genes, pools, and other accidents

“Guess who I heard on NPR today,” Mike says with a funny lilt in his voice.

“Who?” I ask, obediently playing the game.

“Your boyfriend!”

“Huh?”

He proceeds to name this person. At first, no bells go off. Then –

“Ohhhhh! Him!”

The night I met Mike this guy was among the big group of people my work colleague was dragging me to meet at a lounge bar in Washington, D.C., as was Mike. As the night progressed through restaurants and dance clubs, fewer and fewer people remained of the original group until there were only four of us left: me, my work friend, Mike, and this one other guy. I’ll call him “Andy.”

The four of us hung out until 3 a.m. or so and somewhere along the way Andy asked me to go salsa dancing with him for one of the Monday night lessons held at another local bar. I wasn’t exactly falling head over heels for Mike at this point, but Andy did overlook certain details – like how well Mike and I worked as a Pictionary team (Grass? Um…Wait! Barbed wire! Yes!). I was relatively non-committal on the salsa, but probably said something like “I suppose so” mixed with “um” and “I guess, maybe.” Then there was the roof incident.

The last event of the night for our foursome was to go swimming in the roof top pool of Mike’s ugly pink condo building and afterwards to look out at the less ugly skyline. When we were heading back down into the building, my friend and Andy start down the stairs first while I stop short to ask Mike about what one of the buildings was. The door to the stairs locks leaving Andy and my friend inside sans key. And there we are, me and Mr Future Husband-Guy, in an unplanned pseudo-romantic moment, staring out at the lights of DC, my question already asked, his answer already given, and the silence now around us. The other two, wondering where we are, attempt to come back up, try the door, but can’t get back onto the roof. We listen to them rattling the knob for a few seconds.

When we open it, Andy is visibly grumpy (who knows what was going on in those 90 seconds I was alone with Mike!)

No salsa dancing ever happened and I think I have the roof to thank for it.

Yes, folks, there may never have been an Isaac if the roof door didn’t lock, if salsa had had its way.

It’s a bit of a kick in the pants though – you know, I want to be on NPR, the guy who I never dated but could have is. Missed associations? And my mom should have married that guy who owned his own plane too, but that’s another story, another lifetime, another mingling of genes.