Uptown Girl and Her Downtown Man

Scott called the same afternoon. And the next. And the next. Each time I thought he was calling to tell me about the damage I did to the motorbike, but he never brought it up. He was concerned about me. He asked how well I was getting around (not very), how many anti-inflammatories I was taking (a lot), and how I was feeling (better, now that he had called).

"He's using that as his in!" exclaimed Helen. "He's using your accident as an excuse to be in contact with you. Am I right, guys? Am I right?" She looked at our friend who took a moment and then tilted his head to the side and shrugged.

We were actually sitting at The Musician's show when I told everybody about my meeting Scott. The girls cooed while their eyes glazed over and wistfully spoke about destiny. Even my guy friends admitted, "That's a 'how Grandma met Grandpa' story." However, I'm too cynical and scared to get caught up in that.

The Musician never called and I was okay with that because I had this incredibly nice guy hanging around who seemed interested in me. Scott had actually tried to come out with me to The Musician's show, but I was relieved when he got caught up at work.

I poured another beer into my glass from the pitcher. "But Scott is so different than anyone I've ever dated."

"That's a good thing, Sarah," the girls told me. "You always date the same kind of guy and look what happens," they said, referring to Jack. "How is he different?"

"I go for the yuppie professionals. Scott is chipped-toothed and tattooed and works at a motorbike shop; he's blue collar."

"Do you think he's cute?"

"He's adorable."

"This is going to be good for you. I have a feeling about this," spoke up Helen. "You deserve a nice guy--you really, really do."

The band was setting up on stage and doing a sound check. An odd bass pluck or a keyboard tinkle accented the generic bar noise. Suddenly Radiohead's "Karma Police" began to play very loudly and very distinctly on the piano. I stopped cold and turned around to face the stage.

The Musician was looking straight at me.

On our date just four days earlier, I asked him if he knew how to play "Karma Police." He didn't. And I asked him to learn it and play it for me. Four days later, I got my song. No one else in the bar noticed or thought of it any differently, but I waved and smiled and blew kisses at him. The Musician and I were divided by a stage and an entire roomful of people, yet we shared this private moment. This shared secret.

I turned back to my friends and grinned ear to ear, "He does like me!" However, I don't know why he would not call but learn and play a song for me like that. Very confusing indeed.

Scott called several times during the show and talked me into coming by the shop when I got back in the city. So when the show ended, I blew out the door. At 2:30 a.m. I pulled behind the bike shop and honked my horn. Scott appeared in blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt and unlocked and opened the gate for me to enter. It was the first time I had seen him since the night we met.

I walked up to him and he wrapped his arms around me. I lightly kissed his neck and nuzzled into his chest. Instead of starch, the boy smelled of motor oil--and I was okay with that.