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Did you ever wake up one day and felt like it was going to be perfect? No, I don't mean that I just won five million bucks on the lottery perfect, I mean
odd. Special. Weird. Maybe all of those things rolled into one. It's not like you wished upon a star for it or even told someone you wanted it. It just
happened. And the moment you poked your little toe from underneath the covers to put your foot on the floor, events took on a life of their own. If anyone had told you that one moment in time on a day like that would change your life forever, that you would never be the same again in the space of 24 hours, you'd have laughed in their face. But that moment came and went, tapping random lives with its magic wand turning some into heroes and others into ghosts. Why? Well, that's the mystery isn't it?
Let's take today as a for instance. I got up this morning to what I always considered to be a perfect Indian summer day: cool enough for long sleeves but warm enough that I didn't need a sweater or jacket. One of those roll-down-the-car-windows-to-blast-the-Steve-Miller-Band-at-Volume-9 days. I indulged in a long, hot shower, staring at my body in bemusement as my blood rose to the surface of my much too pale skin. Pale as compared to who, toots, Buckwheat? You've been hanging around the white folks too long. You need a tan like you need another orifice in your cranium. Mentally slapping my inner voice for insubordination, I turned my attention Fiona Apple's sultry voice as it floated from my banged-up multi-CD player on the nightstand by the bed. I picked up the remote from the towel rack and changed CDs. Fiona was too melancholy for a day like this. Nope, sorry Fiona, dear but maybe something a bit more ah yes, there it is. The B-52s. Schweet. Cosmic Thing blared across the room, which I'm sure sent Figment, my dear calico cat, into near fits. That's ok, she'll forgive me...someday.
I barely remember the rest of my morning ritual; the selection of the least pitiful looking outfit in my closet, bopping around the room in time to the music, hell I barely remember brushing my teeth! Perfect days tend to make me perfectly air-headed. That's ok, though; this mood isn't going anywhere, if I can help it. Things just sort of flowed by like an ambling little stream. My coffee pot didn't crack for the eighteenth time, my bagel didn't burn in my dilapidated old toaster for once. I finally got up the cajones to open the official-looking letter from Dr. Cosentino's secretary oh yes, I am IN! It's not every day that a doctoral student gets chosen to work in his lab. Only post-docs have ever had the privilege of darkening his lab door. You see, Dr. Vincent Cosentino is considered to be the God of Endocrinology, the pharmacological genius that helped men get pregnant (when I meet him, I swear I'll give him a big ole kiss for allowing men to share the hell that is child-bearing women everywhere owe him their breast implants for that little work of wonder). Working for him is a sure fire way to gain some serious notoriety and having a way to get to meet his terminally hot daughter helps too.
I kissed the happy news-laden missive and began skipping around the furniture. Ladies and gentlemen, we have now crossed the border between Fair ta Middlin' and Perfect into new territory. This was going to be a totally freakish smile-inducing day. I love those. They happen often as lightning striking the same place twice. Though that last image isn't particularly the happy one I was going for, it came to mind for some reason. Dark clouds can move in without warning, the sky can open up and here comes the biblical rain. It's amazing what you will ignore when you're feeling all yippy-skippy.
Noah? says my pesky inner voice, once again interrupting my euphoric state.
Have you looked at the clock? Isn't a certain someone waiting for you?
Hmm? Glancing at the Mickey Mouse clock on the wall, I see it's---- "Holy crap, I'm late!"
Yeeess, and that's a surprise, why?
Oh piss off, you!
A fifty-yard dash to the car, one squealing peel-out (Sorry about your trash can, Mr. Banner!) and fifteen minutes later, I'm standing in front of BabyCakes, my favourite breakfast spot. Normally I wouldn't bother with a fancy schmancy place like this but it has Angela. You had to say her name with italics because she was all class. Really I should know better, chasing after some freshman chick like I was still an undergrad. I met her three weeks ago when I was forced to come here due to the closing of the Chesepeake Bagel House, the best place to buy a breakfast bagel in Charlottesville. It was 8am, I was hung over as hell, grumpy and none too polite. There was no one behind the counter when I walked in which did not help improve my mood.
"Is there anyone that actually works here?" I had complained while drumming my fingers on the glass top impatiently. A pretty ash-blonde head popped up from underneath, nearly scaring the bejeesus out of me.
"Didn't hear the bell ring there," the young woman apologized. "Sorry about that." My jaw had dropped a good three inches. I swear, she was 19 if she was a day, fabulous grey peepers and a body that simply screamed athlete. With just a couple of sentences from her, I was lost. Gone. Totally smitten. Good thing my gayboy friends were waiting in the car; I'd have never heard the end of it. She stuck out her perfectly manicured hand to me. "My name is Angela. I'm kind of new in town so you'll have to pardon me if I seem a little out of it sometimes."
Oh sister, I could forgive you anything if you'd just come home with me.
"Pardon me?" Angela queried. I shook my head.
"Nothing, just me, being an idiot," I mumbled shaking the proffered hand. Wow, is that CK One I smell?
"So what'll it be?" Her eyes had me rooted to the floor in stunned admiration.
"Huh? Oh! What do you suggest? I've never been here before," I admitted, cursing my traitorous body as a warm flush rose in my face.
"Well, I'm sure I we can find something you'll like."
I walked out of there with an armful of food, much to the shock of my waiting friends.
"Goddamn, Noah, what the hell did you do? Buy out the store?" snarked Paco from the back seat. He'd been my friend since our days at Albemarle High and Iloved him to pieces; however, if I had let him get away with that comment, the others would've soon joined in.
"Stow it, Pacs, I know you lot love to eat me out of house and home so I figured I'd splurge so you won't come by to eat my food."
Jared, who was sitting behind me in the passenger seat, squinted out the window. "Hmph," he snorted. "More it was like you let your hormones get the best of you again. Did you at least get her number?"
"Better than that," I announced with a smirk. "She gave me her work schedule for the next month."
So here I am, anxious as all hell despite this huge-assed grin on my face. I wanted to share my good news with someone, anyone. That's not true I really want to share my news with her.
Dammit, Noah, just ask her out already.
I rolled my eyes in despair. Oh it's you again.
Damn skippy it's me. Look, walk in there, and KISS HER ALREADY.
It's not that simple.
Really? You've been doing it in your dreams for the last three weeks. How hard can it be?
Oddly enough, that stupid inner child had a point. I looked up into the clear sunny sky, and gazed into its blue depths to find my courage. Well, here goes nothin'. The last thing I remember was a brilliant flash of light, brighter than anything I'd ever seen, then darkness fell.
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