Day Fourteen- Meeting Hero Hottie

   I was eighteen, in college and working part time at a photography studio in the mall. At least it was only supposed to be part time.
  I glanced at the clock again, and the lateness of the afternoon. I was scheduled off at 3:00 so I would have time to get to my English class at 4:00 o'clock but the big hand was already pointing to the six and my manager was being difficult about letting me leave since the studio was busy.
   But she had promised that on days I had class it wouldn't be a problem to leave on time, even during the busy holiday season. That was our agreement when she hired me. And being only eighteen I actually believed her when she said she understood the importance of showing up for class on time.
   I enjoyed photography and had wrongly assumed this was the perfect job to work in while I went to school. I had been mistaken and was not completely happy with my 'fast food photography' job.
   I finished up with my customer and turned to my manager.
  "I have to go. I'm going to be late."  I said, pointing to the time.
   Her lips pitched together, her eyes narrowing. The seconds ticked by as I held my breath, waiting for her to okay my leaving. She nods and turns to deal with the mess of the holiday Christmas card season.

    I drove the twenty minutes to my class, rushing through the building and quietly sliding into my seat. Class had barely started and the attendance sheet was still on the other side of the room. When the sheet of paper came over to me, I looked at hero hottie's signature. It had taken me a few classes to figure out who's name went with the cute guy across the room but I was pretty sure which one was his. The signature was a decisive and no nonsense lettering.
   We still hadn't talked, but he was the hottest guy in the class and the only one who had caught my attention. I had started college to get my degree, not spend time drooling after boys but here I was spending more time watching hero hottie from across the classroom instead of paying attention to the teacher. Lucky for me, passing English with an A wasn't a problem even though I spent the entire semester distracted.

   He still hadn't talked to me. In fact, he was very quiet, entering and leaving class quickly. And I was way too shy to initiate a conversation. Then the universe stepped in.

  I walked out to my car and curiosity took over. I watched hero hottie walk out to his car. I wanted to see what he was driving. A car can tell a lot about a person.
  Hero hottie walks over to a red car; I suppose profiling people based off their car choice would make more sense if I actually knew the names of the vehicles; but I discreetly watched him as he started unlocking his car. Then I was going to leave but something odd happened, so I stood beside my car, quietly watching. He was still trying to unlock the door. Moments passed as he still messed with the lock and then he knelt down, studying the lock and the key.
   I'm not sure where the courage came from. I didn't even think about what I was going to say, it just came out of my mouth, loud enough to be heard across the parking lot.
   "You're either having trouble with your key or you're admiring your paint job." My first chance to say something to him and I resort to sarcasm to catch his attention. But it must have worked...
   He turned, a bit startled and stared at me. Then he walked over to my car. "The key broke in the lock."
   "Seriously, the key broke in the lock? In the car door. I have never heard of that happening. Ever." I had to tease him a bit. It sounded like a poorly thought out pick up line.
   He nods. "Can you give me a ride to the gas station so I can call my Dad."
   Part of me was more than willing to give hero hottie a lift down to the gas station. It would be a chance to talk to him, spend some time with him. It was the perfect opportunity to catch his attention.
   "No. I can't. I'm sorry." I said. All those years of Mom's warnings not to give rides to strangers were very loud in my head and so I told him I couldn't.
   He frowns. "You can't?"
   "You're a stranger. I don't know you. You know." I must have sounded so young as I shrugged, hoping he would understand. It was just down to the gas station but it must have been all those years in big cities in Oregon. You just don't give rides to strangers.
   Confusion crossed his face but he nods. "I guess I can walk."
   I felt a bit guilty because he was definitely going to miss his next class by having to walk down to the gas station to find a phone and I almost changed my mind but I really didn't know who this person was.
   We started talking for a long time about everything and anything. Finally he writes his name and number down on a piece of paper.
   I had his phone number!! Even after refusing to help him out and drive him down to the gas station, he still wants to talk to me more.
  
   I was late for my next class but I didn't care. I was on cloud nine. I had met a cute boy and he gave me his phone number. And it happened because his key broke in the lock. When does that ever happen? Just when two shy people need a good kick in the rear to get a conversation going.
   From there, the rest is history. But hero hottie still likes to give me a hard time about not giving him a ride down to the gas station.
 
  Why do things happen as if they're supposed to happen? I'm not sure but I can say that I'm grateful for a broken key.

Monday Musings...

Change...

    Like the characters in stories, the ones we read or the ones we write, it's always about change. We are introduced to the character in the moment of their great change, when their entire world has fallen apart and they are vulnerable, broken, shattered in the inside. And throughout the story we travel with them as they find strength and possibly faith to carry forth from the depths of their despair and find a level of happiness suitable to the type of story we are reading. Obviously fairy tales having the 'they lived happily ever after' and a tragedy ending with death but with meaning. 

     I am writing in generalizations, obviously every story is different but the main concept is the same. We don't want to read a story about Bob who eats oatmeal everyday and then dies. What did he learn? Where was his growth? What was the change? 

      And so life is like our stories. Or more like our stories are like life. We are always changing, growing, learning. At least we should be. If we stop, then our minds turn to mush and not even zombies want to eat them. (Just kidding, I'm sure zombies eat even mushy brains.) 

       I think people avoid change though because it's painful. It hurts. What change in your life ever happened without making your heart hurt, or your eyes threaten to ruin your makeup or (gasp) make you face yourself in the mirror. That one hurts. The old can you handle what you actually see in the mirror trick. Stories have used this technique to show their characters their flaws, their weaknesses, themselves. Painful process. 

      Charles Dickens' used ghosts to force change in his character. I think that technique might frighten a person into an early grave. (grin) 

      People like to wait until the New Year to start changing but it's just another excuse to put it off. I think if we really wanted to change shouldn't we do on the first day of spring, a time of renewal, growth, nice weather? Not start in the dead of winter when our own doom and gloomy winter blues make it hard to accomplish change? 

      Realizing change is going to happen to us even if we fight it should make us more inclined to control our own destinies, our own fates. At least to a certain degree, I couldn't control the dryer dying neither can I save my old Buddy dog from his own fate of dying from cancer. I rather have a dead dryer than watching my wonderful canine friend suffer but some change we can't control. 

      But some change can be controlled, or at least directed. I may never be a well known author but I won't even have a chance to reach that point until I make an effort to change and accomplish things that put me on that path. One day I might actually grow broccoli that doesn't go right from stalk to yellow flowers without producing florets but I won't know that if I stop trying. Someday I might finish learning a foreign language but short of being plucked from my home and dropped in a foreign country that's not going to happen unless I make an effort.

      So if you were a character in a story, what change might you see? What change would you direct in yourself, your neighborhood, your community, your country? Many good things in history did not happen until a person came along and wrestled change to the floor by the horns. Painful, sometimes gory, but much better than just watching from the sidelines. 
      And it certainty beats having mushy brains.