The Guy

Jill entered the room in a swirl of cheap perfume. Her eyes were bright, excited. I sighed and put down my book.

“You’ll never guess!” she exclaimed, all but jumping up and down in place.

“Guess what?” I asked perfunctorily as I ran a hand through my hair and noted I needed a hair cut — the ends were feeling a bit scraggly.

“Are you even paying attention, Kate?! I met a guy. The guy!”

“Does the guy have a name? And what happened to the guy you met last month?”

She batted the air dismissively and perched on my desk with a dreamy sigh. “Oh, him? He was bad news. This guy is the real deal.”

“So give me the deets. How did you meet him, yadda yadda yadda.”

As Jill began relating her latest conquest, I drifted into the safety of my own personal thoughts again, making sure to plaster an attentive smile on my face. I wondered for the nth time when I would meet my own version of the guy. And if he even existed.

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