The Road Is Before Us

Michael here. Did you notice what I just did? I gave Lindsey first billing even though this blog wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for me. Allow me to explain.

I’d been working for the Armenian Furniture Mafia toiling behind a desk 6 days a week for 8 years, never taking sick days or time off except for one Friday a year to go on a weekend trip somewhere — within driving distance! — along the California coast. Since I only traveled for work, I equated travel with work and work-travel with not being a lot of fun. Traveling also costs a lot of money, and I just didn’t see the value in it. But then an offer to go on a real vacation was floated to me, and instead of simply humoring the idea like I had always done, I gave it some serious thought. I’d always wanted to visit Atlanta and it just happened that my friends April and David were heading out there for April’s high school reunion. Our friends Thara and Marissa were flying in from the north that weekend as well, so it was shaping up to be this huge party. If I was ever going to plunge into the vacation pool, this was looking like the best time to do it. It was almost as if I couldn’t not go. Truthfully, however, even with all that going for it, I was on the fence for a while. But after much hemming and hawing, and everyone telling me to just do it, Nike-style, I went for it. What I’m trying to say here, I guess, is that I almost didn’t go. And if I hadn’t, there would be no blog.

Coincidentally, on the other side of the country, Lindsey and her BFF and new roommate, Taya, were planning on taking a road-trip up to Atlanta that same weekend to visit the aquarium and do some shopping for their new house at IKEA. April, Thara and David knew Lindsey, and they were aware that she would be in town, so they kept in touch and made plans to meet up at some point. Lindsey, to me, was just a name at this point.

It needs to be said that Atlanta turned out to be even more fun than I’d imagined; I seriously had the time of my life. My first three days had been a blur of activity, and on the final day we went and explored Athens. Arriving home that afternoon, after four full, action-packed days of partying and hollering and sensory overload, I retreated to my bedroom and passed out before the sun had even set. My flight back to LA was at 6am the next morning, which meant I had to be at the airport by 4:30 or so, and I’d planned on sleeping until it was time to get ready to leave. I was totally partied out, and getting a little cranky, too.

I was in my room, resting in bed with my eyes closed but not asleep, when I heard Lindsey and Taya arrive at the house. April had already left for her reunion, so they visited with Thara and Marissa, whose room was across the hall from mine. My door wasn’t closed all the way, so I could hear them talking and laughing and Thara telling the story of how she bought me a lap dance at the strip club the night before. I remember Thara and David coming into my room at different points and insisting that I get out of bed. Eventually I gave up hope of resting and went downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water and then started talking to April’s mom.

Minutes later I heard the girls making their way downstairs and then… I saw her. Until that very moment, my thoughts on love at first sight could best be described as “a thing which does not exist.” But in the moment I laid my eyes upon her, I finally understood what that phrase meant. And then, things got freaky.

This intense, overwhelming feeling washed over me, like some cosmic force from above was invading my brain-space. It wasn’t quite an out-of-body experience, but it was close. Things started unfolding just like in the movies: first, everything started moving in slow motion. Then, it looked like she was being illuminated by a spotlight from the Heavens, everything beside her out of focus, distorted, but she was this pure, shimmering vision of beauty. Next were the strings — STRINGS! There was music playing in my head, or my heart, or both. It was as if a little Cupid-dude was off to the side conducting an entire string quartet.

I didn’t know a thing about her, but clearly something was going on here. It was like sign upon sign upon sign. Whatever forces conspired for us to meet, they were not subtle about making sure I understood that I had to go after this girl. There was SOMETHING ABOUT LINDSEY, and I had to get to the bottom of it.

I was told the plan was for all of us to go into the city to this totally brokedown strip club called the Claremont, so, suddenly in party-mode again, I went upstairs to get ready. The entire time I was thinking, I have to look good for this hot girl!

Lindsey drove and I sat in the back right seat, giving me a good view of the back of her head, with brief glimpses of the side of her face. We stopped at a Krystal’s along the way to pick up some food for Thara and Marissa. They picked up a sackful and couldn’t finish it all. So Thara foisted a burger onto me and one onto Lindsey, and I remember how impressed I was when she ate it. She’s not a vegetarian! Yes!!, was what I was thinking.

Thara, Marissa and I laughed a lot during the car ride. I don’t remember what we were going on about, but it was hilarious. Thara said something about me being “fey”, which I would later find out lodged itself into Lindsey’s brain causing her to think I was gay. [Lindsey's note: it wasn't just the "fey" description, although that clinched it; it was also the fact that Michael was wearing a fitted floral button-down shirt and I swear he took about 30 minutes just to re-primp as we all waited downstairs at April's, ready to go out. Stereotypes at work, ladies and gentlemen.] You may be surprised to learn that that’s not the first time someone has thought that about me.

