You know how people say they never forget where they were or what they were wearing when something life-changing happens? Sometimes, it’s hearing tragic news on the radio while sitting in rush hour, or answering an important phone call while bundled up in sweats and a Snuggie. For me, it was dancing with you to “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.”
I was wearing a royal blue top and striped mini-skirt, my prone-to-frizz hair up in a bun. We were at a bar downtown that hangs bras from the rafters and serves strong vodka Redbulls. It was our mutual friend’s birthday party, and we were both there alone.
I had met you once before at the birthday girl’s backyard barbeque, and remember thinking, “dammit, he’s cute” during introductions, but not much after that. Inside, I learned you were single, but I was…complicated.
Early on at the party, we didn’t talk much. But as the crowd started to thin, and so did my drink, we got chatty. Somewhere between you asking about my friend and me asking you to dance, things changed. Until then, you were just a sarcastic dark-eyed boy who happened to be at the same parties as me. But as we swung imaginary lassoes over our heads and pantomimed “Save a Horse…”, I felt like I had known you for years. I forgot you were a stranger. I forgot you didn’t know I randomly slip into weird accents and prefer laughing to talking. I discovered that you are as sweet as you are sarcastic, and that I didn’t want our time together to end.
When it did, we ran upstairs to say our goodbyes. As I sped ahead of you, I heard Justin Bieber over the speakers, telling me “If was ya boyfriend, I’d never let you go,” and smiled. I let myself believe you might be thinking the same thing.
Turns out, you were.