February 25, 2000

So there I was, singing along with the band Saturday night, scanning the crowd for familiar faces, when I saw her up by the stage.

I couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across my face when I thought back to our pleasant conversation at the library during which she actually told me she was going to be at the show.

Pausing for a moment, I considered the rarity of the situation that was unfolding. She told me she was going to be here. I told her I was going to be here. Somehow, she still decided to show up.

Who knew?

Not trying to act overly anxious, I completed my gaze around the bar, gave a quick nod to Chet and Eddie, slammed my drink, ordered another and headed toward the stage.

As I walked up, I tried to think of any opening lines that would work well to break the proverbial ice and lead into yet another deep discussion — or as deep as one can get two feet from the speakers.

I ruled out the outdated and ineffective, “Ya come here often?”

And I decided against “You know, you must be really tired. Because you’ve been running through my head for weeks.”

There was no way that I was going to use Eddie’s favorite opener, “How’s about you and me square off in a naked Jell-O ticklefight?”

Nope. I wasn’t going to try to be cheesy or cocky or challenge her to a gelatin-covered wrestling match. I just wanted to say hi and maybe dance a bit.

So I did.

I said hi. She said hey. She gave me a one-armed, don’t-spill-our-drinks-this-time half-hug. I gave her a smile. Then we danced.

After one song of synchronized side-by-side swaying, I noticed her bottle was getting empty, so I offered to buy her a new one.

With an oh-that’s-so-sweet look that I wish I could capture on film, she turned and said, “That would be great, thanks,” but then she added, “Except I’ve already got one coming. Oh, here it is right now.”

I turned around and it (the beer) was being delivered by him (some guy other than me) so then I (the chump) walked back to my boys and told them the short, yet sad tale of my frustration.

“Maybe he’s just a friend or cousin or something,” said Walt, always the optimist.

“She was probably just trying to scam a free drink or make her boyfriend jealous,” added Eddie, always the pessimist.

“Dude, you’ve had two conversations with this girl and you’re bummed she’s hanging out with another guy. So does three conversations mean you’re engaged?” asked Chet, always the realist.

“I just thought we had a connection,” I replied, feeling a tad stupid for being so melodramatic.

“Maybe you did. And that’s great. Or maybe she just felt bad for spilling on you the first time and felt sorry for you the second time because she knew you don’t understand the library.” Sometimes I hate Chet and his damn voice of reason. “Regardless, you need to slow down a bit.”

“That’s cool,” I shrugged, trying to maintain some sort of composure.

“Either that or we can drag the guy outside and beat him down.”

Wow. While that sounded somewhat entertaining, violence is never the answer. Except in Toughman competitions or on MTV’s “The Real World.”

No, I’m just going to play it cool and take things one day at a time. Just like Schneider on that awesome 1980s sitcom.

If the guy is her boyfriend, more power to him — he’s got himself a winner. And if he’s just a friend, I’m sure I’ll have other opportunities to dance with her when it’s a bit less awkward.

In fact, we talked about the Big 12 tourney, and she said something about going down to Kansas City, so maybe our paths will cross down there.

After all, life doesn’t get better than meeting up with someone special while swimming through a sea of Cyclone fans at a Kansas City bar.

I do love the simple things.