A few months back I wrote a post about how I met a girl at a bar. The pretext for that post was to write about the most memorable night of my life. However, by the end of the post I’d begun to consider what might have happened had I not met her at that bar.“What if?” can be a fun game sometimes. It can also be agonizing, sad, and frustrating. It’s almost always a pointless game though. Things happen one way, and unless you can change how they’ve happened (which you can’t), then it’s wise to be careful with “What if?”That’s why I don’t play “What if?” very often. But when I do play, I prefer to think of downside What Ifs rather than upside What Ifs. It’s better to wonder “What if I hadn’t accepted that job offer that turned into my dream job?” than it is to wonder “What if I’d held the leash tighter and Fido didn’t run in front of that car?”Better to ponder the downside of the first question, than the upside of the second question. That way you appreciate the job you have, instead of beating yourself up because you didn’t protect your dog.
Anyway, I mention “What if?” because it’s always the first thing that comes to mind when I think about the big hill.Sixteen years ago yesterday, on a very warm Thursday night, a friend and I went for a drive.Earlier in the evening I’d left a co-ed softball practice early when some big oaf ran over my sister at first base and we thought she might have a concussion. She and I stopped for ice cream, which is the universal concussion-detector, and determined she didn’t have a concussion. So I dropped her off at home and left.I met my friend and we tried to think of something to do. After a few minutes I said, “We could go see about that girl. I think she’s working tonight.”So I went to see about that girl.The girl lived in a town twenty-five miles away from me. We’d talked on AOL for the first time four days earlier. She’d sent me a picture, but I’d met enough people online to know that pictures can be deceiving. I had to see her in person.My friend and I drove twenty-five miles to the town where she worked. I’d sent her my picture also, and told her I might come see her at work someday, but I hadn’t told her that would be the day.I also hadn’t thought to look for the address of the Target where she worked.Even though the town where she grew up wasn’t too far, I’d never been there. It was just a name on a map as far as I knew. But come on, how hard could it be to find a Target store? They’re usually located in a bustling commercial area. I knew the town it was in. Go to the town, find the commercial area, find Target. Easy as pie.Or not.My friend and I drove up and down the three or four main thoroughfares in town with no luck. We passed grocery stores, Dairy Queens, McDonald’s, car dealerships, and strip malls, but no Target. We doubled back and covered streets we’d already driven on, just in case we’d somehow missed a 125,000 square foot Target store.Traffic was heavy. We spent more time at red lights than we did driving. We’d left my house shortly after 7:30. We watched eight o’clock, eight-thirty, nine o’clock, and nine-thirty all pass as we wandered aimlessly.I began to wonder if maybe the girl had invented the Target. Maybe she wasn’t interested and enjoyed making creepy AOL guys waste their time looking for her. Maybe she’d sent me a picture of someone else. Maybe she didn’t even exist.As we drove around and around, my friend and I had stopped our search on the south side of the town, just before a big hill that seemed to lead to the open rural farmland we thought bordered the area. We couldn’t see over the hill, but it looked awfully dark on the other side.Out of other options, I said, “Let’s check over the hill.”So we drove up the hill and as we got to the top I felt like Dorothy finding the Emerald City, or Columbus finding dry land. Spread before us was a mecca of twentieth-century America consumerism: Borders, Meijer, Office Depot, Jewel, Kohl’s, and, yes, Target!My friend and I screamed with delight as we descended the hill, feeling like a conquering army. The store closed at ten—only a few minutes away—so we had to hurry. I parked the car and we went inside.Almost as soon as we walked in the door I saw her. She wore Target’s required red shirt, a khaki skirt, brown shoes, and her long, blondish curly hair fell down almost the entire length of her back.She was walking toward us, and my friend noticed her at exactly the same time I did. The rational thing would have been to say something to her, but instead I just stared for a moment, then looked ahead, pretending like I wasn’t there to see her. My friend was less subtle and whisper-screamed “That’s her!” She looked at us, and I might have seen a smile.We kept walking.I wished that I said something to her. My friend and I walked around for a couple of minutes, and I promised I’d talk to her if we saw her again. But when she emerged from a back room through two swinging doors I maintained my silence. Idiot.We left.Later I found out that she knew it was me, and she was surprised I didn’t say anything. Much later—almost six months later—we talked on the phone for the first time and had our first date. Much much later we got married. Sixteen years later we’ve built a family and a life together.What if I hadn’t driven over that big hill?I don’t even want to think about it.PREVIOUS POST: What's Wrong with Inaction?IF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: In Online Dating, Beware of Ax Murderers+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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