I got on the bus, and I recognized him. He patted the seat next to him with what I like to remember as a lecherous smile. (It was really just a friendly smile.)
We were in graduate school together, and had only exchanged a sentence or two. On the bus ride I learned that he lived in Santa Monica. (I lived in Brentwood.) He liked to ride his bike to the beach for a break from studying. Not my type, but he'd make a really nice friend.
He got off the bus before me, but it was only one stop before. I started walking to his stop in the mornings, hoping we might have the same schedule. I started riding my bike to the beach after classes, hoping to find myself riding along next to him.
He lived in Santa Monica; I lived in Brentwood--we lived a block apart. It was more a matter of perception than city limits. I never ran into him biking--it turned out he had hurt his knee and didn't bike for awhile. But I did catch him at his bus stop from time to time. He finally asked me out, after a long wait of a week or so.
He started moving in, about 6 weeks after our first date, one paper shopping bag at a time, walking the block from Santa Monica to Brentwood. That was 1978. We're still living together.
Sometimes the guys you meet on buses are keepers.
Yeah. Good story.
ReplyDeleteSweet. I didn't know this is how you two met.
ReplyDeleteWhat you don't say is that I was living with another woman at the time. Essentially, you wrecked our home.
ReplyDeleteI love to think about you getting all spiffed up to ride your bike, hoping to "coincidentally" see him.
ReplyDeletePRECIOUS :)
ReplyDeleteI put on my "make-out" tee shirt, the one with the hang ten feet on it. It always worked, especially when combined with Tabu perfume.
ReplyDelete