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Days 212-215: Moscow

Posted by Erik Frey Fri, 14 Oct 2005 15:42:00 GMT

I had it all worked out; I was going to be really cool. I bought a fresh pair of socks in Kiev, yet craftily wore them once so as not to appear as if I were trying too hard.

Now all I needed were some really smooth moves: an opening line like “Don’t speak… just breathe,” naturally followed by something adequately dramatic and significant somehow like a meaningful montage (maybe with Powerpoint), or I could do the robot. I also considered the “Let’s pick up where we left off,” with sort of a raised eyebrow and a Sean Connery smirk. But could I pull off holding a martini glass at the arrival lounge at one in the afternoon?

I watched “AF1644 – ON TIME” blink on the screen. I tried to estimate how many smarmy French guys had hit on her during the flight. I imagined Thievery Corporation playing over the intercom as they ice skated up and down the aisles, vying for position to serenade her, twiddling pencil-thin mustaches. Pretending to be stuck in a box. Those bastards.

She entered the scene in stunning real time. She approached within greeting distance at an alarmingly natural pace, somehow composed yet completely at ease.

Did I forget myself for a moment?

Did the sound of blood pumping in my ears drown out my ceaseless, nagging internal monologue?

Why, absolutely not! I cocked the hammer of my smooth moves canon and set my sights on her wide, serene smile:

“Hi,” I hiccuped, grinning like an idiot.

Crap.