Work Text:
https://philadelphia.craigslist.org/d/missedconnections/jonwithoutanh
I was at Spruce Street Harbor Park last Thursday, the 7th, at around 2:30 PM. I have red hair, blue eyes, and a too-big nose, but you didn’t seem to mind. I was wearing a yellow sundress with the kind of straps that tie up at the shoulders. I’m really good at making bows but I don’t know why the straps on my left shoulder kept coming undone and it was getting to be pretty annoying, until you. You came up to me and offered your shoelace. I stood there staring at you and I guess there’s no point explaining this now, after everything that happened, but I was sort of frozen standing there picturing you bent over and pulling the shoelace out of your shoe. That must have took you a minute or two and I was just picturing you doing that and looking at me, how you were planning on giving your shoelace to a complete stranger. How weird that is. How wonderfully kind that is. How brave it is, because honestly, it’s a little gross. I mean, it’s a shoelace, and it must touch the ground a lot, right? But I didn’t think of that part, of how gross shoelaces are, then. I was too busy thanking you and tying my dress up. You were my height perfectly and I felt like our noses could touch, if one of us scooched up an inch. Anyway. You made fun of me a little for wearing a sundress in November, and I said it wasn’t so cold yet, and it wasn’t. It was one of the last good days, a miraculous 75, and I was taking full advantage. That’s what I told you, anyway. I also hadn’t gotten around to driving up to my parents’ house yet to pick up my fall and winter clothes, so I was making do with a lot of weird layering and one denim jacket. It’s a three hour drive to their place and I’ve been having a crazy busy semester. I’m in art school. I don’t think we got around to talking about that. Anyway. Before you came over to me I was lying in one of the hammocks and I think you were doing something with your friends, I saw them pointing at you while we walked around, but you kept ignoring them and that was fine by me. You told me your name was Jon, J-O-N without an H, and I thought that was interesting, and I really hope it’s you reading this, Jon. As we walked by the water we found out we’re both from Winterfell, you growing up just an hour away and four years ahead of me. We talked about the fierce cold of winter up there and about the used bookstore owned by the old man who made the best hot chocolate and gave it out for free, all winter long, every year. Neither of us could remember his name. We both hoped he was still around. You said you’d text your mom and ask her. I said I’d ask my parents, too. Did you ever find out, Jon? You made a joke then, when we were talking about home, you said thermals are like a religion back there. You blushed like you weren’t used to being funny, or you didn’t think you were funny. (You’re right—you’re not.) But I laughed, because it was so cute.
We reached the end of the boardwalk where the museum/aquarium is, where they rent out the paddleboats. You asked if I wanted to. I really wanted to. It’s not a long walk after you turn the corner to the shack where you pay to rent the paddleboats and they give you the life vests, but it felt long. I told you about how I lived ten minutes away from the park, walking, and how often I go there alone, and how I always watch people in the paddleboats, going up and down that sad little roped off section of river, and how there was nothing really special about it but how it was kind of special, how I always thought about how I wanted to do it, but how it didn’t seem like an activity to do alone. You told me you understood, but that it was useful and brave to try and do things alone. Even if it’s scary. Even if it’s lonely. (I liked that.) You said you admired me for that, for coming to the park alone when so many other people would be more comfortable at home in front of their TVs. You said you try to go to the movies alone, that it feels safe in the dark, how it’s a little community. I remember filing that away, thinking I’d like to try it. We got to the paddleboat station, where you insisted on paying, and you helped me buckle my vest on. I remember holding my breath until I felt like I was going to explode, because your hands felt so big on my shoulders and my arms and my waist. So warm, too, like a furnace. You told me to pick the boat but for some reason I got shy and insisted you pick it, and you picked the swan one, and god I swear I fell for you right then. I really wanted the swan. We clambered in, laughing about how hard it was to stay steady but you kept me safe, steadying the boat until I was seated safely. Your arms were like iron bands or something, at some point I felt it across my thighs and I almost passed out. You were trying to keep me from falling out, I know, and you pulled your arm back as soon as I was safe, but still. I couldn’t stop thinking about how that felt for a few minutes. We paddled up and down that little strip of river. You did most of the work, but you didn’t make me feel bad about it. I’ve been to the Taj Mahal, I’ve seen the Northern Lights, and I swear being in that swan with you in the middle of the day felt close to that. Like being in the presence of something natural and awe-inspiring and wondrous. I didn’t say any of that then, of course. Even someone as sweet as you might have found it a little off. But it’s easier to be brave, here. Because I think you know what I’m talking about. I think you felt it too. The sun hit your eyes and they didn’t do that thing, where brown eyes turn gold, instead they were the exact color of the hot chocolate the nice old man in Winterfell used to give us. I think that’s the best drink I ever had.
