#92, Lorraine

You always used to come shuffling along the sidewalk. We could see you when you appeared at the corner, and then always knew to do other things for five minutes or so because it took you such a looooong time to reach us. But as soon as i knew you were in earshot, i would put down my roses (or sunflowers), smile and say 'Hi, Lorraine!' A whole world of young, gleaming adults zoomed and bustled by on either side of you but it was is if you didn't even notice. You would carefully navigate your walker over to one of the crumbling concrete tables in our ersatz seating area and then sit down with the speed of a sleepy snail. Our boss had known you for years. Every so often we would put a broken daisy (or iris, or whatever) into a water tube and rubberband it to your walker to brighten your day. You wore men's clothes, and had such awful personal hygiene that it was sometimes quite off-putting, but we knew you were very old and when you get to that age 'whaddya gonna do' (your words). You lived on the next block over and had someone coming to look after you but we never met that person so it was very hard to imagine. One day my coworker told me a story you'd related to her about being young a long time ago in San Diego: When swimsuit lengths were to be no higher than the bottom of the knees (seriously– there were men who measured to be sure), you used to wait until they left and then roll yours up as far as you could get them. It drove the guys wild.

Lorraine, you stopped coming by one day quite unexpectedly. We waited for you all that week but you never came. After a month or more we found out that you'd been put into an assisted living facility. i still check the obituaries. Yours was a life.

#91, Diane Morse

Diane, you were so maney.

i had never heard anyone use that word before and, quite frankly, had never met anyone as bursting with life as you. You called weed nuggets 'Percivals' and it was impossible not to laugh in your presence. A smirky grin, mohawked mop of bleached curls, dimples and tight jeans with a studded belt, we worked together at the flower shop while rocking out to such '80s greats as Duran Duran, Pet Shop Boys and New Order. It was always a rollickin' good time when you were on the schedule the same day as me, and i looked forward to it. You smoked a lot of pot and fell in love with someone else's boyfriend, who fell back. You two caused more than a bit of a commotion, and then moved to New Orleans together, where you and i quickly fell out of touch. Except once, a few years later, when i heard through the grapevine (maybe you'd called the flower shop?) that he had died, of a stroke, at the young age of twenty-something. You had never left his side at the end and said it was beautiful and pain-full, the hardest thing you had ever had to (and would ever have to) do. A couple of phone calls after that, and you were gone. i don't know where you are or if you're happy, but i hope life has evened out and opened up for you.

#90, Nile.

We met on AOL when i was fifteen. Can't remember which chat room it was, but it may have been 'Nirvana', where i met so many of my friends. You lived in San Francisco, and had a car, which was so dangerous and exciting to me. i knew who Psychic TV was, which floored you. (Little did you know that i had not heard more than two songs by them.) i can't remember how we decided to meet but i remember we used to talk on the phone late at night and you had such a soft, quiet voice and sweet laugh. When you picked me up i took you to the Berkeley Amoeba store... we browsed the aisles, together but separate, for almost an hour, then walked back through the bright sunshine to your car. i remember it smelled like Nag Champa inside and you kissed me nervously. We both laughed and got really quiet. Can't remember the drive home. i remember you were tall and smiled a lot, had long hair and wore corduroys and were probably quite a bit older than me. i never saw you again, and i can't recall the last words we spoke to one another. Where are you now?

#89, Joshypants.

Oh you. You walked by my work one day and loudly declared your love for me to all who would hear it. i flushed a deep shade of red and all of my co-workers just laughed, and laughed... you yelled as you continued by: i don't normally do this sort of thing! i'm drunk! he made me drink whiskey! Your friend grinned and pulled you along. i thought that was the end of it.

 Weeks passed and eventually i came to realize that you worked for Greenpeace, often standing in front of the grocery store near where i worked. i had to walk past you every time i went inside, which was multiple times a day. Your partners in crime all knew who i was ("the red-headed woman of my dreams!") and it killed me.

Then one hot summer day, i brought special glasses to work because i found out that Venus would be transiting the sun. My co-worker and i stood on the sidewalk in front of the flower shop, staring up at the tiny black dot in wonder, trying to entice passers-by to enjoy the celestial sight as well. You came sauntering up while i was helping a customer; i watched as April gave you the shades and heard you when you asked where she got them from (she pointed at me), sighing and saying of course you got them from her. i couldn't understand how you could possibly like me so much, someone you'd never even spoken to.

But that very next minute, you were there talking to me, with your co-worker asking me all kinds of personal questions, being a very abrupt wing-woman. i began to blush so fiercely i had to turn around, and she exclaimed that my very ears were turning crimson... i have never felt so on display in my life. It was terrible! But i blamed her, not you.

