It’s those miracle moments that happen almost never. As a kid your neighbor’s cousins show up one Sunday night and Julie, who used to be chubby and annoying looks different, better. You start by throwing pine cones at her because that’s all you can do, and you end up in your backyard, on your trampoline talking. Kids don’t talk, they play, but that night you conversed, and it was awesome. Then you never see her again. She only lives an hour away, but every time you’re told she’s coming over, something happens – you’re leaving when she’s arriving, plans change, your family moves.
It happens again years later, you’re home from college for the weekend, and your friends get together with their friends, and there she is, that girl you never did anything about because you were too scared, the girl that always seems to be with somebody else. You’re bowling, lights are flashing, the bad music is too loud, you don’t know what to say, and all you can do is act retarded, guttering the ball, sending it spinning two lanes over; running half way up the lane before you let go, causing the poor shoe sprayer to come over, threatening you. You do it again, and get kicked out – anything to get her attention. You see her laugh which makes it worth it. She goes off to college and disappears.
You see a girl dancing, she looks silly, her flannel shirt is too big for her, but you know immediately that you like her, and that you’ll do well by her, but you do nothing. New Year’s she shows up again, at the same party, some other guy won’t leave her alone – all you want to do is get her attention, but you’re out of ideas. The noise is too loud. There’s not a moment. You leave before the ball drops. Why is there some guy out front spitting fire? It’s freezing, but you feel the heat 20 feet away.
Later your friends gather friends at your place, and she walks in. It’s another miracle moment. You’re driving, telling every joke and bad story you know. At the restaurant you end up sitting next to her, you barely speak, but you have her attention.
Months later life is bearing down. Stress won't settle. Work and school are killing you. You’re so behind with your homework, and you’re so tired. She calls, she wants to see a band play, and she’s picking you up in 20 minutes. You almost tell her you can’t go. You hear her pull up, you turn on your porch light, and open the door, anxious for her. It’s freezing outside, she gets out of her car, walks up to you with a red shirt on, and you grab her, and just hold her, and she holds you back – even more tightly, though she’s not quite sure why.
You watch two or three songs before you leave, getting back into her car, just to talk.
It’s spring again, life has eased, and everything’s working. The music is good - audible enough to speak over, but it can still be heard. Then she disappears for reasons that refuse to make sense.
Time keeps on passing, but you’re standing still. You’re not aging. You try stopping a passerby to find out why, but the touch shocks you, he’s moving too fast, he doesn’t even notice you. The sky is too loud, with the sounds of the clouds passing like a river into an ocean.
Others come and go. This one lies to you, you weren’t strong enough for that one, and she won’t let anybody near her, despite her being flawless. But with none of these were those miracle moments.
Friends offer advice, people make the notion arbitrary, like picking out the color of the paint you’re going to use in your living room, or the kind of car you’re going to lease for the next two years.
But it’s not. And of the few things you’re sure of, it not being arbitrary is that which you’re most sure of – otherwise it all amounts to nothing.
