Read part one
Read part two
I rode my bike home in a thought-induced haze, nearly veering into a moving car at one point to avoid one parked in the bike lane. Now that I was done waiting, that my chance meeting had taken place, no matter how briefly and unsatisfyingly, it seemed like it was up to me to make the next step happen; I just didn't have any idea what the next step should be or how to make it happen.
It wasn't going to happen if it had to happen at my house, that was for sure. I was living with two friends that I had met in school; they were both still enrolled, although Josh was thinking about switching majors again, I think. The point is, we were none of us neat freaks, and collectively we had brought our rental house to the state where no matter where you were about to sit - the couch, the floor, the kitchen table - you always took an extra second to survey the area before you sat down, just in case. In case of what was not always clear, but just in case.
Not that she would have known where I lived anyway, since I had somehow managed, during what might well have been my only opportunity to talk to her, to avoid telling her my name, to avoid asking for her number, to completely fail to execute any tactic at all that would have resulted in either me having learned more about her or her having learned anything at all about me. You have to remember, this was before every band had a website and all that stuff, so I couldn't just look her up online and "friend" her and generally become one of a sea of faceless semi-stalkers.
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