After Church on This Springlike Day

“Hi, are you new?”

“No, I’m just visiting.”

“Oh. With [so and so].”

He nods.

“So, what’s your name?”

[It doesn’t freaking matter because I’ll never see him again, but we’ll call him Christian.]

We shake hands.

“I’m May. How long are you staying?”

“I got here last Monday, I’m leaving tonight.”

“I see. So was this for fun?”

“Actually I was checking out a couple of jobs.”

[blah blah stuff about the economy and his really liking New York, but the economy elsewhere is a little stronger so he might not come out right away stuff blah blah]

“Well, it sounds like you’re playing it smart.”

“We’ll see. Are you from here?”

“Actually I’m from Florida.”

“Oh? How did you end up in New York?”

“Well, I always say providence.”

[blah blah stuff about how I didn’t have a job when I decided to move up here and signed on with a temp agency and more about temp agencies and how quite a few of them are specialized and how his field is so broad and how you don’t want to completely pigeonhole yourself stuff blah blah]

“Well, maybe down the road we’ll see you back here.”

“Maybe. What’s your name again?”

We shake hands again.

“I’m May. And you’re [Chris] -”


“Right. Good luck with everything.”

“Thanks. You, too. It was really nice to meet  you.”

I turn around and walk out of the church doors. We seemed to connect. He was cute. And nice. And he made good comments during Sunday School. And he asked for my name again because he wanted to remember it. Supposedly. According to my ego.

I do that a lot. Connections. With chemistry.  But they’re always gay or leaving or doomed to be platonic. Then I mourn. Then I meet the next guy. I mean eventually, I’m going to meet someone who’s actually interested. Romantically. And straight. And sticking around, so that we can date. And perhaps get married. And have ridiculously cute kids. I mean, once we do get married, the disgustingly adorable kids are pretty much inevitable. No way around that one.

It’ll have to be another day, though.