Here I was, sitting by my PC as I am right now, writing another e-mail to my online friend. I could hardly wait for each of his replies. I tell you: the guy knows wht do do with words. And I totally loved it. No empty talking, though (writing, I mean), but letters that actually told me something and intrigued me to write something back to express myself which obviously had a similar effect on him. Lovely!
He had invited me for coffee before, but I was reluctant to accept the invitation.
My friends (colleagues that is, but still - good friends!) half jokingly said sometimes that I should go out more: "We'll pick you up sometime, go for a drink and find you a nice decent guy!" "Yeah," I said "but why shoud I, who do not go to bars look for someone who does? Besides, how many such guys do you actually know?"
She had to admit I had a point there. I decided to accept what life brought to me and not rush anything. But then, five years after my divorce, I actually joined a website to meet someone. I didn't feel like I belonged there, but then, I thought, some other people might feel the same.
And there they were: his enchanting letters. And now, after two or three months of corresponding, I decided to go for that cup of coffee.
I came to the bar, looked around, seeing the man who fitted the description and remembered I had seen him before. With mixed feeling I approached the table, we greeted and ordered that coffee.
I don't remember well what we were talking about. Just getting to know each other, I guess, but we knew quite a lot already, from the letters. Which was good.
A few minutes later, there came tis woman, plunging into the room, greeting him loudly, asking him how he wam, adding: "May I join you?" Not waiting for the answer she grabbed a chair and there she was, sitting at our table.
I was wondering what was was going on, but said nothing. My MS, you see, doesn't quarrel. Or hardly. I guessed he wasn't pleased either. Her name was Leila, I told her mine, pleased to meet you (NOT!), she had coffee, too, exchanged a few sentences and left.
"I'm sorry about that, she should have known better, but that's just how she is." he said.
"That's okay," I realized he had nothing to do with that. She was an aquaintance, really, not even a friend. I got to know her a bit better later, and learned her behaviour that day was nothing exceptional.
When the day of the anniversary is approaching, we always say we should go for a cup of coffee to the same cafe. And we always ask the same question: "Do you think Leila will have time?"
But we never really ask her. We didn't today, either. Eight years after that first date.