There’s a girl who I frequently see on my street. Each morning for the past week or so, I watch from the living room window of my lower east side home as she passes by. It’s usually at the same time and she is always dressed neatly; a valid assumption that she must be walking to her place of employment.
She is strikingly beautiful and often I think I should go down, accidentally bump into her. I could time it so that I am carrying trash out to the curb to be collected. But would the rubbish offend her? Turn her thoughts sour, quite possibly ruining her day?
Maybe the stoop of my brownstone would be a better option. An inconspicuous perch. I could sit and read a Stephen King book, lower it nonchalantly and call out something witty.
‘Beautiful weather we’re having.’
No, it would have to be far more clever to capture the attention of a woman so enthralling.
Perhaps, I could pretend to be lost, ask for directions. Surely, someone of her savvy would jump at the chance to help a wayward stranger. Albeit, that would only afford me the opportunity to hear what is sure to be a melodious voice as I would then be compelled to follow her directions.
My opportunity could lie in where she works. There is little doubt in my mind that the company is massive. Someone of her apparent intellect would only work for a Fortune 100. I could acquire a job in the mailroom, slip secret notes into her mail pile. She would appreciate the creativity and romance behind such a crafty gesture. Eventually, we’ll get coffee; coffee for me, she seems more like a tea-drinker.
We will laugh and plan a big wedding, talk about adopting kids, build a house in the suburbs, and discuss getting a dog because she is probably allergic to cats. On our first anniversary, I will reveal how I found her. Oh, how she’ll appreciate the ingenuity behind my cunningly amorous strategy.
My attention is drawn back from the window, down to the glowing screen of my phone. The iMessage app is still open, Misty's name in the Send To field.
The outgoing message lingers, unsent, a blinking cursor punctuating its end.
It's fine. I’m seeing other people too.