The Match

It was longer ago than I care to admit that I was sat in a bar that doesn’t exist anymore across the table from a beautiful young lady whose name, literally, meant wisdom. Of course, when you first meet someone their names don’t mean as much because all you know of them are your immediate experiences garnered from that meeting. So for all intents and purposes, her name was apple martini & black hair and my name was dark beer & no lighter.

I was living with two roommates at the time and private time became something of a valued rarity, so armed with eighteen cigarettes and a copy of Naked, I made for my favorite pub to find a few quiet moments to myself. I had no outward projection that night. I wasn’t sat at the bar striking up conversations nor was I wearing a vestige of kitsch to spark notice. That night was an argyle sweater and a cozy booth positioned strategically close to jukebox. The order of the evening was quiet detachment and light duty alcoholism.

When she asked me for a light I was still in Normandy meeting David Sedaris’s neighbors, and her voice forced me back to the present. She was beautiful in the way you think to describe the word. I wouldn’t say hot because I have always found the word largely carnal, but not cute either as it wouldn’t do justice to her figure. She had almond shaped eyes and olive tone skin which screamed Mediterranean. She had propped one elbow on the top of the opposite booth and the other held an unlit Marlboro light, which awoke me from my momentary stupor. I muttered “sure” and struck a wooden match from the box I had been using. The matches, I explained, where because I occasionally smoked cigars and was loath to use butane. But even as I said the words I couldn’t help but feel incredibly self conscious as a poser should feel. She graciously laughed it off and asked me if I was responsible for what was playing – Connection by Elastica – I said yes mainly because I couldn’t think of a better lie. She nodded her approval without breaking contact with the narrow and mischievous looking eyes that always drive me wild. At this point her name was beautiful twice and mine was suddenly aware he didn’t shave.

Instead of asking me if she could sit, she asked me what I was reading and helped herself to the opposite bench; I inwardly nodded at a rare assertiveness that comes from graceful confidence rather than conceit. She and I spoke of trashy novels and other guilty pleasures, and I couldn’t catch any glimpse of façade. I saw no crack in the persona she was presenting to me. This astoundingly honest and devilishly whimsical person sat across the table was completely legitimate. Normally I find people of a certain level of physical attractiveness develop a domineering personality that, more often than not, comes off as boorish. I think this is due to fact that their sense of humor or opinions must compete with their bodies for the same attention. She didn’t force her charms out ahead of her body, she simply let them emanate from somewhere behind it. It made me think of how often I try to project a more winsome version of myself whenever I meet new people by prattling off some prerecorded anecdotes or displaying a parlor trick. I suddenly became very envious of my aplomb new friend. Her name was Clive Cussler fan and my name was St. Elmo’s Fire.

She excused herself to go use the restroom and I let myself exhale for the first time in what seemed like days. I scanned the bar for a group of people that might be missing their friend but it was only the usual collection of off duty white collars and law students. I took a quick inventory of my drink and situation. I stuck one of her Marlboros in my mouth and in grabbing the matchbox I noticed that she wrote a personal message and her email address on it, probably when I went to refill our glasses. Luck of this magnitude had absolutely no precedent with me and I had no idea how to react to it. This was a plot to a tawdry movie starring a British male lead and an actress trying to broaden her appeal. Be it from damage or inborn condition, I have never been able to recognize the presence of love by any other means than the negative space left in its absence. The immediate and immense attraction I felt literally existed in a place outside of my experience set and the effect was frightening. She came back from the restroom and asked me what I was thinking about, I said “a scary movie.” Her name was email I was already writing in my head and my name was clearly dodged question.

Forty seven minutes after meeting her, her friend finally arrived. Her friend turned out to be a six foot tall man with a military haircut. She introduced him as her boyfriend and mercifully a momentary spike in the ambient room noise drowned out his name. He held out his hand with genuine warmth and - remembering now -I like to think that I returned the gesture. We were all still standing as he told the story of how they had met which, predictably, was a chance encounter in shop three years earlier. He punctuated the story with the words “I knew this was the girl that I was going to try my best to marry.” Her look lingered on him with unabashed affection. Never being one to miss my cue I flagged down a waitress and ordered another appletini and two neat scotches. We all shared a wordless minute while the drinks came, but when they did I proposed a toast to their nuptials and good health. I made a lighthearted comment that fish and third wheels stink after three minutes and began to gather my effects. She said that I couldn’t go – “You’re my light!” “It’s cool,” I told her “I left the matches.”

It was very recently I was sitting in a bar on the corner of Lincolnway and Napoleon Street across the table from two girls who where telling me that I should abandon my anachronistic notions of romanticism. The one with blue eyes said that sort of thing doesn’t really exist. I told her I would rather be lonely than cynical.

I would have used this story as evidence but I knew I would be incapable presenting it with the intended effect. That night seemed surreal to me because it was, but by the time I had heard my songs play and closed my tab the world went right back to making sense. We lived a brief fiction, true, but it’s the fiction I would attempt to make the story of my life. Her name was new watermark and my name became refuse to settle for less.

This is the reason I name all the beautiful and important things in my life Sophia.