Meeting Cute: A Story Which, to an Extent Surprising Even to Myself, Is True

      OK, this might be a bit late for Valentine's, but not long ago I was going through some old writing files when I came across this piece that I first wrote in a slightly different form back in the 90's. It was for some kind of essay contest about "First Love" sponsored by Random House (didn't win, but got Honorable Mention). If you hate stories about couples "meeting cute," you should avert your eyes at this point.

      There are people who don’t believe in love at first sight, who simply can’t credit the notion that such a life-altering experience can happen in the same time it takes to decide between paper or plastic. Many of these same people are fully capable of forming an instant dislike of someone—God knows I can—but somehow that leap in the opposite direction seems too farfetched. These people are idiots. Here’s how I know.
      The first time we ever spoke, she ran up to me frantically, grabbed the front of my shirt, and said, “Make it work! You've got to make it work!” There are, I suppose, some situations in which this could be viewed as a downright promising way to begin a relationship. The truth, however, was far from romantic. Like me she was an English Lit graduate student, only she was hopped up on Diet Pepsi and M&M’s, staring a major paper deadline in the face. As she clutched a fistful of my shirt in despair we stood in the computer writing lab, where I tutored semi-literate freshmen and baby-sat the bank of computers and printers that were available for the students' use.
      I followed her glare to where one of the printers gloated in malevolent silence, refusing to spit out the last five pages of her research paper. Her eyes cut to the clock on the wall. Five minutes until class. Five minutes to get those five pages. Her tone shifted, uncomfortably, from supplication to menace: “Make. It. WORK!”
      Fortunately for me and my shirt, the problem proved easy enough to fix; soon she was gathering up her paper and running out the door. On the way out, however, she shot me The Smile--a loquacious smile, I thought, bursting with meaning. “Sorry I was so rude,” the smile said; “Thank you,” it said; “My hero,” it said. And I still maintain that, as a sort of coda, the smile even added, “You're kinda cute.” My spirit instantly grew to a ridiculous height, and I fell in love.
      A Happy Ending, however, proved unlikely. We had a mutual acquaintance whom I literally chased down that day. “So-oo-o... has she got a boyfriend?” I asked nonchalantly, pretending that my every hope for a happy future did not hang on the answer.
      Oh yes. Long time. Very serious. Expected to marry.
      My spirit fell from its enormous height and made a nasty mess on the sidewalk.
      But all was not lost. She was back in the writing lab the very next day. And, as a “thank you/I’m sorry” present, she brought me a little bag of gumballs tied up with a red ribbon. Gumballs! The most romantic token of affection one can give short of an outright proposal. Better than diamonds. She had noticed me! I was no longer just an anonymous computer geek. Suddenly, I existed in her world as someone to whom you might give gumballs. My broken spirit leapt back up from its heap on the sidewalk and danced a little happy dance. I had a chance!
      So go right on denouncing love at first sight, you sad, lonely, dateless cynics out there, but know this: we celebrate our eighteenth wedding anniversary this week, and the printer on our home computer works just fine.