He was there, in the aisles of Costco, studying a bottle of really nice viognier, probably a Blair Fox. His slacks and linen shirt were kinda wrinkled, but hidden by a sports jacket that looked too formal for Santa Barbara. I had to talk to him, but what was I going to say? Hi;) thats a great wine, kinda peach-flowery and mineral, with a creamy nectar finish, like your chest. Ok, I wouldn’t say that, about his chest, but I would definitely be thinking about what was under his clothes, and I don’t mean just the skin, of the grape, of course.
No, I couldn’t say anything, for fear of sounding like a fool, a fool in love. But on the other hand, how could I not say anything, if this guy could be a love of my life? I needed to just say hi, introduce myself, ask him if he remembers me; Like, from that event where I scooped you gelato, and you noticed my wine glass was empty. At one of our beautifully-set, foodie events, for a great cause, near and dear to my heart; Maybe I would never have another chance to bump into him again, I thought.
So I said “Hi,” and smiled into his eyes; His did the same. I don’t know, I may have been shaking a little, which would explain what happened next. “I met you, just momentarily, it was very brief, so you probably don’t remember, a few months ago…” god i’m rambling, just get to the point, whatever the fuck that was, I thought. Yes, just have your way with me here, atop the toilet paper in this “big box” store. I hope I didn’t say any of that out loud, was I even speaking? “Um, I am digressing already, I just wanted to introduce myself, I’m Marie.” This time he smiled with his mouth, those nicely-shaped lips would fit perfectly on mine.
“Hi Marie,” he said in that warm, yet slightly high-pitch voice of a well-strung, intelligent person. “I haven’t tried this one, but somebody recently recommended it to me.” He looked away, with his finger masculinely on his lower lip, like he was trying to remember the exact incident where someone had, indeed, asked for it. It was not really a recommendation, but I am sure that is how his polite mind remembers it.
“Oh, I…” Suddenly, I wasn’t sure what I was saying to him, and I too put my finger to my lower lip, and blinking, took a deep breath and smiled. “You offered to fill my wine glass, you were very polite, I am sure you don’t remember.” His blank smile told me enough, he was kind, and not sure. I needed to say something or he was going to smile his way down the aisle, and out of my life. “Anyway, i wrote you a letter. Not to you exactly, I didn’t use your name or anything like that. I wrote it to a dear wine-caddy.”
“A wine what?” he looked interested. I was getting excited.
“A wine cad-dy,” I over-enunciated, like an idiot, “you know, like a golf-caddy. I didn’t know who you were; I mean, I figured that out later.” I was on a roll, and feeling sorta giddy. I grasped hold of the viognier he was holding, just at the neck of the bottle. I was thinking how cute I looked, trying to act like HIS wine-caddy, taking the bottle with the palm of my hand, still smiling, I shrugged it over my shoulder and said again, “you know, like a golf-caddy,” but suddenly, the bottle began to slide from my grip, I tried to stop it from coming by pinching harder just around the nipple, but it slipped all the way through my fingertips and crashed with a high thud on the concrete floor.
“Fuck!” I gasped, this time out loud. “I think,” loudly letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, “ I am NOT going to cry over spilled wine,” but I felt uncertain, and instead we both laughed, almost brushing shoulders, as we shook. I took out my card from a job I no longer had, and quickly scribbled my email address. Handing it to him, I said, “if you’d like to read the letter, just email me, it’s really more like a little poem, a slice in time, some of it with you.” Now I was feeling a little romantic, and sad, but that was another story.