In retrieving my boat from its mechanic at Deception Pass, I found myself riding a sequence of impossibly slow Whidbey Island buses. Early on, I noticed a fellow passenger, a young woman with a singularly distracting quality. Jesus, she looks like Becky. I mean, she really looks like her. Sparkly and pretty and fat elbows and everything. I ducked a man who was probably homeless and clearly mentally retarded. (I duck everyone nowadays, so don't think ill of me. Yet.) Becky Jr. smiled at him, and he sat next to her. You asked for it, lady. There'll be no getting rid of him now. They conversed, she asking questions not out of forced politeness, but out of genuine interest in this weathered soul. Hmm. That's like Becky, too. Graceful. They talked, they laughed, and the man went on his way, nodding and smiling at me as he disembarked. I smiled back, nearly pulling a muscle in my face. Later we changed buses, and Becky Jr. and I were still together. Perhaps sensing another charity case, she struck up a conversation, and, as with her namesake, soon we were having a lively, lovely conversation. We spoke animatedly of our lives and origins, and of course our plans for that day. I was on my way to my boat, which I would drive the length of Whidbey to my waiting car. She was going to the Puyallup Fair to see some act I'd never heard of. It was delightful, one of the best conversations I've had since moving to Seattle, and it was all her making it work. Finally, toward the end, she proposed combining our two days; she would join me on the boat-ride back, then we'd go to the fair. (Man, I love when women step up like that.) It was intriguing. Jesus, though, she looks like Becky. Didn't Becky have relatives on Whidbey Island? I declined, feeling residual bad taste well up in the back of my throat. Huh. She's great, yet I'm not interested. Sigh. I ain't ready for this yet. Nope. Stupid A.W. Did I politely decline, perhaps even leaving the door open a crack? Did I at least decline graciously, as she deserved? Oh hell no.
"No thanks. I went to the Puyallup Fair a couple years ago."
Smoooooooth.
Slam! goes the door. I think laughing in her face would have been less rude than the dismissive crap that spewed out of my mouth.
Busboy ain't right.