Serendipity
By Lenari Soto

You’re leaning against the bar on this crowded night, trying to get the bartender’s attention as a group of girls crowds around you, vying for the same thing. You just got off work and are looking to have some fun tonight, but getting this drink is taking far too long, and it doesn’t seem like your night is starting off very well at all. None of the girls around you is tall enough to read the specials, so you read them off for them (more than once), and basically laugh with them about your extreme height and their lack thereof.

One of them introduces herself to you, and you shake her hand and introduce yourself. You think you may have seen her before, but she assures you she’s from too far away, and tells you that she has a familiar face so maybe that’s it. You exchange a couple more words and then she falls silent, hovering near you as she waits for her drink, and you don’t say anything either. She downs her shot of tequila as soon as someone puts it in her hand, takes a swig of her drink to chase it down, and wanders off with some of the girls she’s with.

By the time you get your drink it’s basically time to move on to the next bar, and most of the girls from earlier have come back near you so you all leave together. You’re in line outside that last bar, laughing with the girls, and hovering over one of them who’s particularly short and looks even more so next to your tall frame. After a quick bathroom break when you get inside, you head to the bar and order yourself a drink.

Two of the girls from earlier, who weren’t in the group that came in with you, come up to you now. One of them takes the stool next to you and the other one hovering next to her. The one who’s hovering is the girl who introduced herself earlier, and you smile at her in recognition as her sorority sister—as you’ve just discovered—makes small talk and attempts to build a conversation between you two. Yet it’s the girl you’ve already met that you find yourself talking comfortably to, and it’s not until the other girl disappears that you realize that the point was to get her talking to you all along.

It’s a little awkward when the other girl leaves, and you see uncertainty in her eyes before she decides to climb onto the stool that her sister just vacated. You turn your stool towards her, continuing the conversation smoothly, and she looks pleased as she leans towards you so you can hear. You smile into your drink, and let the conversation go where it may.

Hours pass. You only know it because periodically one of her sisters will come by, asking you guys to pose for a picture, or suggesting you dance, or taking a shot with you. You can tell that the girls are just checking up on her, making sure you’re not creeping—but they seem to be satisfied you’re not because they always leave quickly. The two of you remain, you having some drinks, her keeping you company—she’s the designated driver, of course—and it’s a damn good time. Some of her sisters are drunk and hanging all over you, and she looks embarrassed so you just grin and bear it. Her grateful smile is the best reward she could give you.

At one point you both hop off your stools for a picture, your arm casually draped around her shoulders, pulling her to you. Her arm’s around your waist and she leans into you just as comfortably as you do into her, and despite the enormous height difference you find that you fit rather well. Once the picture is over you both let go with reluctance, as you don’t have much of an excuse to hang on anymore, and kind of hover awkwardly around her sisters and some of your brothers. You end up suggesting you dance, and she looks at you for a few instants like she can’t quite believe it. But she agrees, and you move towards the dance floor.

It’s not until you’re there with her and her sisters that you realize this can get very awkward very fast because you’re not a particularly good dancer and it looks like all of them are. So you tell her you’ll step outside and you’ll be right back—you definitely need a smoke if you’re going to do this—and you can tell that she only half-believes that you’ll return. But she doesn’t ask nor insist; she lets you go and assures you she’ll be right where she is now. You appreciate that she respects your space.

The cool air is refreshing to you, and you find yourself leaning against the building as you smoke your cigarette. The menthol tingles your mouth, your throat, and the smoke is warm as it slips past your lips. You’re trying to recap all that’s happened tonight, but your thoughts keep coming to the girl. She’s giddy to be near you, you can tell, and this is generally a thrill that other people would enjoy to the fullest. But for you it’s not just about the thrill of having someone interested in you—it’s about the fact that you’re having a good time with her, that she’s interesting and genuine and so very real… and that she seems to feel the same way about you.

You step back inside, find her, and ask her to move away from the group to dance with you. She looks unsure but agrees, and lets you lead her—your hands fit perfectly and it’s actually a little weird how in sync you are. Dancing is quite the adventure, as you both have to work quite a bit to reach each other, but you’re both having fun and talking throughout it and it’s a lot more natural than you expect it to be. So you’re a little sad when you’re both too tired to keep dancing, but you take her hand and lead her back to the bar so you can get something to drink.

For the second time tonight, actually ever, you really want to buy her a drink, and the thought of it alarms you a bit because it’s not your M.O. The greatest part is that she’s not expecting you to; she asks the bartender for water without a second thought and turns back to talk to you. The bar is about to close and you just manage to ask her what she’s doing after before her sisters come get her.

