mychai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Surrendering to dreams: Something a little different. It was late last evening, and I was out of both milk and cereal. Come to think of it, I was out of bread, peanut butter, and some of the basics that get me through any culinary challenge. And I had only about a third of a jar of apricot preserves left. The kind with the big chunks of apricot that makes you pucker just a bit when biting down on them. I decided I would make my monthly trip to the grocery store and wander the aisles slowly, pushing my cart and tossing things in that looked appetizing. I am a major label reader: I like to see how much fat, sodium, and calories are in particular products, and I don't buy anything with ingredients I can't pronounce. The new roommate, since moving in, has commented several times that I keep no food in the house. I argue that I have tons of food, it just isn't prepared yet. I like to eat things freshly cooked; there isn't a single can of anything in my cupboard. So, when I go to the store -- even when I am shopping just for me -- it is not unusual to spend two or three hours wandering slowly up this aisle and down that one. And forget about being patient with me when I hit the meat aisle. I always hit produce last. Well... next to last. Milk and eggs are the very last items I get. But I want to keep produce cold and in water as long as possible before grabbing them to take home. Usually, while unpacking my groceries when I get home, I like to pour a large glass of fresh, cold milk. Warm milk just doesn't do it for me. By the time I had gotten to produce, my legs were getting tired, and I was looking forward to getting home so I could cook a fresh, hot meal for myself. I was thinking a fresh salad of mixed greens, grilled asparagus and onions, and a sauteed chicken breast, dressed with olive oil and lemon juice. And that's when I saw her. She looked like she had just come in to pick up a gallon of milk. Like she was lounging around her house, hungry for Special K with Strawberries. Nothing else would calm that craving. But no milk. Only a five minute round trip to the store and back, she thought. No need to get dressed. And so she was wearing these blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms and an American Red Cross T-shirt featuring a smiling blood drop. Her hair -- black and almost shining -- was tied in back and a pencil pushed through to keep it. It was naturally curly: a few loose strands curved downward, relaxingly brushing against her shoulder. She usually straightened her hair when she got dressed up. Most people spend hundreds to curl their hair like hers grew naturally. She just thought it was aggrivating and would have traded anything to have naturally straight hair. She was a short girl: 5'2" in her sneakers. With her shoes off and standing as straight as possible, she was five feet tall exactly. She wished she was taller: it is hard for short people to get respect. She was a skinny girl, though she wasn't against eating her fair share of Hershey Kisses. In other words... she was skinny, but you could tell that she never passed up an indulgence. She was irresistable. For the very first time in my life, I knew that I had seen a woman who made me want to leave everything I had considered important. In a strange way, it was similar to someone who barely escaped death. I immediately re-evaluated everything important in my life and suddenly realized that nothing really meant anything. Suddenly, I realized that I *do*, in fact, believe in love at first sight. Also for the first time in my life, I didn't need any kind of alcohol in my system to foster enough confidence to talk to a beautiful girl. I never can talk to beautiful girls because what beautiful girl would be interested in me? But this time was different. She was the alcohol. She was a drug -- the first look an addiction, my death, my ressurection. She looked up to me as I walked towards her. My heart skipped a beat, and I could feel the burning of adrenaline flooding my veigns. Her face was fair with the exception of freckles floating over her nose. She covered them easily with make-up any other day. But it was Saturday, and all she wanted was some milk. She wouldn't have left her home all day if it hadn't been for that damned craving. Her eyes were black and deep. And when she smiled, her eyes squinted to a point where she almost couldn't see out of them. And she smiled as she saw me approach. Like she had known me for a long time and was glad to see me. Her small physique was even more apparent as I got closer. I have always liked short girls. Very huggable and holdable. Bending down to kiss a girl is incredibly cute. Kissing the top of her head as I hug her seems very loving. I made it to her, and she turned around to face me. Her face was as serious as mine. I knew she must have been feeling the same way I was. And I didn't even know her name when I asked her if she wanted to meet for dinner. Her name: Michelle. She is a medical student in pediatrics with only one and a half years left before she graduates. She wants a small wedding in the mountains. She wants one kid. She wants a husband who doesn't consider his job a part of his identity. But most importantly -- and the thing I could only wish for, the only thing I would have given my whole life for -- was that she also now believes in love at first sight. I am sorry to write the following, because it is something I've never done on this diary. But this story is totally made up. Except for the fact that I spend 3 hours at a grocery store when I go shopping. That's pretty true. Otherwise, Michelle doesn't exist in real life. When a family member or friend dies, they say that the person still lives on in your heart. Well, so does this fictional character. Whether I'll find the real Michelle one day, nobody knows. But sometimes it is fun to pretend that I found her out of normal circumstance. Sometimes it is fun to surrender to dreams. 11:36 p.m. - Sun., Feb. 17, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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