Day 201 - Passerby Story

Passerby Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Josh was a passerby. Josh was star-crossed. Josh lived the “what if” life.

She had short orange red hair. It was shaved close on the sides and back, with longer hair on top combed down so that it covered her forehead and half her face. The visible half was full of little freckles that were almost the color of her hair.  She wore a white blouse with a skirt that went down below her knees. They were modern, made to look late Victorian.

She was walking towards him. Josh stared at her and she caught him doing it. She looked back. Clearly she didn’t mind.

He was unprepared. He had only wanted a drink. He was already tired, his feet hurt. He had wanted a drink to loosen up with and then he was going to go to bed. He had not expected this. He was not prepared. And yet, here she was.

She smiled at him. He realized she was probably drunk. She had a friend at her side and it certainly appeared that her friend was the one deciding where they were going.

But she smiled at him.

“Hi.”

She reached her hand out. He took it.

“I like your style.”

“Thank you,” she beamed. She was either very easy to please or was very interested in him. Josh didn’t know, but he had learned long ago that when lacking a proper conversation starter or pick up line, liking a girl’s style was one of the best things he could say. It was a compliment that all women seemed to enjoy.

He held her hand, but only for a moment. The friend was the woman in charge. She pulled away. He wanted to hold on, but he wasn’t that sort of guy. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He didn’t want to argue, he didn’t want to fight. He didn’t know how to make her stay. A protective friend was just enough of a wall for him to chicken out and make no move. He let her hand slip from his. And then he watched them walk away. He waited, hoping she would look back. She didn’t. Maybe it was his job to chase her. Maybe he wasn’t ready and she was too drunk. Maybe there just wasn’t enough to make him try. Maybe he had no idea what he was doing.

She was gone. And he would always regret it. He knew he would always regret it. Not knowing. Not knowing who she was or if she had been the one. He should have done something. He had no idea what he should have done.

The next day Josh was talking to a woman Sarah that was selling handmade purses. She was tiny and wore a shirt that made a humorous reference to a movie or video game, but Josh wasn’t sure what it was. He hardly knew anything about popular culture and was too embarrassed to ask her. He was impressed by the fact that she was crafty and could actually make something. He didn’t have any skills like that. He also wouldn’t have had the necessary courage to attempt a homegrown business like that. But he wanted to be impressed by her efforts because he found her attractive. He knew that about himself. He knew he was going to like whatever it was that she did.

They were talking about anthropology and the rise of certain civilizations and the failures of others. He had no idea how they got to that topic. He wasn’t sure if he was impressing her or not or if he sounded intelligent at all. She seemed very smart and while that was a turn on for him, he was equally intimidated. He didn’t want to look like a fool. He worried too much about every word that came out of his mouth.

He was caught in his own mind. He just wanted to get out. He wasn’t even paying attention to what she was saying.

When he started to walk away, she moved towards him. He said it was nice to meet her and held out his hand to shake hers. She moved past that and hugged him. This took him by surprise. He wasn’t prepared for it. He didn’t know what to do. So he fled.

He would remember her and always question if he should have done more. He didn’t know. He never knew. He was so bad at guessing or understanding the situation.

There would be another. There was always another. And he would end up wondering about that one too. That was what always happened. Josh had a long list of failures and mistakes. Each one compounded with the last. He had a million experiences with a million women that passed by without any desired result. But maybe he was addicted to the experience. Maybe he enjoyed the memory and the preservation of the missed opportunity more than he enjoyed failure and learning the truth. He kept them all stored away and perfect. He never had to lose them in his memories. All he had to do was lose them in reality. The moment, the anticipation, the loss, it was all powerful stuff. It could be remembered and cherished. He couldn’t bring himself to trade that.