Speaking of gay, Lindsey and Taya had plans after our strip club excursion. They were heading to a lesbian club. Once we arrived at the Claremont, Thara, Marissa and I got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk while Lindsey and Taya primped. When Lindsey emerged from the car, I gave her a once-over and thought to myself: HOT! I walked beside her and she told me the story of this girl she’d made out with the week before at a bar. Um, great? My heart was shattering into a million pieces, but I was trying to put on a brave face. Just my luck that this girl would be a lesbian! What the hell, Universe!!

Turned out there was a cover for the strip club that night, which we were not about to pay. So we milled around in the parking lot for a few minutes before Lindsey and Taya bade us adieu and set off for a night of dancing and (hopefully) kissing girls. I told Thara how bummed I was that her friend wasn’t into dudes, but she just said “sorry” and left it at that.

I thought that was it. We left with Thara’s friends and headed to this rock n’ roll karaoke bar where people got up on stage and played with a live band backing them. A little later Lindsey called Marissa and said that they couldn’t find the lesbian club so they were coming back to hang out with us. I was ELATED.

Even though I thought she wasn’t into guys, I still really wanted to hang out with Lindsey, because I had gotten the vibe to end all vibes from her, and I still felt like I needed to get to know this person.

When Lindsey and Taya arrived, we all got more drinks and hung out near the back of the bar near the windows where it was a little less smoky. It wasn’t the most conducive environment for chit-chatting, but we managed to have bits of conversation here and there above the din. I found out that she had “seen” me online responding to comments on our friends’ blogs. (I never noticed her.) But we agreed once we got home that we would become e-friends. That was pretty much the best case scenario as far as I was concerned. I was completely content to simply know this girl from afar.

Oddly, as the night wore on, I felt like Lindsey was flirting with me, but I dismissed it because, uh, based on the information I had at the time, she wasn’t into guys. l couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she was kind of into me, but no way was I ever going to make a move. I was going to flirt back a little, though. [Lindsey's note: If by "flirting back" he means "ignoring Lindsey as she danced in front of him and not looking at her as she was trying to get his attention," then that's exactly what happened.]

Next thing we knew it was getting close to closing time and we were waiting for April to drive in from her parent’s house to pick us up. As a group we wound up loitering inside the emptying bar until they finally had to kick us out onto the street. From there, a couple of pictures were taken. Lindsey said, “take a picture of me and Michael” and I thought that was a good sign, because there were a couple of other guys in our group and she hadn’t wanted pictures with them. That picture can be seen on the top left corner of the banner to this blog. I maintain that I was checking out Lindsey’s cleavage; she says I was looking at the ground. I’m telling you, I was looking at her chest.

We were outside for a while, at first watching all the drunk people filing out of the bars onto the street, and then we noticed a frat-party going on across the street. We walked over to mock them, and that was pretty entertaining. I stood next to Lindsey and while this might sound a little creepy, it isn’t, but I tried to figure out a way to touch her, you know, affectionately. I settled for giving her some pats on the head, like a puppy. Needless to say, she didn’t remember this extremely forward and sexy move.

Eventually, April and David pulled up and we said our goodbyes. I honestly thought that was the first and last time I was going to see her.

Back at the house, I cornered April in the kitchen and gushed about how amazing her friend was and how much I liked her and how heartbroken I was that she didn’t like guys. She gave me this puzzled look and said, “uh, I’m pretty sure she’s bi. I’ve known her for a long time and she’s dated mad dudes.” MAD DUDES! [Lindsey's note: Not "angry dudes"--for those who don't know, "mad" can mean "a lot of"...but that translation also makes my dating history sound a lot more prolific than it actually was!] What she was saying was that I definitely had a shot and I let it get away. A missed connection for the ages. I was beside myself. It would’ve been better not knowing.

I spent a lot of time during the journey home and that Sunday reflecting on my trip. One of the things I decided I was going to do was send Lindsey an email telling her that I thought she was gorgeous and fun and that I wish I’d gotten to hang out with her more and that I hoped our paths would cross again some day. That was out of character for me, because I usually would’ve just let it go, but something compelled me to get in touch with her and let her know how I felt.

Amazingly, she felt a connection, too. From there we started emailing back and forth throughout the day, and eventually we started talking on the phone. After a couple of weeks of talking, she decided to throw caution to the wind and bought a ticket to visit me.

Here’s what I wrote about that trip:

After 7 heart-churning days of feverish anticipation, the day that I’d been waiting for had finally arrived. I’m talking 5-years-old-on-Christmas-Eve level of anticipation. The kind where you can’t eat or sleep; the kind that consumes your every waking thought. While at any given time I always have something to look forward to, the level of excitement I felt was incomparable. Even though I’d spent most of the afternoon compulsively tracking Lindsey’s flight (and was relieved that it was actually going to be arriving slightly ahead of schedule) and checking freeway traffic conditions, I left work and headed to the airport over 90 minutes before her flight was due in. I just had to get a move on because sitting at my desk was making me crazy. Traffic that afternoon was surprisingly light considering it was also the beginning of a holiday weekend, and had I been in a rush, I probably could’ve made it from my office to LAX in 35 minutes. But because I was already a ball of nerves and extremely restless, I decided that waiting at the terminal for too long would prove even more unbearable, so I drove extra slow and even hoped for a little bit of traffic — maybe a non-fatal accident or something, is that so bad? — to keep me in my car for as long as possible. At least then I’d have music to keep myself distracted and I could air-drum all the butterflies out.

