last twenty-eight seconds, the sound died down and then—color again. I rewound the video and leaned forward. In the darkness, I heard the metallic clank of me clomping down stairs. Then I saw the bright yellow of Calhoun Lofts’ hallways, and I must have been walking, bobbing a bit as I lifted the camera waist-high and burbled, “Oh, whoops.”
Then the lens swept up one more time, long enough for two symbols on a door to come into focus: 4G. SAKE. Edie’s apartment.
A little lean forward and my hand on the knob, the click of the door opening.
My voice, surprised, an inaudible warble. Projected like it was meant for someone—a greeting, not to myself.
A quick flash of the hardwood floor inside. And then, with a jumble of fingers, I’d turned the camera off.
Chapter 4
GREG
I had just bought a little tub of Greek yogurt and was thinking inane thoughts about how it always comes in a wider container than regular yogurt and why is a man eating yogurt sort of fey and effeminate, anyway? I sat down at the counter along the window and peeled back the top and noticed four peaks in the white, vaguely creepy remnants of the electric udder employed in the factory, when She walked in.
She had freckled skin and a halo of soft red curls. A sunbeam struck her, movie perfect, as if she traveled with her own light source, a perpetual spotlight. She slid her eyes around the little deli, pausing on me, holding my stare for just a moment before sauntering up to the register.
I put my eyes on my book and read nothing as she ordered a strawberry chicken salad. Then she scraped back a stool at the other end of the counter. Only a few seats away. Jesus, that air. She felt me looking at her and glanced over just enough, just as I feared I’d never get a glimpse of the eyes again, as she ate and read a book of her own, a near-smile on her lips.
I knew I should say something, something polite and unimposing and easy to back away from should she not, you know, want strangers bothering her during lunch. Which, of course, she probably did not. The man with the yogurt leering and blathering and treating the place like a despicable Murray Hill hookup bar.
So, frozen by the stupid stalemate I’d created for myself, I continued to study a page of the Murakami novel in front of me. And right as I was working up the nerve to get up and say hello, she checked the time on her phone, snapped her book into her purse, and headed for the exit.
As she yanked the glass door open, she glanced back—at me, definitely right at me—and I grinned, a full-toothed hapless grin that was the closest thing to communication I could toss toward her exiting body. She smiled—just long enough to make sure I saw it—and was gone.
When I got home from work that night, I opened my laptop, embarrassed for myself, and went to Craigslist’s Missed Connections section, that graveyard of hypothetical relationships for introverts and pussies everywhere. The words This is fucking dumb cobbled themselves into a mantra, complete with a monomaniac theme song, as I scanned the day’s sad pleas.
Location: Café Green on 57th St.
Subject: To the guy at the other end of the counter…
Body: …Thanks for the smile. It made my day.
My chest and dick distended in unison. This was her, this was fucking her. This was insane. I clicked respond. I stared at the cursor and realized I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t even remember what she looked like, just an impression of glinting eyes and a ludicrous certainty that this woman was interesting, full of captivating ideas, opinions, and stories.
I stood up and got a beer out of the fridge. I sat down and messed around on Facebook, on blogs. Finally, I returned to the Craigslist email and wrote something that would, I hoped, be complimentary without freaking her out.
Subject: that guy at the other end of the counter…
Body: …had nearly finished his yogurt so that he could nonchalantly peek at you while you ate your salad. (okay, maybe it was a stare. sorry.) before you left, i wanted to tell you with neither presumption nor agenda that you’re beautiful. maybe you’ll give me another shot, or maybe we’ll bump into each other again. anyway, thank you for giving me the unlikely opening to do a deed left