“Afterparty,” she replies, reciting an address. You live a block and a half away, so you tell her you will meet her there. Both she and her sisters find it weird that you’ll meet her rather than going straight with them, and you’re about to explain when she glares at her sister and simply goes, “Alright, I’ll see you there!” She Sharpies a message onto the back of your shirt, grinning, and tells you she’ll see you later.

“I’ll find you,” you vow, and she smiles as she walks away.

You meet your roommate for a bite to eat, and you tell him about her rather casually. He grins at you, rolls his eyes, and asks you how many brothers you’ve introduced him to. You look away and admit that you’ve introduced her to every brother you ran into, and realize with a start that that’s unusual as well—this girl’s getting under your skin a little too fast. You briefly contemplate not showing up at the afterparty but you know she’ll be waiting, and you realize that you don’t want to disappoint her. So you drag your roommate along, and go over.

Her sisters are all a-flutter about your appearance, and she just rolls her eyes at them and smiles at you, relief evident in her face.

“I told you I’d be here,” you tell her softly, nudging her shoulder.

She looks away. “And I appreciate that. Thank you,” she kind of babbles, and you can see the look on her face when she realizes that she’s babbled. It’s endearing that she’s this spontaneous, and you let her know—and she smiles again, motioning for you two to walk closer to the wall.

You keep talking for a few more hours, sharing the most ridiculous and meaningless stories as comfortably as you reveal secrets about yourselves. A few more dances, a few more drinks, and she’s gathered her courage to Sharpie her phone number into the palm of your hand. You smile at it in slight amusement, and keep your drink in your other hand. “I don’t want it to get smudged with anything,” you feel compelled to explain, and she smiles into her drink.

It’s not until you’re walking away from the party that you slip out your phone and text her so she’ll have your number, replacing the phone in your pocket nervously. You approach her, pointing to a number in your hand—That’s a seven, right?—and she looks all sorts of embarrassed and nods, telling you that she’s sorry she can’t even read her own handwriting.

“Well, good, ‘cause I texted you so you’d have my number.”

She can’t control her excitement and checks her phone, saving your number and responding to a few text messages before slipping it back into her clutch. At this point your roommate and one of her sisters have rejoined you, and it becomes clear that her group is ready to leave. The two of you look at each other for a few brief instants—and you want to kiss her, and you know she wants to kiss you too, but the other two are still hovering—before she takes a step forward and embraces you tightly.

You hold on too long, and you know it, and she knows it, and everybody else does too, but it doesn’t matter—once again you fit, and once again it feels right. She slowly and reluctantly begins walking away, half-dragged by her sister, and you have to tell her to call you if she wants to do breakfast before she leaves. It’s silly, you know; you should rest instead so you can get to work on time, but you want desperately to see her again before she goes back home, some six or seven hours away.

“I know you think I’m just saying this, but I will come visit,” you call out, and she smiles.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She texts you about breakfast when she gets to her hotel, and you agree on a place and time. It doesn’t happen, though, as you all oversleep in the morning. She feels mortified and you assure her it’s fine, wondering whether you’ll see each other again after all. She texts you when she gets home, thirteen hours later, telling you it was worth it—and it gives you hope.

It’s her birthday two days later, as Facebook informs you, and you wish she’d told you—but you’ve come to realize that it’s in her nature to be selfless like that. So you talk over Facebook for a few hours, holding three conversations simultaneously (wall-to-wall, messages, and chat), and you realize it’s just as easy to talk to her that way as it is in person, and find yourself missing her.

She texts you a few days later with a random question about your ancestry, and as usual you take forever to reply—she’s making you overthink everything. When she sends you a really flirty text, you end the conversation because you’re second-guessing your replies and you have no idea what to say. You think she won’t want to talk to you after that, but she gets worried when your status says you’re sick, and inquires about your health more than once.

She also tells you she’s thinking about driving down your way, and you immediately inform her that you’re working that entire weekend—before adding something about being able to find a party for her to attend, because who are you to assume that she wants to see you? But then she tells you she might not go down after all, and you feel a little hope again.

A few days pass, and you don’t hear from her. You know she’s initiated contact every time since that night, so you should try and approach her, but you can’t bring yourself to. You’re wondering whether she’s just nice to everybody, whether she’s really interested, whether you’re really interested, whether it would ever work out. So you let the days pass, and finally you think it might just be too late.

But it’s not. She’s still waiting for you to reach her, and she might just reach you if you don’t.

I should know. I am that girl.