It was supposed to be the first date, remember? August 29, the end-of-world date from The Terminator movie. We both knew it and laughed that it would be a funny first date, date.
An old fashioned date. I’d be early to meet you so you wouldn’t have to wait alone. I’d be a gentleman. A few minutes of chit-chat and you could go if you wanted. No good bye kiss, no nothing. I wouldn’t even have held your hand.
Of course a man projects into the future, sort of like that movie we both new. One possible future, I don’t know tech stuff. Maybe a future with other movies to watch or dates to have. I thought there was a connection. I thought there might be a chance, for both of us, maybe our last chance, at that sort of thing. A future with hand holding and goodnight kisses.
I was there, but you weren’t .
I tried and tried to reach you and finally gave up. Another example of me misunderstanding a woman’s smile and courtesy as interest, I figured.
I saw you today. You were wrapped in a blanket, surrounded by your things, sitting at the Gresham MAX .When I approached you snarled “fuck off”.” I was just another stranger.
I was there. I wish you had been too.