"Oh, hello."
You were pretty average, with a oval-ish face and blue-ish eyes, shaggy brown-ish hair. Sort of tall but not really, maybe about six foot. Six foot one. A little accent that sounds British, but I couldn't quite place it.
"Sorry. I didn't spill your coffee, did I?"
We were in a cafe, waiting in line for our food. The sun beamed through the window -right into my eyes- and every few minutes the little door bell would chime. You backed up an inch too far. Right into me. You did spill my coffee, but I told you you didn't and tried to ignore it burning my leg.
"Ok, good," you smiled, staring up at me. You paused to look me up and down. "Um, how tall are you?"
I'm six foot seven. I tower over you easily. Usually that question gets on my nerves but for some reason you're different.
"Wow, that's tall. I bet the basketball coach loved you! What's your name?"
Tyler.
"Nice to meet you!" You grin, showing off your crooked teeth, "I'm Craig. Craig Thompson."
You even have an average name.
The woman behind the counter called me. I picked up my sandwich and headed to a table; I don't know why my food was ready before yours.
"It was nice talking with you!"
Yeah, it was.
----
I'm in a better mood the next time I see you. You're sitting at a table alone, sipping a soda and picking at a massive pile of cheesy fries. I order myself a coke and sit down in front of you.
"Oh, Tyler, right?"
You seem excited. There's a glint in your eye that makes me feel good about myself. A warm, fuzzy feeling rises in my tummy and I'm pretty sure the last time I felt it was at a Christmas party where some girl kissed my cheek.
"Yeah," I mumbled, "that's me. You're Craig Thompson?"
There's that crooked grin again. You tilt your head when you smile, but only slightly; you probably don't even notice it.
I watch your hand pick through the fries, searching for the cheesiest one, just so that I can break the eye contact. Your fingers are short and thick compared to your palms.
I look back up at you, asking, "So, uh, what are you doing here? In such a dull place like this? You don't seem like a 'small town' type if guy."
"I heard that it was lovely in America," you say, "I figured I might as well move, y'know? Get away from the rain. So I'm looking around for the right place. What kind of guy do I seem like?"
"A city slicker," I laugh, "maybe the suburbs. Where all have you looked for a place?"
You tell me about how you arrived, stopping in D.C. first. Security gave you a hard time for having a bottle of lotion. Then you hitchhiked down to the Outer Banks in North Carolina where you finally decided to pay for Ubers.
You hit Miami, then Madison, then Wakulla Springs. Albany, Columbus, Atlanta, then Cleveland. And now here. You decided to stop in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, where the windmills sit up on the hills in the distance and cows graze in the miles and miles of fields between here and there, near and far, and there is so much fucking corn. And you're out of place. In the middle of nowhere where time seems to stop, you make my heart race. And it almost feels like I was supposed to meet you.
"So you've only been in the sorta Southeast so far?" I ask.
You nod.
"You seem like a West coast kinda guy. Like, L.A. or maybe Fresno," I say.
You nod again, "Isn't that close to Area 51? Anyway. The West coast is last on my list. I'm gonna work my way over there. This trip is gonna be a little expensive, but I'm lucky enough that our universities don't cost so much."
I roll my eyes and ignore that last thing you said. "You'd be kinda close? I'm talking Cali, Area 51 is in Nevada. Not very close at all."
You look relieved. My stomach grumbles and you offer me some cheesy fries. I don't decline because the pile is still bigger than your head and you're halfway through. You watch me reach for them. You comment on how large my hand is.
I laugh, wiggle my eyebrows, and say, "And you know what they say about that."
You giggle. I've never heard a dude giggle before but I guess there's gotta be a first for everything. It's cute, but cute isn't the right word for it because you gnash your crooked teeth and squint so hard your face wrinkles. But I like it.
"I've been looking for a place to go too. Don't get me wrong, I love the country," I say, "But it's so boring. Nothing ever happens unless it's the Fourth of July."
You point out that I say "Jew-lie" instead of "Juh-lie"
I tell you to eat my ass.
You ask when.
Well I wasn't expecting that, because everyone around here has the personality of cardboard and it sounds really funny in your accent, so I snort hard and coke comes out my nose. Which makes you laugh. Which makes me laugh harder and it happens again and my God if it wasn't fate that we met then I'll be damned.
"You ever thought about going to the West coast, Tyler?"
I nod my head yes.
"You wanna come with me?"
I nod my head yes.
