According to Carrie

I had moved to Arlington, Virginia, in order to further my writing career. I wrote the opinions column in the newspaper, and now that I lived closer to Washington, I was bound to find more things to have an opinion on.

Like how to meet a neighbour, for instance. There wasn’t a rulebook for introductions, so for most people, introductions weren’t their forte.

There were the people who got so nervous at the prospect of having to talk to someone they didn’t know made them physically ill, leaving them quaking and stuttering in their choice of footwear. Then, there were the people who demanded attention so forcefully that they were labeled with unflattering adjectives, and all they had done was puff out their chest and maintained eye contact during the introduction.

Me, I’m somewhere in the middle. I smile politely, and talk when I need to. I don’t demand attention when it isn’t due, and I can’t seem to shrink into the background, either. Perhaps it’s that little cynical voice in my head that only gets free reign of my brain when I’m writing my column that doesn’t let me shrink away.

Weird things didn’t happen to me. Like when I met my neighbour, for instance. During my move-in, he had simply walked up to me and introduced himself. He didn’t shuffle away, and he didn’t seem overly excited to see me. He smiled brightly, and stuck his hand out to me. It wasn’t an introduction that would stick out in anyone’s mind, had he not been an attractive male.

Introductions made by members of the opposite sex are often remembered, whether good or bad. We catalogue the bad ones in our brains for use at a later date when we have that discussion that everyone is bound to have about those weird people that you wished would just congregate by themselves on a different continent. The good ones, depending on what kind of person you are, either stay locked in your brain, never to be removed; or they could be used as bragging rights to your other shallow friends.

Me, I remembered him because he had dimples, which just so happened to be my Achilles tendon.

But then six months into our casual neighbour acquaintance, he moved. Out of the apartment complex to a bigger house, and coincidentally, out of my life.

Or so I thought. Out of my life only equaled about three months, when he just showed up at my door one day, the same dimpled grin on his face.

Some people make an introduction so horrendous that you immediately kick them out of your life. Him? He made sure to never give me room to draw back my foot and swing.
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It had been over a year since he’d randomly shown up at my apartment, and every time I’d gone over to his place, there was never any new furniture. He had gone the length to get a fabulous place, now he just needed the furniture to fill it.

So I bought him a spider plant to liven up the kitchen. After three bus transfers and a ride that should have taken no longer than forty minutes in a car, I sat on the steps in front of his house.

Why I wasn’t inside his house was simple: he wasn’t home. I didn’t want to go all the way back home, since it was a fairly nice day out, so I just sat on his steps and waited for him.

After half an hour and without so much a text message outlining how he witnessed a horrendous car crash and he just had to get out to save a life and that’s why I’ve been alone, staring at a spider plant that not only did not resemble the eight-legged monstrosity, but was also wilting; I could feel my skin begin to bristle.

Finally, ten minutes after that, his shiny black Cadillac Escalade pulled in the driveway. When he exited, he was already smiling, since he had seen me as he pulled in the driveway. I stood up, leaving the plant on the step beside me as he approached. When he was within reaching distance, I was immediately swept up in a friendly hug. As he set me down, he also stepped around me to get to his door. “What’s with the plant?” he asked casually as he pulled out the key to his door.

“It was something to make your kitchen pretty, had it not withered and died in the heat because I couldn’t get into your house to water it,” I hinted innocently.

Men weren’t known for being incredibly responsive to female hints, and he seemed no different. He just kept walking as if I hadn’t said anything. Okay, fine.

While he disappeared up to his room, I went into his kitchen to get my baby plant some water.

Once the plant was watered and looked a little better, I sat on a stool in front of the island counter and waited for him. I didn’t know what he was doing, but when I got hungry, I got up to rummage for food.

I knew where to look – his fridge was always completely stocked full of it all the time. The yogurt, I mean.

While I was digging around in the cup and savouring the strawberry flavour, I heard the floor creak as he entered the kitchen.

“You know, I have a theory,” I said, looking up at him.

He didn’t openly smile, but his dimples appeared on his cheeks. “Not another one of your theories,” he said, eyeing the yogurt in my grasp.

“It’s about the excessive order of your fridge and pantry,” I said seriously, offering him some of my yogurt when he was close enough.

“Before you say that it’s me overcompensating for a lack of something else,” he leaned in towards me, smiling as if we were conspiring against someone, “The guys on the team have already done it.”

I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing. “Well, rest assured that’s where the similarities end.”
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I coerced him into going to a movie with me. He had complained about how it was such a nice day out and how we shouldn’t waste it inside, but after I promised to cook for him after the movie, he had practically bolted from the house.

There weren’t many people who were as eager as us to watch the movie year one, but after a crude joke made by Brooks in reference to the movie, I decided we needed a good crappy humor movie to watch.

We both had our feet propped up against the back of the seats in front of us, and looking at the pictures on the sleek little camera I had just bought a while ago.

“And where did you take these?” he asked.

“It was at Mike’s place.”

“When were you at Mike’s place?”

I fluttered my eyelashes at him. “I was tired of eating alone at my place, and I was tired of standing up and eating at your place.”

“So it happened…”

“When you were out with Trisha.”

“Tracy.”

“Ah, so you are still seeing her.”

“No, but I just want the distinction made if I ever date a Trisha.”

“Ah. That could get awkward if at the wedding party I made a toast to the wrong girl. Good of you for thinking ahead.”

“Who said I was inviting you to the wedding party?”

“Who else is going to be your cheeky source of entertainment? You can’t rely on your boyish good looks forever, you know.”

“You think I have boyish good looks?”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Hasn’t a girl ever said that to you before?”

“Yes, but it’s different coming from you.”

“I fail to see how,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest.

The camera was momentarily forgotten in his hands as he looked at me. “So if I told you that I thought you were just the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, it wouldn’t make a difference?”

“No,” I replied offhand, “because I would bypass the compliment and focus on how you labeled me as a thing.”

He fell silent, looking back at the pictures. “Plus, adorable is something you call a child. I am twenty-four.”

“Fine, be gorgeous, then,” he shrugged, not taking his eyes off the camera.

I rolled my eyes and punched him in the shoulder.

The previews had yet to start for the movie, so although the lighting was dim, I was still able to make out the faces of the other people in the theatre. As I turned around, I caught sight of someone I hadn’t expected to see until I went home this evening.

“Oh my god,” I muttered, quickly sinking into my seat.

Brooks’ eyes darted up. “What?” He looked behind himself, “what?” he repeated.

“That guy,” I hissed, hiding my eyes from him, “is that guy I told you about a little while ago… he moved into your apartment.”

“The one that has a schoolboy crush on you?”

“Yes! Keep your voice down.”

Brooks completely turned around in his seat. “Which one?”

“The one sitting by himself.”

He let out a loud laugh, his eyes glimmering when he looked at me. “I’m going to go say hi to him,” he told me, standing up and handing me my camera back.

“Brooks!” I hissed as he stepped around me to get to the aisle, “Brooks!”

But he was already on his way over to him. This was one introduction I didn’t want to take place.