Chance Encounter

I was hoping it would be a chance encounter, as these things never are. A coincidental trip to the grocery store, but for two weeks now, I haven’t been to any grocery store. Or maybe a run-in at a local dive bar, but none of the bars in town are open anymore. 

My roommate likes to tell the story of when she ran into her ex while on a date with her new boyfriend. It’s almost as if she pulled the event right off the pages of the cheesiest fiction novel she could imagine. She was with her new boy, the two of them leaning sleepily into each other as new lovers do after a long night out. Smiling quietly, not feeling the need to say anything. It was 2 am and they were drunk in the subway, waiting for the train to arrive and for the end of their night to begin.

She heard her name and turned around to see none other than the boy she had just recently stopped thinking about. They greeted each other. She introduced her new boy. Everyone was friendly but introductions were kept short. The new boy was wary of the old. The old of the new. Never ask a question if you don’t want to know the answer. It seems they both understood this. 

My roommate was ecstatic, however. The best revenge you can dream up is to have someone who has been on your mind for weeks, for months, been in your messages texting you for just as long, trying to get you to slip up and reveal that you still miss him, to see you happy with someone else.

I didn’t need revenge; I needed a re-introduction. As it happened, it was a chance encounter. I was back in my hometown and my mom and I had stepped out to walk the dog around the block, as one does during a global pandemic, when we passed by his house. 

It was two years earlier that we discovered we were neighbors. His family had always lived in the same town as mine but had recently moved to a house on my block. We discovered this on our walk home from a run-in at a local dive bar. I figured I had used up all of my womanly summoning powers on that. He had asked for my number just before disappearing into his house. We texted briefly but I didn’t hear from him after that week. I didn’t think too much of it. After all, he was moving to the west coast and I was leaving town as well. It was just an issue of timing, I told myself.

But this day the timing was right. Or almost right. I looked up as I walked by his house but saw only his dad and sister sitting outside on their front porch. Too bad. Another walk, another day, I told myself. But then I saw him, coming from around the side of the house, down the long driveway where suburban families keep their recycling bins and extra bikes. “Hey,” I said. He looked up, surprised, “Hey,” he said.

I kept walking. I was on a dog walk after all. Silently, I cursed myself for not looking better. Wishing I had put on actual pants instead of leggings, or worn contacts instead of glasses. Oh who cares, my friend told me later, I’m sure your hair looked good!

I texted him a day later. A reasonable amount of time that I hoped would convey, “I’ve been thinking about you but certainly not obsessing.” I wrote, “Are you also back in town now?”

He responded a few hours later saying that he had been home for a couple weeks. He had been planning to move back to the east coast, to the same city I had just temporarily left, but that his plans had been put on hold for the time being. My heart outpaced my brain as I thought of us, months in the future, moving back to the city together, unpacking boxes in an empty apartment. I texted back saying that I was home too for the foreseeable future and would he like to go on a socially distanced dog walk sometime?

“That would be nice,” he texted back.