06.09.2002 - 10:15 a.m.

Bill is one of those rare guys who honestly look their best in an old t-shirt, cargo shorts, and a baseball cap turned backwards. I first met him at his brother�s wedding in the fall; he was the best man and I was his blind date. He was pale and bug-eyed and just a little short. He walked with his shoulders hunched forward against his tux and talked in slow, wandering sentences.

Saturday night I went out with Jimmy, the roommate�s guy. Went to Bill�s brother�s house.

This time, when Bill walks into the room, it is with that same slight stoop, although in this setting it speaks of relaxation and self-confidence, not of nervous tension. He�s grown a short beard, which somehow balances the size of his eyes.

We all sit down in the lemon-yellow kitchen/laundry room to play poker. Bill sits next to me, saying that non-smokers should stick together. I do pretty well, not necessarily because I have any particular skill, but because it�s impossible to read my face when I�m not entirely sure whether two pair is bigger or smaller than three of a kind. It also helps that most of them are already drunk.

I don�t talk much, don�t meet the eyes around the table. I have only come here twice before, and I am intimidated by his friends, his brothers and their wives, their preoccupation with Coors light, Bacardi O, and cheap cigarettes. I�ve been nursing a mudslide all night; I just wanted to play cards.

Bill picks up the deck Jimmy has just shuffled for him. �All right, enough of this poker shit. Blackjack,� he tells the table as he begins to deal, two rounds of seven cards in an even circle. The rest of us groan. He almost always wins blackjack. If I were at all attracted, I tell myself, I would notice that his eyes are a fascinating shade of blue, not pale at all but the deep navy color of new denim. If I were attracted at all, I might like the soft fall of hair between the brim of his hat and the back of his neck.

Much later, waiting for Jimmy to finish his sloppy goodbyes in the kitchen, I catch Bill in the hallway, talk to him for a few minutes about a bar-hopping session that the four of us (Bill, me, the roommate, and Jimmy) had been meaning to organize. He is nice to talk to. Unlike some of his friends, he is still alert, still thinking surprising things. He is taller than I remember, now that I�m not wearing heels.

I check with myself, just in case. Nope. Still not attracted.

When Jimmy and I get back to the apartment, I remind him to take off his shoes before falling into the roommate�s bed. I am not tired yet, myself, so I stand out on the balcony for a good while, watching the stars shift and wondering why I never want the things I could have.

-stonebridge

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