"It sounds like you have a tale to tell! . . ."

Jason Carter's words surprised me.  I thought he wouldn't remember our earlier conversation, as we sat there together inside Doug's exhibit booth at the convention.  I had somehow gotten on the topic of this one particular girl that caught my attention throughout the con.  She was beautiful, a brunette angel -- demure, fair-skinned, wearing a no-frills summer dress, with dark brown eyes that broke into cascades of sparkles when she smiled and long brown hair that draped perfect narrow-boned shoulders.  With legions of tanned, busty barbie-doll models displaying themselves at artists' booths -- "booth-babes" is what Rip called them -- designed to get the attention of waves of attendees, it was this understated girl with light makeup and simple attire that utterly captivated me for the last two days straight.  What was it about her?

We sat across the aisle from each other in the crowded, busy dealer's hall, each part of our respective artists' entourages, her at a booth with a very famous artist and the obligatory modelbot.

I don't remember who caught whose glance first.  A catching of eyes followed by the addition of a shy smile, lasting barely half a moment.  But I caught myself continuing to look in her direction, and half the time I would look up to find her already glancing at me.  Each time we acknowledged the glance with a polite smile and a gentle breaking of eye contact.

There was something sincere, something pure and delicate about her, amidst all the collagen and artificial tans and exaggerated curves and buried personalities.  In a microsecond-look that she gave, so much information sent across that eye-to-eye conduit -- her sense of curiosity, her sweetness, her subtle shyness that was so endearing.  Her thoughts and perceptions at work behind those eyes.  A calm, understated maturity, perhaps from weathering past storms and battles.  Her tender fears and insecurities, perhaps at this moment about being scorned -- rejection in a cold return stare.  Lord knows I know what that feels like.

But from the first shared glance, I felt a minuute & imperceptible connection with her.  There was nothing coy from her ... nothing put-upon.  She was heartfelt.  She glowed.  She was beautiful.

Doug caught me staring.  "Vince.  Vince!"  Jarred out of my schoolboy daydream, I snapped my head over in his direction, to find him grinning broadly at me.  He had totally busted me.  I suddenly realized how obvious my staring was, right in the middle of this convention.  With a wrinkled look on my face, I painfully slapped my hands to my eyes and shook my head as if trying to sober up.  Doug laughed.

But a little later, I looked over again ... this time she met my gaze, and we held on each other.  She gave me a warm, long smile ... a gift handed to me, a gift of 'thank-you'.  Convention-goers walking across our field of view slowed to a slow-motion crawl.  Her eyes sparkled at me.

I melted.

The din of the background noise and chatter picked up again.  I could feel my heart beating fast and a fluttering in my throat.  I think they refer to this as 'adrenalin', ladies and gentlemen.

I wanted to fetch her flowers, cook her breakfast, carry out her trash.  Can I paint your house for you?  Buy you a quintuplet of labrador puppies?  How about a beach for you to play with them on?

I decided to go take a walk to see if I could find that screw that had come loose in my head.

Later that afternoon, I found another member of their booth, the modelbot (I later found out her name was Marla), talking to Doug about having a portrait done.  I lightheartedly asked Marla to tell her brunette friend "that I have the absolute biggest crush on her ..."  Marla laughed agreeably.  "I know, she has the clearest skin, I'm so jealous."

But I could not have predicted that, a few minutes later, Marla would actually be saying something to the brunette girl and gesturing in my direction.  She was smiling and listening.  They both looked up and over at me on cue, both smiling.  Suddenly caught off-guard, I could do nothing but smile bashfully.  I felt like a schoolboy again, on the playground at recess.  They both laughed -- giggled, really -- and she waved sweetly at me.  I think I was beginning to forget how to breathe at this point.

The con would be over in an hour.  I had to let her know how I felt.  I would be kicking myself for the rest of my days if I didn't pass along my growing fondness for her.  It looked like she and the artist might have been an item, but I didn't care ... she deserved to know how enchanting she was, regardless of who it came from.

She and he got up a short time later, walked over to the booth next to theirs to look at an exhibit.  I got up and walked out into the aisle, seeing if I could find just ten seconds where his attention was diverted away from her and hers from his.  I must've been crazy to want to do this with him nearby.  But I didn't know if I would get another chance -- this moment felt right, and I've learned not to hesitate if presented with an opportunity.  They separated, and I had my chance.  I walked up to her -- where was my nervousness? -- and got her attention with a gentle "excuse me" and a tap on a shoulder.  A lovely, smooth, fair-skinned shoulder.

She turned around, and her eyes slightly widened to see me there, standing in front of her.  Her eyes were like a doe's, a doe that paused in the forest to observe the scenery before bounding off for a meadow.  She was just slightly less than my height.  Milliseconds before, I glanced down at her nametag, worn at hip-level, her name now burned into my memory.

I opened up my speech in the oddest way ... but I wanted to somehow show her, not just tell her.

"Do you know the feeling you get when you meet your favorite movie star?  Butterflies in your stomach, and all that?  ... that's how I'm feeling right now."  Her face was blooming into the most radiant of smiles.  "I want to tell you, you are the most beautiful woman at this con."

She was more flattered than I could've ever hoped for.  She couldn't stop smiling.  She told me that was so incredibly sweet of me to say, and thanked me.  We shook hands -- again, where was my nervousness? my hands should be sweating like crazy -- and we introduced ourselves to each other.  I could feel a strange warmth spreading through my ribcage.  She spoke again -- her voice was a precious song with no ending.

"Thank you.  You've -- you've made my day ..."

I was smiling ear-to-ear, feeling vaguely lightheaded, now beginning to leave and bidding her a "take care", realizing my hand was still shaking hers.  I began to release the handshake while I pulled away from her & said goodbye, fingers gently slipping along the length of her hand in staggered increments, like the scene in an action film where the hero is holding onto someone about to fall to their death, and the grasp the hero has on the other's hand keeps slipping, and slipping.  Prolonging that final moment of contact, delaying the inevitable.  We broke our touch with smiles on our faces & eyes locked on eyes.

Later, I made sure she had my phone number, with an invitation -- if she ever found herself in San Francisco and wanted to look me up, I would be delighted.  Sure, she had a boyfriend.  But I didn't know her situation -- perhaps she desired a change like I did.  And I wanted to give her the option -- it would be her decision if she wanted to take it.  I just couldn't let it end with no possibility of further contact.  She was pricelessly special to me.  My racing heart and stomach full of butterflies, surrounded by my family of buddies, was proof positive of that.

Is it possible to feel love for someone from such a tiny window of connection?  Of course.  There are countless types and moments of love, each with their own style and flavor and character.  Some motivated by long-term friendship blossoming into something more, some motivated by need or comfort or fear, some motivated by nostalgia on the face of someone who reminds you of someone else.  Regardless of which it may be, the light that glows and flutters through you is unmistakable.  You can't describe it, can't break it down into components.  Once you've felt it, you just know.  When you find yourself blessed enough to be allowed to feel it again, even for a small window of time, you just know.

www.douglasshuler.com
www.jasoncarter.com
www.marladuncan.com
www.comic-con.org
www.mysterymen.com