When we were getting out of the paddleboat your hand touched my thigh and even though it was an accident I saw something in your eyes then too, like you wanted to kiss me. I wanted to kiss you too. But you helped me out of my life vest instead, and that time I didn’t know if your hand grazing the side of my breast was an accident too, or on purpose. I was standing with my back to you, so I couldn’t see your face. I felt the ends of your curls on my bare shoulders as you leaned in close. I felt your breath on my skin, and I shivered, feeling the cold for the first time that day, and feeling unbearably hot too. The rental lady cleared her throat and I felt embarrassed, so I kind of blurted out that thing about wanting ice cream??? You’re too fucking nice so you didn’t laugh at me, instead you gently told me it was November and all the ice cream places in the park were closed. We split an order of crabfries instead, sitting on one of the old fashioned picnic tables. You gave me your sweater to sit on without saying a word. I don’t know about you but that kind of thing is super rare, at least it has been in my life. That wordless connection. That instant kindness. I know it’s such a small thing, you putting down your sweater so my dress wouldn’t get dirty from that old park bench and my thighs wouldn’t get scratched. But it’s huge, too. And I thought about it the whole time were eating crabfries, yes, even during our spirited breakfast foods debate. (Bacon wins, why is this even a question?) Afterwards we kind of hovered for a minute and I knew I’d never forgive myself if you disappeared into thin air, so I asked if you’d walk me home. I didn’t have the guts to do more than that, but that’s all you needed. It wasn’t until we were at the traffic light about to cross Columbus that I remembered my book and my one denim jacket, still in the hammock I was lying in before you came. You told me to wait and rushed over, and they were still there. A miracle.
There’s a million ways to get to my place from the park but we took Pine, and you smiled when I said it was one of my favorite streets. We played a game where we took turns picking a house and telling stories about the people who lived there. We got to my place much too quickly. You asked if you could come in to charge your phone and I said yes, much too quickly, and we both laughed a little and looked away because we both knew you weren’t coming in to charge your phone. And that I wanted you to.
When you kissed me you tasted like the spearmint gum you must have popped into your mouth at some point when I wasn’t looking, maybe to cover up the fries taste. I hadn’t made any such effort and I’m pretty sure I tasted like grease and paprika, but you didn’t seem to mind. It was the way your hands moved over my body and in my hair. The way you instantly got to your knees and loved me with my sundress still on, your shoelace holding it up. I don’t want to get this flagged as porn or whatever so I’ll stop there. But I will say that there’s nothing like that mouth of yours, or your hands.
Afterwards, I was nodding off on the couch with my head on your chest, but I kept complaining because I wanted to finish the season of Brooklyn 99 with you (we were, miraculously, at the exact same place on our separate binge watches). You made me coffee, which was really sweet and intimate, even though we’d just had sex. Something about the way you moved around my kitchen like it was yours, too.
But once the coffee hit, you made a whole pot and I had two and a half cups which is a lot for me, we both kind of forgot about the show. We were making out for hours, and it was long dark by the time we stumbled into my bedroom, giggling and already naked, and made love again, this time exquisitely slow.
I woke up several times that night, disoriented and deliriously happy, and we were tangled up together every time.
You didn’t want to leave in the morning, and I didn’t want you to either. But you had work and I had school. We slept in, you were in a rush, saying you were already late to your shift and you’d barely be able to stop at home and shower and change. I gave you my number but you didn’t give me yours. You didn’t give me your last name either, and I didn’t realize that until after you left, because it’s been a week since that day and you haven’t called. I don’t know what to think. I refuse to believe it was all one sided, all in my head. I’ve made bad decisions about guys before, and by that I mean I gave them good qualities they’d done nothing to cultivate in themselves, and I know it sounds crazy to say after just one day together but I don’t think that’s you. You seemed better than that. You seemed genuinely good. I want to believe that. My heart is halfway broken but if you reply, Jon, I’ll be happy. I might give you a second chance. I’ve written your name in this post but I haven’t written mine. So if it’s you, please reply, and tell me my name. That way I’ll know. Tell me what kept you. And maybe we can see each other again? I still have your shoelace.