Reunions

I had visualized running into Daniel mere moments before the encounter. I would be in the throngs of the mid-day rush outside of the arts building, amidst the Brittanies (two ts and a heart-dotted i) with their Balenciaga bags and Brunos with their bans-of-ray shielding bored eyes. I would call out his name, once "Daniel" and once "Dan" (for emphasis). He would smile and we would embrace. I don't know what inspired our meeting: fate or circumstance.

As it happened, I was across the street, juggling a large parcel and an umbrella (although the robin-egg sky did not necessitate it to be open). I smiled and stared, trying to catch his attention. I would have flailed my arms, had I an arm to spare. Instead, as the lights changed, I hurried across to catch him before he stepped into the street; a horns-blaring reunion was one I wanted to avoid. I caught him three steps in and dragged him back to the curb. I hugged him, my umbrella gently swatting his face, my cardboard package breaking into his chest. It was one of those moments that can only be described as supreme happiness and ethereal light.

I'd encountered a similar fairy-dust reunion the day prior. I spied him, Matthew, the object of my most frequent missed encounters ("I could've sworn it was Matthew...", "Doesn't he look eerily like Matthew?") outside the arts building, amidst a tidal wave of academically-ambivalent scenesters taking a drag between classes. This was most likely the muse to my imagination of reuniting with Daniel.

What was special about seeing Matthew was the silence. I said his name and smiled. He just walked up and put his arms around me. Silent. It was natural and calm and hushed. Everything became quieter. We had a small conversation, he invited me to see his band on October 1st, and we parted. And the Happy resonated through my statistics lab and followed me like a gust of wind all the way home.