lesson #18: you never know when your own personal theme song will be chosen

We all have certain rules that we live by; you know little guidelines that help get us through the day and avoid disaster whenever possible (obviously I stray from my “guidelines” more often than I care to admit as lessons 1-17 will attest to). One such rule that I have adhered to fairly well over the years has been a five up, one down age range as a dating policy and for the most part this has worked out pretty well for me (you know other than being almost 31, single, with no real prospects in sight…mere details). I did however make one notable exception to this rule; going forward I will refer to him as the “young one”, and he left an indelible mark on me, and no mom it is not a tattoo of his name on my rear…

I met the young one when I was living in Washington DC at a friend’s party where the theme was utter debauchery (seriously it was on the invitation), I mean everything was covered in a layer of plastic and there was a foam machine in the living room. Scene set. I was standing in the second floor hallway of the Narrow House (because everything in DC has an official name) having probably my second of too many beers on a Saturday night when the most beautiful boy I had ever seen (be still my beating heart) came up the stairs and walked right past me. Since I am so quick and witty when I’m slightly tipsy, or at least I like to think so, I tapped him on the shoulder and said “you know I can fix that for you” pointing to a small tear in the baseball cap he was wearing (ladies, I’m going to pause here and say I can not stress enough the importance of a catchy opening line…it’s a basic necessity…like toilet paper). He said he kind of liked it ripped; I shrugged and turned back around to my friends. A second later I had a tap on my shoulder…”so just for argument’s sake how would you fix it?” This led to a four-hour conversation, which relocated to several different venues all over the greater U Street area in northwest DC. At the end of the night when people are starting to make not great decisions (or the best of their lives depending on if you are a glass half full/half empty kind of person) I finally realized he had never responded to my countered request when he asked my age (best evading of a question since Clinton during the impeachment) so again I inquired how old he was…with a sly smile and a twinkle in his eye, “21” he said.  Red light, red light…back away from the table echoed through my brain. Breathe, calm down girl…yes, that was definitely out of the age range, but at least he wouldn’t be standing outside of the 7-11 asking me to buy him beer.  As I thought about the half a decade I had on him and planning my exit strategy he leaned in and said “but really age is just a number right”…well yeah, technically, and hell is just a sauna.  But then I looked into his face and what happened next could be the result of cheap beers, the way Stetson’s bar always had just the right song on the jukebox, or the fact that the young one looked uncannily like River Phoenix (seriously…I was staring at Jimmy Reardon). Maybe it was a combination of all of three, I don’t know, but I found myself nodding in agreement with him…and our late night talk evolved into an early morning discussion.

As I walked him to the metro early that Sunday morning so that he could catch a train out to his brother’s place in the “burbs” (I personally didn’t do Maryland or Virginia…straight up DC girl here) I all of a sudden heard a familiar little ditty being sung quietly under his breath…what was it…I knew it…then all of a sudden it hit me: jackass was singing Mrs. Robinson by Simon and Garfunkel. I stopped and looked at him shaking my head, was he really doing this…who did he think he was? As we neared Dupont Circle he got a little bit louder and louder…until we were both hysterically laughing as I hugged him goodbye at the top of the stairs.

We saw each other a few more times, but at the end of summer the young one had to return to college in the heartland of America and I had to return to boys my own age. Neither of us was under any illusion that the other person was “the one” by any means. Every once and a while you get it right and realize that some people are meant to be in your life just for a little while…and you have to just enjoy the ride. I like to think he learned from my “wise beyond my 25 years insights” (I was really pulled together back then); I know that his easy-going “just live and love life” mentality is something that I admired both then and now.  Maybe that is why we stayed friends we knew what it was and didn’t expect more. Maybe that is why every year around my birthday he sends me a quick message wishing Mrs. Robinson another year older. Though I hung up my May-December romance shoes that August, I have to give credit where credit is due and thank the young one for making my story just a little bit more interesting, my summer a whole lot spicier, and obviously for putting a new song on the soundtrack of my life.

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