It was 3:50 in the afternoon in a small city in eastern North Carolina. The weather was a warm 90 degrees, give or take a few, and a calm breeze blew in the open windows of my car. I pulled into the driveway of the local Department of Motor Vehicles office—I had an appointment at four o'clock to have my license renewed. I noticed a few people going up the sidewalk to the entrance. I dreaded the long wait inside, nervous and anxious about having to take the sign and vision test required for another eight-year license. The agony of it all.
There were three people on the sidewalk, but only one caught my eye. From behind, it was a light skinned blond with shoulder-length hair with curls. She was wearing a white over-shirt and a pair of stonewashed blue jeans with black shoes, clogs maybe. She was obviously young, approximately five feet, five inches. I guessed she would weigh about a hundred pounds. She carried a pocket book, nothing too fancy, but tasteful nonetheless. She had style.
I turned my head—more pressing matters awaited me. I gathered my papers and got out of the car, locking the door as always. I went up the steps and approached the entry door. I opened it to find only one person remaining in the waiting room -
her.
There were five rows of cheap grayish-white chairs, like the ones found in public schools with the slotted back and metal legs. She was sitting on the outside chair in the second row from the sign-in sheet, just outside the testing room. Across from the seating area stood a line of vending machines offering popular sugary refreshments.
She watched me as I walked through the door, a bell above the entryway ringing, my black Pierre Cardin rayon flapping in a gust of wind swooshing by as the door shut behind me. I was wearing a boot cut pair of jeans with black Timberlands I bought several years ago. Boots I only wore when I expected to be going somewhere special, boots reserved to build my confidence through a false sense of importance derived from brand labels—and the addition of half an inch to my height. Had one not known better they may think I came from some upscale relaxed area of town.
I could feel her presence, her eyes following me as I entered the room, around the seating area and down the vending machine monument. I, too, glanced around the room when I first came in and realized it was just the two of us, two complete strangers seeing each other face to face for the first time—how awkward.
I looked away as I examined the rest of the room, watching my step in such a confined space. I knew she was watching and an urge to look away from her came over me. I looked away, but as I walked by the seating area to reach the sign-in sheet in the back I looked down and to the right. I had a perfect three-quarter angle view on her now. Our eyes locked in what seemed an everlasting trance.
First contact.
I signed my name with a dull pencil on the small table outside the training room. Number two on the list. I reviewed the other name on the list. "Stacie," I thought to myself. "I don't know another person with that name." The next thought was of a singer named
Stacie Orrico of whom I adore. The name shook consonance in my brain.
I turned around to face the backs of at least a dozen empty chairs. I moved left against the wall avoiding any possibility of walking by Stacie again. I put one foot between the chairs, then the other and worked my way up to the same row in which she sat and took a seat. I looked over to my right, four chairs down she sat in quiet repose. She gave a friendly look, the kind you give a stranger, and smiled. Then I did something that would rock the historical foundations of social interaction where I am concerned. I spoke.
“Hi.”
I put up a sincere smile and she returned the greeting. That was far too easy. Never in my life had I spoken up so coolly, so calmly, so...naturally. She had the face of an angel, the eyes of a newborn babe. She was every bit as beautiful as the Alps in spring - refreshing and vibrant. She got up and went to the training room door. I was lost in thought, figuring she was already gone as quickly as she had entered my life. I moved down two chairs, sitting now in the third chair in the row hoping to hear my name called soon. Much to my surprise, Stacie came back and sat in the first chair of the row.
“Oh, man. This is weird now. What if she thinks I'm a creep trying to get closer to her. I didn't know she was coming to sit down again. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?!”
It was like a scene from a movie where the boy scoots closer to the girl when she isn't paying attention, just before he puts his arm around her chair, except I unconsciously left adequate space between our two seats. Completely unplanned, but exceptionally well done.
Sitting now just a foot and a half away, she started reading the signs on the leftmost wall, various descriptions of fees and policies.
“So how much does a license here in North Carolina cost? Do you know?”
“Well, I'm actually here to renew mine, but the letter in the mail said it was about $32 dollars.”
I turned in my chair to face her without breaking my neck. I paid attention to her captivating eyes, unable to remove my stare. She paid me back and we continued for what seemed forever. I was surprised at how well my social skills were playing out.
“What? Wow! I think it was only like $10 when I got mine the first time.”
"Yeah, I know. Everything is high nowadays. How about the weather? It feels sort of nice outside," referring to the warm sunshine and the mercury rising higher every day it seemed.
“Yeah, it does. Well, I'm just moving here from Florida and I had to get some paperwork done at the Social Security office because I'm having my name changed back. See, I'm divorced and I'm starting a new job here on top of all that.”
“Oh, wow. You really do have a lot going on. What kind of work do you do?”
So our conversation went on for a while and we talked. Oddly enough, we never officially introduced ourselves though we did happen to discuss the fact our surnames are both "W"s and show up at the end of the list. In any other occasion I go out of my way to introduce both parties as formally as possible, but for some reason this was unthought of...unwarranted perhaps? Unnecessary. How stupid of me.
I didn't even think to ask her phone number. I wondered later that evening, "I'll probably never see her again in my whole life." Little did I know a window of opportunity had been opened.
Stay tuned later for the exciting conclusion, or perhaps the sequel, to this classic tale of truthful emotion!
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