Boyfriended

"Tell me a story." It's the line I use when I'm tired and I don't want to talk anymore. I'd rather just sit and listen with my eyes closed.

Scott took a deep breath and said, "Okay." He then told me the story of his past. The pregnancy, the marriage at 22 because he wanted to do the right thing, the divorce at 23, the adoption papers that his wife signed and he eventually signed too. I had actually heard the story before--he told it to me during the storm when we were sitting in the dark at the bar and on beer number umpteen.

At first the story scared me--this guy has a past in more than one way--but some very understanding coworkers talked some sense into me.

"When was the last time he was in trouble?" asked my confidant and cubicle neighbor, N.

"His last DUI was at 24."

"And he's 31 now?"

"Yup."

"Now here's the thing: everyone has a past. You have a past. Did he learn from it, or is he still partaking in dumbassery?"

I laughed, "He recited me the number to the cab company."

"There you go. None of that matters, Sarah, if he has learned from it."

"So he has a kid," repeated Mike, my male confidant at work.

"Yup, but they gave the baby up for adoption."

"Because he was young, and 23, and couldn't take care of it. He did the right thing. Now someone like me is raising the baby as his own. Someone like me can now be a parent." I had forgotten that my coworker has four foster kids and he's giving them better homes than those kids could ever have imagined. He was the best person in the world for me to talk to about it. If Scott's past was his "shoe" as M-Joy and I called it, then we were going to be okay.

Scott finished the story and turned and looked at me, "Don't you ever wonder when it's going to be your turn, Sarah?"

OH MY GOD YES. My eyes widened as I nodded fervently. It's like he read my mind. I didn't know guys thought that way.

"I'm 31. I want to get married. No, it's not even that--I just want to date someone that I could see myself marrying."

"I just want to be loved again." Vulnerability slipped out before I could catch it and stuff it back in.

He reached out and smoothed my hair, "Again?"

Stiffly, I shook my head no, like if I barely moved, I could grab that moment back. Scott let me drop it.

We stood on my balcony, watching the Westin tower disappear and reappear in the night fog like a David Copperfield illusion, and saw Scott's coworker walk his dog below us. Small world. After hearing our story, Scott's coworker offered to sell me his motorbike at half the MSRP.

"That bike would be great for you, Sarah." He told me how--as a customer--he doesn't do with everyone what he does with me. "If someone wants a bike and I think it would be an okay fit, I just put them on it," he explained. "But you, I'm constantly worrying what would be best for you: a faster one to get you out of the way of traffic, but then maybe I think it would be too much power for you. I don't do what I do with you with anyone else."

I lowered my voice and threatened under my breath, "You better not."

"Ooh!"

Another beer later, Scott begins the next story with "So I guess I'm your boyfriend or whatever."

I got boyfriended.

He mumbled it quickly and quietly and I didn't know if he said it to appease himself or me. I was joking when I made the earlier comment; I hope he didn't say it because he thought that's what I wanted to hear. I sat there stone-faced, once again thinking if I ignored it, it didn't happen.

He continued his next story and the moment was over as quickly as it came.