As I waited at the crosswalk to the terminal, bouquet of orchids in hand, a guy about my age looked over at me and said, “nice job, man.” Then he turned to his buddy and said, “see, he did it right. You fucked up.” That made me smile. As soon as I got to the terminal I looked at the arrival screen. I had about 25 minutes to kill. I took a seat in between a girl talking on her cell-phone and a middle-aged man. Orchids in lap, the girl broke from her conversation and said, “good choice, those are beautiful. She’s going to like them.” I thanked her and went back to staring a hole in the wall in front of me. Then the guy to my right said, “son, you never should’ve brought flowers. Now she’s going to be expecting them every time she comes. What you should’ve done is gotten here 20 minutes late, idled the car outside and honked the horn to get her attention. Then have her buy you something to eat.” I laughed because he was clearly just giving me a hard time. Then he asked, “so they’re for your girlfriend?” and I said, “no, she’s not my girlfriend… yet,” and he tisked and shook his head. He asked if I’d met this girl before and I replied that I had, but briefly. I told him I really wasn’t sure what was going to happen but that I wanted to start off the weekend on the right foot. I said, “I’m a romantic guy,” and he just laughed and said, “So was I, once upon a time. I’ve learned a lot about women since then and one of the things I learned was not to set the bar so high right from the outset.” Then he wished me luck and got up and walked away.

Then the girl on my left began talking to me. Turned out she was waiting for her boyfriend, who lived in Charlotte. They’d been doing the long-distance thing for 2 years. She said that it’s hard, and expensive, but that if it’s the right person you just make it work. She told me that she planned on moving to Charlotte to be with him at the end of the year. As we were talking, a guy behind us leaned in and said, “sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but are you guys talking about long-distance relationships? I’m in one too. My girlfriend’s on that plane and I’m going to propose to her this weekend.” The girl and I both smiled and cooed and said congratulations. The three of us chatted for a minute and the entire thing was so surreal because it was almost like I was getting another sign from above. I hadn’t given much thought to long-term plans or established any expectations. I just wanted to have a nice weekend. I was taking things one bridge at a time. Baby steps.

All week I tried imagining what it would be like to see her for the first time since that night in Atlanta, but I really couldn’t form a clear picture. I figured that I’d just let the moment play itself out and that whatever happens happens. I was just going to go with it. Then at last, the moment of truth. The passengers on the flight from Charlotte began their descent. I’d made that very same walk down the stairs and into the terminal countless times, but I’d never been on the other end. The wait was agonizing. You can’t see people as they start down the stairs or get onto the escalator, you only see them once they’re halfway down. First you see legs, then waists, then heads. I inspected each pair of legs that came into view and hoped that the face attached to them would be Lindsey’s. It was seriously one of the most excruciating things ever. My palms were sweaty and my body was skittish and my excitement level was off the charts. Is that going to be her? No. Heart explosions. Repeat a hundred times. After what felt like an eternity — she was one of the last people off the plane — we finally made eye-contact, and I could practically feel my heart about to leap out of my chest. A few seconds later she was in my arms. Then things gets a little hazy. I know I’d closed my eyes and given her the biggest hug ever, and then I opened them and looked at her and we kissed. And as far as first kisses go, I thought it was a little clunky — as most first-kisses are apt to be — but it was still absolutely perfect.

So as far as good omens go, I couldn’t have wished for a better one.

It’s weird how your life can be going in one direction, moving along just fine, everything’s already pretty great, and then out of nowhere something happens and everything changes and things get even better. I had no idea when I woke up that morning in Atlanta that I’d be meeting the person who I was going to be spending the rest of my life with. I was like a baseball hurtling toward the catcher’s mitt at 90 miles an hour, and she was a bat. The margin of error between a pop-up and a home run is miniscule. In the instant when the ball meets the bat, scores of things have to be in perfect sync to achieve the desired result. It’s amazing enough when someone hits a home run; it’s downright mind-boggling when someone meets The One.

I always knew this girl was out there, somewhere, and I wondered what she was doing. It’s like we were on a collision course, our meeting set in motion, the result of a million complex maneuvers orchestrated from within fate’s control room. What if I had never gone to Atlanta? What if she hadn’t gone to Atlanta? What if I never emailed her? What if, what if, what if. Who knows. Maybe things still would have worked out for us somehow. I doubt it, though. I had to make the effort to make things happen! Fate can only do so much. And that’s why without me, this blog would have probably been about pasta instead.