It had gone well. No doubt about it. Five minutes into their conversation, they had been laughing and comparing notes about their loves and lives as if they had been together for years.
She hadn’t been looking for romance and hadn’t expected the class would be the mother lode. Not a sport type, her goal had been to escape the house when her roommate Maria’s very hot boyfriend came by regularly Thursday night.
It was the last yoga class of the session and drop-ins were welcome so What the hell, she’d said to herself, Give it a try. Then the instructor walked in. What a dude. Good looking didn’t begin to describe him: boyishly disheveled, teddy bear snuggly, swatches of black hair and a smile like cracking open a bottle of bubbly.
As soon as she began the session, between puffs and huffs, she vowed to sign up for the next session and the next. When the class ended, she struggled to think of way to strike up a conversation.
When she realized she had forgotten to hand in her drop-in receipt, she headed up for the kill. “Great class,” she said, head on side with a winsome smile. He mumbled a “thanks” and explained he wouldn’t be teaching the next term. “I’m off to Italy for six weeks,” he said. “Lucky you,” she said, “My favourite country.” She hadn’t actually been there but she loved pasta.
He swooped down to pick up a flyer on the sidewalk.
“The Bong Go concert,” he noted, “Are you going?”
“Yeah, tomorrow night.”
“You managed to get tickets?” he said. “You’re a sharp one.”
Her friend had gotten them but how was he to know.
She considered suggesting they have a coffee, but the only place to get coffee was from the machine and that hardly sounded like the start of a great romance. They joked about music …then, suddenly he turned and headed towards his car. “Nice meeting you,” he called back.
She had moved off towards the bus when he shouted “Hey” at her. She twirled around quickly, brandishing a smile. Here is where he’d ask for her e-mail or phone number.
“You’re shirt,” he called.
“It’s from the Gap?” she said, pleased she’d paid extra bucks for a cool look.
“It’s inside out. The label’s outside.”
She grabbed her throat and felt the offending tag, flapping in the wind. “For the cause,” she laughed. What cause she couldn’t say.
~ Melodie Corrigall
Originally published in: Short Humour Magazine, http://www.short-humour.org.uk/7writersshowcase/forthecause.htm