Later when April went inside for her lunch, you asked her how to get my attention. i had told her the day before that i was particularly fond of the oddly-shaped (mutant) bell peppers in front of the store; she told you this and when she came back to work she had 4 in a bag for me, purchased by you. Your number was written on a piece of paper inside and it just said: call me! -Joshypants. This had literally never happened to me before in my entire life, and i was 32 years old.

i went home in a state and put the peppers in my crisper. i never really ate bell peppers at home. i didn't know what to do with them. So i stared at them for a few days before realizing that i would feel awful if i just let them rot, symbolically allowing a chance at love to go bad before even giving it a try. So i made fajitas with them, diced them up into omelettes, dipped them in hummus. They were new, and delicious.

Finally one day (how much later i could not possibly tell you, but it was after other attempts you made to ask me out: for a walk, or to read a book or play chess in the park) i texted you. i had only just bought my first-ever cell phone a few weeks prior and had never texted a boy before. i explained that i was so flattered by your attentions, but that i had just broken up with my boyfriend of twelve years not two months before. (This was true.) That i was certainly not even remotely close to dating, and that i hoped you'd understand and that we could still talk as friends when you walked by the shop.

You were sweet, but persistent. You said you weren't asking me to marry you, just go out for a walk. Which, honestly, looking back: i should have taken you up on. But my heart was broken– i was broken. It was hard enough just to pick up my own body parts, gather them cohesively and walk them by myself to where i needed to go each day. The thought of having to give a single ounce of energy or attention to someone else was simply beyond comprehension.

But i will say this: you gave me hope. For the first time in a long time. You helped me to free myself from a long sentence of solitary confinement in a prison that i hadn't even realized i was in. You were like a little bird, calling to me from a garden wall. Hey you! Come over this way! Let's see what's over here!

Eventually, you moved on and got a job somewhere else. We still saw you riding your bike by the shop from time to time, sometimes stopping to give me a sweaty hug and tell me how pretty my eyes were. i actually still miss you to this very day, and was sad that i never got to say goodbye to you when i left San Diego. Hope all is well, dude. You truly do deserve someone special.
i hope you found her.

#88, Stephen.

Nat and i met you at the Tin Can Ale House. We were there to see a promising young punk band, you were there because you'd just moved to the area (a promising young engineer at a brand-new company branch) and had "wandered in". We sat at your table, all swiveling on stools and watching the movies playing behind the bar (Snatch, Total Recall (the original, of course)) and buying each other drinks. It was nice to meet a random stranger and have an instant friend, even though it turned out to be just for one night.

Within five minutes of meeting us you asked, "so how long have you guys been together?" and we looked at each other and smiled. "Awww" you remarked. But then we told you the whole sordid story: together, happily, for twelve years, broke up 7 months ago; still absolutely Best Friends Forever. Like family. You were so impressed that we had pulled it off. Gave you hope, you said, and told us of your own recently lost love. i thought you should give it one last chance. Nat disagreed. Finally he and i went up front to dance but you wouldn't leave the table; at one point i looked back (for the umpteenth time) to entreat you to come up and jump around with us, but you were putting on your jacket. Oh no! i realized that you were leaving. You smiled and waved, and i waved back, knowing we would likely never see you again. It was bittersweet! Like  so many things.

The next morning i went in my bag to get a tissue and instead discovered a random napkin; what's this doing in here...? As i pulled it out, i noticed it had writing on it.

You guys are perfect together. Enjoy real happiness while you can. -Stephen

#87, Val

A slight, fashionably silver-haired elderly woman with an always-there smile at her lips. Little bit of a hunch, and usually clutching something-a bag, a jacket, a newspaper-to her chest. We met her at the Starbucks when Nat was trying to study there. She was English, and always talked about England, and flying to and from. She was perpetually writing a book. Sometimes it would get awkward, when she talked about politics, but we ignored the conservative commentary and tried to change the subject. She would always end the conversations with "well, i suppose i'd better get home and feed the dog, and make some supper of my own.." i never did see the dog. Now that Nat and i are broken up, and i never really go to that Starbucks anymore, i will miss you, Val! Hope you get the book done.

#86, Fictitious Name Girl.

We met at a party (a small variety show night among friends), and you came on to me. In fact, you came on to me and my boyfriend. And, just for crystal-clarity, you gave us your business card and said, "In case it isn't obvious, i'm totally picking you guys up right now."
It was awkward, and even a little aggressive. At one point you got down on your knees for what seemed like several minutes and demanded that i kiss you; no one in the room noticed, which made it seem very much like an episode of The Twilight Zone. You'd sung a Nico song and i later found out that the (admittedly strange) name you'd given everyone was not in fact your real name. Bizarre! After you'd passed out from The Drunkenness, i helped your boyfriend carry drumset pieces to his car. "i'm so sorry..." he said, repeatedly. it was alright.