She sat across the room from him.

He would stare at her and every so often he swore that she lookedat him too, but they always looked away whentheir eyes happened to meet. Being a hopeless romantic, he would tryto create situations where he would be able to talk to her: When hegot the chance he would sit a few seats behind her, at the dininghall instead of saying hello he passed her table six times in hopesshe would notice, he would write in the tattered red notebook inhopes that she might deduce that he was a kindred spirit.

Every time she laughed at something funny he said the paper musclein his chest would beat a little faster and he would turn red.

He would notice things about her. She sat by herself (a sign ofgood character, because idiots and shallow people can’t stand to bealone in their own skin), her smile went to one side and wheneverpossible she would hide her mouth.

She was an artist. She would always doodle on scraps of paper andquickly returned them to her green backpack. Her dream was to be anartist in San Francisco (he paid attention on the first day ofclass). One day she left a doodle on the newspaper under her desk andhe took it. He felt bad taking something she had created butcuriosity had gotten ahold of his mind. He hid it in his backpack andafter class he hurried to his room and took a look at the work. Thereon the back of the newspaper, on the classifieds looking for eggdonors she had drawn a half dozen wedding dresses and diamond ringsand bouquets of flowers and he couldn’t help but want to give her ahug. He never did work up the courage to tell her anything. He leftschool that year and he never saw her again.

A couple of years later, after they both had escaped, she washaving a show at the Yerba Buena Centre for the Arts. It was a warmnight and she carried her coat. She was walking toward Mel’s Drive-Inwith her husband and she noticed two homeless men sitting in front ofthe gothic brick church with the gargoyles guarding against somenever-coming intruder.

She clutched her husband’s arm tighter as she passed by John andMike. She looked back to see if they were following them and didn’tnotice the man in front of her. They collided and he apologized andtouched her bare arm (she had designed her own dress) and she gotgoose bumps. She took her husband to Mel’s and they sat in a boothfacing the Metreon. While her husband sat looking at the movieshowtimes flashing like stock prices across the Metreon light board,she reached into the coat she had been holding in her arm and feltsomething.

She pulled it out and saw that it was a yellowed copy of The DailyAztec. It had been folded and refolded but it was still complete. Sheshook because she recognized the cover, she recognized the school shehadn’t been to in years. The newspaper had drawings she didn’tremember drawing, but she recognized her innocent fascination withmarriage. She looked and there amongst the faded words, above the adassuring the greeks that this fundraiser wouldn’t involve credit cardapplications, written in red: Congratulations.

Moral: This isn’t a dress rehearsal. This is showtime. Tell herhow you feel.