my life. At that moment, I didn’t try to comprehend why the thought of holding her hand went through my head, but it was distinct and undeniable.
I pulled out some bills and tossed them to Mullet. As he gave me my change, he smiled and said, “Thank you, sir, for your kind patronage of our country convenience store and gas station!”
I walked from the store head down, facing away from Melody, and returned to my car. I tossed the smokes and water on the passenger seat and slid down on the driver’s side as I spied her through the window of the store, handing over her orange cupcakes, watching her smile as she had casual conversation with Mullet. I made sure, too, that Mullet wasn’t pointing in my direction, with a that guy was looking for you demeanor. I watched her walk out and the urgency in her pace was gone. She drifted lightly, the hem of her dress bouncing in time with each step.
When Melody returned to the pumps, she swiped her card into the reader and began filling her tank. Remember the threshold, the next step? It came upon me here:
I took a huge swig of water and exited my car and began to top off my already full tank. I stood at the end of the Mustang, this time in clear view of Melody, making sure I did not stare at her directly. Once she set the lock on the pump handle, she crossed her arms and closed her eyes as a warm breeze blew over her. After she let out a sigh, her eyes began to drift around the station. She glanced at the couple arguing over a map in a late-model Lincoln. She stared a moment at the farmer boy standing beside his father’s muddy pickup. She watched the door of the convenience store, as if expecting a close friend or relative to emerge at any second.
Then, with a slow turn, she faced me. Her eyes landed directly on my face, and no amount of strength, courage, or common sense could prevent the magnetic pull that forced me to twist my face and body so that we were staring directly at each other. Eye to eye. I could feel the corners of my mouth twist into a weak smile as we looked at each other.
And then: nothing.
Melody did not respond to my smile. She didn’t even respond to the fact that there was some stimulus in her field of view. Her eyes drifted on to the next person, an overweight businessman struggling to keep his tie from getting dirty as he filled his front tire with air. I meant nothing to her, just a patron of a gas station. There was no outward opinion of my appearance or who I might be, no implication that I was any more worth talking to than the farmer boy or the overweight businessman. There was definitely no love at first sight. I was nothing. Nobody. A stranger.
If only she knew.
Stocked with nicotine and water, I tailed her twenty-five minutes to what was thankfully her final destination: the city center of Lexington. We settled in a parking garage in the downtown area adjacent to the convention center, a part of town that appeared renovated and expanded over the last two decades, based on the designs of the buildings. It looked like any city’s financial center—like all the ones I’d passed on the way from New York, really—but with its integrated parks and walkways, the design came across as part of a grander plan as opposed to a reaction to growth and sprawl.
If I’d found tracking Melody in my car a challenge (I’d nearly lost her at two different lights), it was almost impossible to stay concealed once we were on foot. She parked on the third floor of the garage, and I halfway up the fourth. I slipped a pack of smokes in my jeans, put on my sunglasses and a stained Yankees cap unearthed from under the passenger seat, closed the door of my car by pushing my weight against it to soften the sound. As she walked down the eastern glass-encased stairwell, I raced to the western and watched her from a distance of a few hundred feet, mirrored her pace as she went down each flight. We arrived on the sidewalk of Broadway Road at the exact same time.
She immediately turned and walked toward the town center with apparent intent. My hope was that she was