Conversing about Chemistry

It’s a strange thing to meet someone for the first time and chat like you’ve known them a lifetime. And then there are those that you’ve known for what seems like a lifetime but still can’t get past basic pleasantries and awkward pauses. So what separates one from the other? It’s this weird concept called chemistry, the attraction or repulsion of two individuals, collided by unfathomable circumstance.

On the one hand, there’s a chance meeting. It’s a coffee shop, modern and trendy with a communal table that the patrons gravitate towards like a coven of Macbook-wielding worshippers. It’s Wednesday, late afternoon, the sun streams in through large storefront windows, inviting a steady stream of pedestrians a chance to glance inside. If they were to follow those sun beams, entering at a wide angle, they would observe them warmly illuminating one particular patron seated casually near the window. The effect is akin to a celestial highlighting of her wavy, oak-rich, shoulder length hair. She’s dressed business casually, a pressed blouse with a short cropped jacket, muted achromatic colours, sharply contrasting with her bright intelligent hazel eyes. There’s an open spot at the corner of the pale chestnut table; a spot that practically quivers with excitement and anxiety. I sit down next to her, and start to look for an outlet, that for all the espresso based amenities that this establishment possesses, does not exist. Actually, they exist but are ostensibly covered, mocking my 2 year-old laptop and its lack of stamina. She notices out of the corner of her eye. She comments about my predicament indirectly, and commiserates immediately. It is apparently equally outrageous to her that this shop’s proprietors are too elitist to provide electric allowances to commoners with geriatric computers. My heart smiles almost as wide as my face. I tell her my computer has 15 minutes of life maximum. For conversation sake, I hope it’s less.

I turn again to my computer and strain to make out shadowy forms on my desktop. Apparently, the lowest brightness setting does not permit any actual productivity--unless you count eventually finding the Firefox shortcut as productive. Not actually productive given that attempts to connect to several available wireless networks yield only network connections, and nothing of the pleasures of the internet. Seriously, has there ever been a time when I wanted to connect to a network without it being social? In the end, these issues are parenthetical because my focus is elsewhere. She is bent over a notepad, writing in neat, feminine bullet-points. Seems like a lot to do in one day. I make a mental note to comment on this. I make a mental note to actually say something else to her. Mental notes suck. I stare out the window and turn to stare at the practically black computer screen. I catch a sideways glance at her during this transition and she seems deep in thought. I squint and cup my hands to protect the screen from the glare. Clearly, I am invested in staring intently at nothing. She asks how my computer is doing. I nearly jump out of my skin. Somehow I remain calm enough to reveal my working charade. I show her my blank screen with an ember of embarrassment. Remarkably, this sparks a pleasant conversation on electrical alternatives. Could the store not provide a power bar with a time limit? Solar power would be both environmentally and cost efficient. What if each patron was given the opportunity to ride an exercise bike? Then you could workout and email simultaneously. Think of the potential profits when customers seek to replace lost fluids with coffee based beverages (which by the way are inherently dehydrating)! She’s holding her own in a well articulated rant about electrical sockets. It’s quite possible that this may be the strangest conversation of our lives. Somehow it feels right.

She smiles a lot but laughs very little. At least it’s not a very audible laugh. The smile is genuine and it punctuates each end point in our sarcastic banter. It absolutely lights up the corner of the room when it comes. The combination of her sunny disposition and the sun accentuating her features makes me glow by association. Back to the smile. It arrives at a sneaky, coquettish angle as she turns her face slightly to one side and looks at you through the corner of her eye. She has remarkable eye contact, which allows me to re-observe that she has very pretty eyes. When she talks she remains quite still, her hands resting lightly on her lap. When she gets up to retrieve her cellphone, her legs appear as she rises. They are shapely, silhouetted in black pants. She returns and our conversation flows seamlessly, fitting as snugly as her pants. 

She notices the same things I notice. Why are you the only one without a Macbook? I’m not trendy enough to be here. She notices things I’ve ceased to notice. Does your laptop have electrical tape as a decoration? I am deluged with playful chiding. I chide back. We find that we have much in common that is quite uncommon. I struggle to find Scrabble partners. We ponder the meanings of dinner versus supper (apparently dinner is the largest meal, whereas supper is the evening meal, imprecise because a meal could technically be both) and the implications of social networks in interpersonal and occupational spheres. We run the gamut of demographic questions, which only seem to make her more interesting. I learn that she is some crazy Spanish, Polish, Slovenian, pan-European mixture. This explains the attractiveness of her features, they are the best of many cultures. I learn that in essence, she meets people for a living, in an effort to promote a tech-based company. This seems fascinating, that her aims are almost dialectical, in that she is fusing faceless technology with personal intimacy. She seems to embody this ideal as she admits to having every possible social networking tool. Oddly, and charmingly, she reserves Facebook as a more personal avenue for communication. Facebook never seemed so cuddly. She invites me to Friend her, an honor which she apparently reserves for those she cares about. I’m quite sure that there is no higher honor. She asks to exchange contact information, so we can reconvene over mutually anticipated board games. I think to myself, wait, this shouldn’t be so easy, why is this so easy?  I can’t get my phone out fast enough. I look at my watch, we’ve been talking for 55 minutes. I check again, it seems incongruous that 55 minutes can feel so richly short. We shake hands and make promises to see each other when she comes back to town. I feel slightly cheated that she doesn’t live in town. That must be the catch. I’m treated to one more smile. I savour it as I leave our sunlit corner. As I walk away I see her in the window, her back turned towards the store, social networking through her phone. A chance, catalytic encounter between two random souls. The feeling that this meeting was perhaps not so random, a profoundly exciting déjà vu, that somehow this was done before and is bound to re-occur. A deep, settled smile at the boundless possibilities.