First Blush

I met Kerry when I started working for a book store.  He is a teacher, and worked in retail for a little extra cash.  I am a retailer; I love it and I have a talent for it.  That first night on the job, I was singularly unimpressed with his work and decided he had the personality of a pair of socks.  Famous last words, I know.

One day I overheard two other supervisors talking about Kerry.  His wife had just moved out, and he was feeling stressed.  My interest was piqued.  I admit to blatant curiosity—I wanted to know whatever juicy details surrounded the end of a marriage.  I also felt compassion for someone I worked with going through a hard time; I was surprised to find that I wanted to help if I could.  Hubris has always been a personality flaw for me, and I was sure I could make it all better if only I knew what to fix.

Kerry understands comic books and superheroes, and appreciates the time and talent it takes to illustrate a comic book well.  I found we could talk about comic books, and my interest in his opinions began.  From comics it was a natural progression to books.  We both read science fiction and fantasy, and we share a love of children’s fantasy novels, particularly Harry Potter.  It  was fall of 2001, just before the first Harry Potter movie was released in theaters, and bookstores were filled with the novels and related merchandise. 

I discovered Kerry has a brain and knows how to wield it.  He can talk about literature with intelligence and passion.  I identify with Scout in that I have never thought about loving to read, it is just something I do, like breathing.  Kerry and I share an interest in great books and well-told stories.  Disagreeing about what was great and well-told added spice to the conversation.  I was happy to listen to his opinions even when he was plainly wrong, if only because he could support his opinions logically.

Two smart people can hardly talk about great literature without discussing the human condition.  Current events, politics and logical ideas quickly became part of the conversation.  We exchanged email addresses so we could talk after work, writing analytical essays and political commentary several times a week.  Online we were both willing to be more personal, too.  It is easier to be vulnerable without eye contact threatening embarrassment.  The human condition includes thoughts about love, family, and friends.  Our friendship grew closer and more intimate over the internet.

I remember the day I discovered Kerry is sexy as well as smart.  It was during a business rush, and lines were long.  I was standing next to him, working a cash register and making small talk with customers.  I noticed his cologne and turned to see who was wearing that scent.  He was wearing a green plaid flannel shirt with a Curious George tie.  He looked fashionable (not that he will ever admit that) and handsome while he smiled and chatted with people.  I was lost.  My heart beat faster, I could not draw a deep breath, my skin flushed and my body temperature rose about five degrees.  In my fascination with my friend who suddenly was this sexy man, I forgot to eat.  Somewhere in all the heat, I fainted (cliché, I know, but true).  Kerry caught me before I hit the floor, and I came to leaning against him.  I sat up, and kicked myself immediately.  I should have pretended to be out a little while longer and stayed cuddled in his arms.

That night I sent an email under an assumed identity: “Dear Kerry, You fascinate me.”  I was his boss, and clearly I could not openly profess attraction to a subordinate.  He had to make the first move.  I continued to send anonymous emails for two months, and he answered them all.  He also told me, as his friend, about his secret admirer.  I thought my head would explode waiting for him to figure out who this mystery woman was. 

After at least forever he finally caught on and admitted a mutual attraction.  Our long friendship and respect easily transitioned to passion, and the rest is history.  And that green plaid shirt?  I wear it to bed now.