damonjustisntfunny.com

As with most things in life, there are two opinions one can have about the immediate finding and kissing of #6 four and half hours after touchdown. One, was that I had a book to write and a trip to take and the whole In Search of #6 concept was intended to keep me amused and find me a superficial kiss and a lot of amusing anecdotal tales that I could relate in a novel; and if I could have just held out those two days in Issaquah the book had the potential for being much funnier for what good was a story that ended the moment it began? I was going to go on a trip, get a little lip, and write a cute quip.

The second perspective is that I was an idiot for having waited any longer than the moment it became obvious that two people were desiring to kiss one another. Forget the book, forget the trip, forget the quip: there were lips that needed kissing and only one set up for the job. Ben, obviously, was of this mindset.

The former perspective, however, is what I had initially latched onto when Ben and I finally retired to private rooms for the night (private from each other, not necessarily lacking other people). Who I was with shall be explained in some detail later, but, let it be said now: that she was beautiful and someone I had often thought of kissing though I had never imagined it would come about or be later written about in a travelogue. So, there I was and I attempted for a solid one half of one hour to follow my standard practice paper when it came to kissing despite my Search for #6. And my standard was, quite simply: not to do it.

But don’t think me shallow, cold, and calculating, a man looking to take advantage of the best possible means to write a clever account of events — the book deal wasn’t the only reason for holding out. Secretly, that was the excuse I used to protect myself from the truth, and the truth is that I was scared to kiss her. I was scared of what it would mean and what it would entail and what it would do to my safe, protected, sheltered lifestyle in the foothills of New Hampshire. I reasoned with myself:

“Let’s not start anything now, Mr. Timm. We are miles away from home and, although Seattle is nice, we have made certain promises not to move in with anyone in the immediate future. Best to wait. Hold off. Take a rain check. Don’t want to go getting ourselves into anything too hefty. Don’t want any broken hearts or hurt feelings. Best to look the other way. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

But I didn’t. And reevaluating how obstinate I had been in the past (consider my track record of weeks and months of waiting and pondering) it is, by all accounts, an amazing thing how quickly I succumbed. I must be getting old. I knew that it wasn’t such a good idea to be kissing someone and then leaving on a five week bike trip; especially with a person who lived 3,000 miles away from where I would return; especially with her. I knew all this and yet I did it anyway. So perhaps I have changed. And I am better for it.

I had found #6. The search was over.

Previous Page | Next Page