Transplanted Life
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Met a guy yesterday
Not that that's anything terribly unusual; one meets people every day, and statistically half of them are likely to be male. It's the chatting and exchanging phone numbers and stuff.

I met him at the Brattle Theater; I'd gotten off the subway at Harvard Square so that I could do my Wednesday-night comic book run before seeing a movie. Since I had a little extra discretionary income this week, I looked through the manga a little more than usual, eventually picking up the first volumes of Planetes and Cheeky Angel for different reasons. It left me with a sort of in-between amount of time - not enough to get a bite to eat, but enough that I had some time before the movie.

I took my usual seats front-and-center - well, not my usual ones, there were people sitting in those, so I wound up in the second row and slightly to the right. It is, I think, sort of an unspoken rule that if you have a choice the the matter, it's polite to choose a seat such that those seats in the four basic directions are not occupied by someone outside your party. This also makes it easier to read subtitles if you're like me and tend to slouch in your seat somewhat.

Anyway, I had ten minutes to kill, so I fumbled in my bag for a comic to read, and the guy behind me (and to the left) leans forward and asks if I'm a big Japanaphile, since we're seeing a Takeshi Kitano movie and the first thing out was Cheeky Angel. Not particularly, I say, I like movies and comics generally.

Ah, he says. Mind if I use a line?


You're pretty, smart enough that you're seeing an arty Japanese movie instead of Are We There Yet?, and have an attractive tomboyish streak with the Batman comics, so how come you're coming alone?

Ah, I say, that is a line. Quite honestly, I say, my ability to trust is shot all to hell.

I'd just like to point out that I'm eminently trustworthy.

Well, I say, who says I'm talking about not being able to trust others? I realize as it comes out of my mouth that not have I somehow fallen into flirting, but I'm doing so in a racier manner than I'd planned. Great, I think, he's going to look at the smart stacked brunette and figure she's easy pickings.

Fortunately, the lights go down, and I think, maybe he'll forget about me in a couple hours. But, no, I stay through the end of the credits, as is my wont, and he's still there. He says his name is Chet, I say I'm Marti, and we start walking in the same direction. He's actually kind of funny, and good-looking in an unassuming way. He turns one way at JFK Street, though, and sees I'm about to cross, and so we exchange numbers then.

As he's walking away, I call his name. "Chet," I say, "I know this is a really weird question, but have you ever had your mind transferred from one body to another, or been involved with that in any way?"

"No," he says, "is that a problem?"

I give him a smile, like I'm joking, and say it has been in the past.

"Well," he says, "I can see where the trust issues come from." He waves.

I feel good enough to temporarily forget I haven't eaten since lunch, and keep walking home.

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