#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.

#85, Rollerskates.

You came flying down the street.
i was at work, buried under a mound of boxes, all filled with vases (FRAGILE: GLASS). It was loud, and chaotic that day. i never saw you. i laughed at something a co-worker said, and stepped out from behind the tall stack of boxes, onto the sidewalk.
With a whoosh and a suddenness, both exclaiming, we collided– only neither of us really spoke, as we grabbed each other and your velocity carried us, one, two, three, and four graceful steps down the sidewalk; a whirling ballet. i kept ahold of my Sharpie and you never lost your footing. We were both surprised when, as you let go and continued on with that unstoppable force of forward motion, nothing was broken. No one fell, or hurt one another. Everything was in its right place, just lightly adjusted. No one saw a thing, and you smiled and waved at my shocked face. i think i waved back, motionless.

#84, Dick.

He walks by my work twice every day: on the way to the beach and then back again about 2 hours later. A short, hunched, sprightly man with a belly, he always wears a pair of jeans, a baseball cap, and a Hawaiian shirt. He walks duck-footed and has a gruff but cheerful speaking voice.

One day i got in the elevator with a mountain of groceries and there he was! in the elevator in my building! We were both shocked, until we realized that we both lived here– one of those obvious, but surprising, things. From then on i got a 'hey, neighbor.' every time he walked by.

When my bike was stolen about 2 months ago, he was so angry. i put up a sign with a reward offered, and waited hopefully. Then one day, about a week ago, he told me he had an old bike i could look at if i was so inclined. Realizing that Pierre (my trusty mint-green Motobecane road bike) was truly gone, i accepted his offer, even though he had no idea if it was a mountain bike, a beach cruiser, or what. He was so insistent that i look at it, and i was so convinced it was going to be a 10,000-lb. rusty dinosaur, that the whole interaction found me feeling more than a little apprehensive; how could i say "no, thank you" to this sweet man who obviously only wanted to help but didn't understand my specific needs (something i could lift easily which had several gears)?

Finally the day came, and i followed him out to where he kept this old bike. He whisked away the dusty cover and, lo and behold: it was a silver Motobecane Mirage! It looked almost exactly like Pierre! i was stunned into silence. At first i thought he had actually gone out and procured a bike similar to mine just to be nice, but as we talked more and i looked closely at it, the truth became known. It had belonged to his stepdaughter, who passed away due to drug use some years back. It had been sitting there collecting dust for about 6 years; there were some rust spots and the rubber tires were well into crumbling away to dust.

i expressed my condolences and offered to pay him for it, but he refused! Then i offered to bake him something in exchange, which he also refused. Thanking him profusely, i wheeled it upstairs gingerly and waited for my boyfriend to get home so i could watch his jaw drop in astonishment.

After taking it to the shop for some new tires and basic maintenance, it has become clear that this probably cannot be my replacement bike– mainly, it was built for someone a good 8 inches taller than me. (i could tell that it was a bit bigger than Pierre, but forgot that Pierre himself was a tad too large for me to begin with, just not noticeably so– this one was noticeable.)

So, i'll put some money into it and see what happens. i'll probably ride it around for awhile until it starts to get uncomfortable, then see if i can sell it or trade it for a smaller one. The point is that Dick swooped in, like a knight in shining armor, and saved me from what i didn't really realize i was avoiding: the process of shopping for a new (used) bike. The running around to different bike shops (difficult in sprawling San Diego), the meetings with sketchy people on Craigslist, the chance-taking of eBay, and the stress and inevitable disappointments of it all...

He made me remember the line, "i have always depended on the kindness of strangers." What a truly kind and generous individual.

i ended up giving him a thank-you card and a loaf of banana bread; i can only hope he's not diabetic or gluten-intolerant. (Man, thanking people with baked goods used to be so much easier!)

Thank you, Dick!

#83, Paul Anderson.

Our elderly next-door neighbor: a slender, slightly curved, sprightly gent with a balding pate and a face like an inquisitive turtle, though still handsome. Always walking about in the hallway, and always telling us the same jokes. Not one to laugh at his own, you can still tell he takes some pride in them, like the one he always told Nat about how he heard about this great course for me (the woman in the relationship) to take: Nagging 101. Yuk, yuk! But we always countered with the fact that i am so accomplished at nagging, i should be the one teaching the course.

i met Paul when i accidentally left my keys hanging in the front door one afternoon. He removed them, and instead of knocking, took them to his apartment where he wrote me a nice note that he then came back and stuck on my front door. Nat came home and found the note and we went over together to retrieve them. He had lovely cursive handwriting and left his phone number and everything... i kept the note.

Paul left us a few months ago to live at an assisted living facility with his ailing wife Carol. i saw him near the elevator on his last day here, accompanied by his middle-aged daughter (also named Heather!). She was pushing a cart with the last of his things from their apartment. He was so glad to see me, he said, because he'd brought the fan he'd been wanting to give us! His daughter gave me a weary look as he handed it over bashfully; he seemed like a completely different person to me, less animated, and i wondered if he was on some sort of new medication. It was a very bittersweet goodbye. i would have liked very much for him to stay and keep telling us those jokes. But i like to think that he's out there somewhere brightening up someone else's day, every single one.