I Was Almost A Skywalker: The Second Part of My Mistaken Love Story

They (those overly-wise, probably dead old quote-maker-uppers) used to say, "When you meet the woman of your dreams, time stands still.", and for some, this is probably true. For the majority of the universe, a real connection is usually made through conversation. People have to talk to fall in love I believe. You may casually glance at some wandering passerby and drool, but what is drool to love? For me, I view a man's possibilities in the way he writes and his focus during an face to face conversation. His eyes have to be stuck, no meandering around for goodness sakes! So when Mr. Curly Hair finally unglued himself from the cute acts of the staff at the hotel, he began to look around.

Now, I may very well be the only girl to ever think this and it may be slightly strange sounding.....but I'll see a guy and if he isn't looking my way, I tell myself something of the following: "Ten seconds, if he looks and locks, he's mine." Unfortunately, the only fellows that "look and lock" are old enough to be my grandmother's great-grandfather, usually creepy, generally disturbed beyond human help, and....alas, toothless (my Bible Study leader termed me...'the Creeper Magnet' and she even tested her theory one day...that is a totally different story though).

I did possibly tell myself this in reference to my Curly Dude that night, but I think I did the twenty second rule. I let my left eye wander, and my right was keeping careful observance of the Cessna Dude who was happily scribbling a smiley face on my right hand....Mr. Curls was looking STRAIGHT at me. Both eyes shot forward, my face turned rose and I screwed up Mr. Flying Artist's face when my hand shot forward and clutched my pen. My breathing sped up so much, the nice guy behind me leaned forward, and inquired if I was having a mild heart attack. I assured him I was fine, as fine as a soon-to-be-married girl can be, I guess.

Now, you may be laughing at me right this very moment. This is all fine and dandy if it is being done because you found the situation humorous, if I am being made fun of because of my self-appointed relationship status-be quiet. Its completely statistical to say that one in forty million are married after the twenty second rule. And you are probably also saying, what happened to this sappy girl's ideas on conversation? Well, they took a bit of a hike but they do appear later. Worry not young one, I wasn't totally devoid of senses.

The Tanned Curl Man smiled at me as I looked back a second time and I quickly realized, he'd been looking my way the entire length of my wannabe-heart attack. He turned his head and began listening to the speaker again. I continued to stare. My mama used to say staring was rude and I shouldn't even think about doing it. My mama also almost named me after Luke Skywalker (1. Had I been a boy and 2. Don't bring this up when she's around, she'll just ardently deny it 3. And promise you that it was after my Grandfather). The moral of story is not to not listen to parents. Listen to parents and love them, even when they barely escape naming you after a Star Wars Character.

My staring wasn't a act of rebellion, but an act of an uncontrolled neck twitch which I have recently acquired. Very unfortunate circumstance that was thankfully quick to mend.

Then it clicked like a pair of scissors coming together. Two WHOLE weeks. I had two whole weeks to find out where this guy was from, what he wanted to do for his life's career, when he wanted to set the wedding date, our kid's names, whether or not his mother liked hopelessly sappy romantic writers who eat raw bananas and mint leaves for fun? I suddenly felt blessed, and I realized the speaker had finished talking several minutes ago and I was almost the last student sitting in the classroom. I frantically searched but to no avail, my happy little boy person was gone.

"Hello, where are you from?" I snapped my attention to the voice in front of me. Nothing but green. I looked up. Still nothing but green. A little higher and bingo, I finally could talk.
"Missouri-The Show-Me State where we really have nothing that great to show...." I'm not exaggerating, the guy was ten feet tall and had the look of a bandit. His green shirt was the length of the Amazon River stretched out and pinned, like a dead beetle on a Science board. Oh, double metaphor; sweet.

We chatted and suddenly the bell rang and Mr. Towering Bandit ( who had undoubtedly grown another foot during our conversation) ran off. He hadn't been the deep conversation type, in fact, he seemed so anxious to go rob a hemp store or some unfortunate business, that he was all jitters.

I picked up my pen bag and fluffed my seat cushion and walked slowly towards my wing of the hotel. My mind completely stuck on Curls (okay, I was slightly concerned that the young man I had just talked to was not of strong moral character....) and I was looking down at my toes, they seemed very uncomfortable in my Keds and in need of some oxygen and maybe even a glass of water. Poor dears, I was thinking as I walked into a brick wall. I of course stepped back and raised my face. Curls. In front of me, smiling this ridiculously goofy smile (chiseled chin and all) and opening his mouth to speak.

Now imagine a American high school boy who is always slumping and suddenly his fiercest and most terrifying teacher leaps in front of him. What happens? Well his spines cracks as he straightens up at the speed of lightening. A very unattractive noise and a slightly embarrassing action. I'm not sugar-coating my story, so in truth, I did just that. I composed myself as quickly as I could without dying and smiled a half-smile (I couldn't seem toooo eager).

"Why hello, I'm A-"
"Nice to meet you!" I jumbled into the conversation, cutting him off. He smiled a little deeper. We started to chat, my nervousness wore off and I could talk with utter ease. He was so nice and his eyes were glued on mine, he was the poster child for my theories on love. Forget his looks, the boy could talk intelligently. Okay, lets not forget his handsome, rugged looks. He informed that he was from California and Iautomatically assumed him to be (1.) a surfer, (2.) wealthy beyond all reason, and (3.) probably a heathen...but none the less, an very attractive heathen. He said goodnight as the warning bell rang, and he turned and walked up the stairs.