It had been a busy day, and I was walking around San Francisco alone seeking some time with my own thoughts, and maybe some adventure. I was standing on a corner in the Mission. The air was cool, but humid. The sun began to set as I smoked a joint, scrolling Grindr on my phone in between puffs.
I put my joint out on the pavement, stepping on it to extinguish the cherry. As I glanced up this gorgeous man walked by. He was probably six feet tall, blue eyes, dark hair, with an energy that I was immediately drawn to.
We made eye contact.
I smiled, he smiled.
I glanced away, then looked again. He did the same. We were both grinning at this point.
He walked down the sidewalk another 10 or 15 steps, and looked back over his right shoulder. This time I was standing in the center of the sidewalk looking right at him. There was no mistaking the nature of this exchange now.
He stopped — I noticed that he had a cute butt— and slowly turned around with a nervous smile on his face.
I think I stopped breathing.
“Hello.” I said.
“Hi.” He replied with a smile.
I don’t remember who took the first step but we walked toward each other, and I extended my hand saying, “Hi, I’m Chris.”
This stunning man who was bold enough to act on a gut feeling replied, “I’m _______.“ (remember this blank, it will become important in a second)
“It’s really nice to meet you,” I said nervously, followed by something like, “I don’t want to keep you too long, but can I have your phone number?” He agreed and I texted him my name, and a photo of me. I closed my phone then asked, “can I hug you?”
He hugged me tight, and smiled.
We let go and said goodnight. I walked in one direction, and he went in the other. I glanced back a few more times, grinning from ear to ear, giddy at the idea that I had just managed to meet a cute guy the old-fashioned way.
I opened my phone and there was a “nice to meet you” message waiting for me. I started to save his number, opening a new contact in my phone, when my mind went suddenly, and completely blank.
“I’m _______.”
What did he say his name was? Oh fuck!
I decided to play it cool and own it. I texted him asking him to remind me of his name so I can save it. I apologized for forgetting his name like that. I blamed it on the weed.
It’s been about 20 hours since we met and he hasn’t replied. I suspect — for some reason — that he won’t. I do hope he is okay, wherever he is.
As for me, I may have forgotten his name, but I will never forget that moment and how it made me feel. A subtle reminder to look up from our phones every once in a while, and see who’s around.
Christopher J. Beale is a queer, polyamorous, journalist, producer, and radio host based in San Francisco. ChristopherJBeale.com @RealChrisJBeale
