***There are two sides to every story, right? Well, my husband will be telling his side of our story in the next upcoming posts, including this one. I asked him to write up his interpretation of how we met and submit it to me, kind of like how I solicited his help with my NAL team…heehee! Just in case you missed previous posts, I have them all uploaded here! Enjoy! Oh, just in case you haven’t done so already, check out the About Me section of the blog to get to know more about me, ya dig? Now, on with his story….
I had moved into a homey section of a new city. It was a small section of the city, not far from where I worked.
In the area, there was a cafe. I would often frequent there as I worked on a long project. The owner was a kind woman who struck up conversations with seemingly everyone. While, the clientele was a group of local families who all knew each other. From bits and pieces of overheard conversation, it seemed like many of the families who frequented the cafe went to a nearby catholic school. In turn, on Saturdays, the environment was intolerable. A bellicose world of people sipping tea, innocent smiles, loose children, people catching up and “oh, I haven’t seen you in so long” conversations.
You see, I was from nowhere. That was what I preferred. I wanted to work and have a conversation that left as little of a memory behind as possible. I wanted my espresso and my coffee cake muffin and then to be left alone permanently.
I had intended this new city to be no different than Buenos Aires. I had lived in the Paris of South America for 18-months and made no friends, spoke to people only to order empanadas and pretended to be deaf in one instance when I encountered another stray traveler from the United States. I understood only English in a room of people speaking Spanish. For most people, this would be some form of torture, but, for me, it was peaceful.
There is nothing wrong with me. I can have normal conversations when prompted. I am amiable. I am good-natured. I can be gotten along with. I can make small talk. I am not peevish or awkward. However, to be honest, at some point, making friends seemed troublesome. This difficulty occurred around the time my parents divorced. I became malcontent with all relationships and maybe ended some unfairly. Nonetheless, I isolated my life and buried myself in what I was good at—writing.
So, I intended to treat this place like Buenos Aires. That plan was working fine, until I bumped into a woman at my job in the parking lot.
To be continued…