CAN DO WITH THAT! I'M GOING STRAIGHT TO MY LAWYER AND YOU CAN EXPECT TO HEAR FROM HIM IN SHORT ORDER."

Fortunately, at this point the man storms out. I scan the other people, trying to see if anyone else looks ready to share a piece of their mind.

“Wow,” I say, “that could have gone bad. And it wouldn’t be the first time in one of these places.”

“You got that right. But tell me, Christy, any plans yet to head for the resort when it opens next month?”

“Not opening week, always so crowded. But probably a couple weeks after that. I probably should get going on reservations.”

"Do you go alone, or with girlfriends, or . . . boyfriends?

"Usually by myself and actually, Jeff, I like it that way. Sometimes, though, some of my girlfriends go too and then we rent a condo and all stay there together, and that's nice too. But this year, just me."

“Maybe we could stay there together. No, I mean be there together. Wait, be there at the same time. Well, this just seems to be my day for spinning right into awkward territory.”

“Like the Tasmanian Devil?” I say, trying to lighten things up. Meanwhile, I notice that people around us are starting to pay attention to our conversation. Are they cheering us on or just nosy?

“The who?”

“Oh, from the Bugs Bunny cartoons. I thought maybe since you mentioned the Flintstones . . . probably just made myself look like an idiot because I still watch that kind of stuff."

”Oh no, not an idiot, I haven’t outgrown cartoons either. So much funnier than a lot of the other tv shows.”

"Good. Glad to hear it."

“Look, umm, I’m probably about to get myself into even more trouble here, but we seem to have at least some things in common. Do you think we might get together for coffee some time?”

Does he really like these things or is it all just a line to cozy up? I want to take the chance.

“You know what, I’d like that. Since we’re both here, guessing you live in the neighborhood too. I usually like to go to the Cuppa Café. Do you know where that is?"

“Sure do, right next to the library. I often stop into the café after I’ve picked up a load of books.” A reader too, yay!

“Well I look forward then to chats about good book finds.” Chats, plural, now I'm wading into those rushing waters.

“And we can start over our coffee, even bring some of our favorites. So today is Tuesday, how about Friday?”

“10 am?”

It’s a date! Well you know, not exactly a date. Well I guess in kind of a way it is.”

I give him my biggest smile. “I think we’re going to have a fine visit, Jeff, looking forward to it.”

Now I see that people who have finished their business are still lingering a bit instead of leaving, apparently to see where this story is headed. And folks just coming in see that something is going on, hoping maybe for at least some diversion during what can be a long wait, so their eyes and ears are on us too.

I take a few more steps. He follows.

“And you know what? I do think it would be fun to be at the resort at the same time.”

“Awesome, Christy, when are you thinking of going?”

I look at a calendar on my phone. Meanwhile another rant breaks out, and I'm hoping this guy also chooses to end it by just leaving. He does, but once again I'm reminded how passions sometimes seem a little closer to the surface here.

“Well, if I follow my usual pattern, I would go up there on the 23rd and plan to stay through Monday. I’ll call tomorrow and see if that’s available”

“Perfect, I’ll call then too and see if I can book the same times.”

“And then I just need to line up my friend Jessie who always takes care of my cats when I travel. She loves those kitties.”

“Oh, you have cats. I love them too, and one of these days I’m going to get my very own. That’s great of your friend, so you can go on trips like this.” And once again that unwelcome thought, is all this me-too-ism a line or for real? Be gone, naggy Q!

“For sure. And I think this is going to be great fun.”

“Me too Christy!”

Better tamp down the temp. “Just two new friends who happen to have a favorite activity at a favorite place.”

I sense skepticism in the folks who are now practically leaning into our space. And it’s probably justified because meanwhile inside my head, where apparently I have zero control, is a picture captioned, "Your place or mine." Stop it!

"Of course! And I don't think the world will end if we get together for some races down Bunyan Run, the lodge parties, maybe a meal or two.

"I'm all in for that. And pretty sure the world will go on."

I cannot believe how fluttery my heart is about spending time with this man I've just met. But I've been through so many "frogs," I think I can't be blamed for getting pretty darn excited that I'm in the exact right place, at the exact right time, to finally find what surely could turn out to be my "prince."

Meanwhile he's looking at his phone calendar. “Oh wait! Wait! Can you go a week later?

“Well maybe. Do you have a conflict for the weekend we were talking about?”

“Indeed I do! Trump is coming to town that Saturday. Yikes how could I have forgotten that!”

Internal brakes slamming, screeching, smoking. I swear I could feel my body freeze up, my heart stop beating, my breath just disappear. I manage to gasp out, “What?”

“You are a Trump fan, right? With everything else we have in common you must be.”

“Trump?” I could barely say the name. “He’s, he’s . . . ”

. . . the best president we’ve ever had, yes?”

“No!”

“Yes!”

"Oh my God, Jeff!"

"Oh my God, Christy"

I was off and running – my mouth that is. I unload a verbal torrent highlighted by liar, petty, misogynist, racist, scammer, fraud, narcissist, and more. He manages to wedge in the likes of patriot, leader, strongman, fights back, won’t be pushed around, tells it like it is, gets things done, and more.

In a flash the crowd re-focuses and latches onto this dramatic turn of events, starting with a chorus of He’s rights and She’s rights. Escalation comes at warp speed, and now there are heated opinions flying around the room, high-decibel rebuttals crashing into them, applause breaking out from this faction or that.

A few threats are also tossed into the chaos for good measure. The folks behind the counter are doing quite good deer in the headlights imitations and the guard is jabbing numbers on his phone most assuredly calling 911, as the noise level goes for a personal best climbing ever higher on the decibel meter.

Jeff and I have to shout at each other to be heard. OK, yeah, we'd be screaming out lungs out anyway.

Our one time happy dance quickly evolves, or devolves as the case may be, into fervid declarations that there will be no coffee date, no book discussions, no meet-up at Big Paul's, nothing effin’ ever. That’s all hotly overlaid with hopes of never, ever, crossing paths at the cafe, the library or anywhere else in the neighborhood.

He bellows that he's glad he knows my Big Paul's schedule so he can avoid it forever. I fling back that that's the best news I've heard all day.

As sirens sound in the distance, the cacophony lessens a little. Then once again the fates intervene, this time coming to my rescue. I’m finally at the head of the line and almost immediately called over, which quiets the crowd even a little more.

I hurry to the counter, buy my stamps, and flee. Somewhere in the hazy jumble of my mind is an intent to look for a new, and hopefully “frog-free,” coffee shop and library.

But mostly – AND DEFNITELY, DEFINITELY - a different post office!

-- end --