The Yellow Envelope
The credits rolled and as J. picked up our buttery napkins and empty Coke cups (he is big into post movie cleanup – I dare you find a morsel of popcorn under his seat), I looked at my “Boy With the Pretty Eyes” and wondered if our start would have been different had Facebook been around in 1998.
J. and I went to a medium sized university that had a medium sized on-campus housing population. It was big enough that you didn’t know everybody’s name but you did start to recognize familiar faces.
I had first saw J. on a bus headed downtown. He was with a group of his floormates, as was I. I had heard a witty comment about a sex shop we were passing and I turned around in my seat to see who had elicited the laughs. It was J. And the first thing I noticed, he had the most amazingly blue eyes. We’re talking blue eyes of the Frank Sinatra/Joe McIntyre variety.
In my circle, he was immediately coined “The Boy With the Pretty Eyes.”
I spent a good month
stalking “creatively getting to know about” The Boy With the Pretty Eyes. (TBWPE). I asked around my floor, quizzed kids in my classes and sent a few e-mails to my friends from my hometown who went to the same university. A few recognized him, “Oh, I know who you’re talking about…he does have amazing eyes.” But no one knew anything about him.
He usually sat at a table with his floormates but occasionally brought the newspaper with him and enjoyed his eggs and bacon pouring over the day’s events. As someone who has read the newspaper everyday since The Challenger exploded (I was 8) this was a major turn-on. He lived in the residence furthest away from mine, but closest to my classes, so I saw him a lot on campus.
So to summarize: he has pretty eyes, reads the newspaper and lives on-campus. This was all the info my spies and I were able to compile.
I had to make a move. A boy with Joey McIntyre blue eyes who reads the paper doesn’t come into my life every day!
I debated making small talk with him in line at the cafeteria. Usually small talk is not a problem…I can talk to anyone, anywhere about anything. EXCEPT if I have a crush on that someone. Then I wind up stuttering, accidentally spitting or saying something about my period.
This was The Boy With the Pretty Eyes. I’ll be damned if I torpedo my first impression by spitting into his food or mentioning tampons.
One afternoon, in a fit of sheer insanity, I sat down at my desk and put pen to paper.
I was going to write The Boy With the Pretty Eyes a note. Yes, a note. It would be sharp, witty and to the point.
It wound up being three pages – single spaced. The first line read: “Hi (OK – not a bad start)I’m Nicole…but my friends and parole officer call me Nic!” (Sadly, sharp and to the point it was not…and the wittiness was mild at best.) I put it in a yellow envelope and promised myself I would give it to him.
A few days later, the stars aligned and we were in the cafeteria together at the same time. He was reading his paper and enjoying a sandwich. I walked over to him, placed the yellow envelope on his tray and said “This is the most immature thing I have ever done” and bolted towards the exit.
My roommate and I returned to our room and I was confident that Residence Security would be paying me a visit shortly. I was pretty sure that girls who give 3 page notes to boys they don’t know would be considered creepy. I checked my e-mail. There was a note in the inbox from a guy whose name I didn’t recognize.
It was from J.
A few days later we met and literally chatted the night away. (We watched the sun come up). He was planning on transferring to a school in his province when the semester was over. Within a month, he decided to stay and the rest is our history.
If Facebook was around in 1998, I would have known his name, relationship status and hometown within a day or two. I probably would have sent him a Friend Request and who knows what may have happened.
I’m sure a lot of relationships have started from Facebook.
But ours didn’t. It started with a yellow envelope, a red pen and 3 sheets of loose leaf. And a moment of personal insanity.
*this post is dedicated to “My Husband with the Pretty Eyes.” *