The Furthest Water Cooler We flirted a great deal when I went to the water cooler. This was why my cup was so small, though it never explained why I went to the furthest water cooler in the office. She teased me about this from time to time during our e-mail conversations, though she teased me even more if I went to the other. Both of us were seeing other people.

We went for lunch one day. An extended one, on a Friday. We walked the busy downtown streets, talked about our lives and loves. She told me at length about the places she'd been, how she traveled without pause, never staying in a single place more than a year.

One Wednesday night, we went out to a bar; her, I, my girlfriend. I don't understand what I expected from the evening. Clearly I wanted to spend time with her. It was so apparent that I was the only one who couldn't see it.

My girlfriend got jealous that night, beyond arguing, to the point of silence, and when I hugged my co-worker and said goodnight, I remember why I forgot all about the woman I was with. I was attracted to her ability to escape.  ¶ 8:04 PM

  Houses There was an afternoon when her and I went for a walk through her neighbourhood. We were strangers, still getting used to one another. I knew that she was the artsy type, a young woman who rejected the present and all its modernism. She ridiculed most things, like new music, new movies, and most to do with computers. She had little patience for the kids these days with their iPods and cellphones. This is what I knew of her at the time.

We passed two houses, side by side, one classic and one modern. I asked her, if she had a choice, which would she live in? Maybe I was just making conversation, filling a silence that really needn't have been filled at all. I knew the answer; it was as obvious as her raven hair, the freckle on her cheek, the rose of her natural blush. She answered me in question if I had learned nothing about her yet.

I suppose I didn't.  ¶ 11:08 AM

  Inconceivable! Out drinking, in the company of her friends, having a fun evening, Dave and I were laughing about stereotypes and movies. I said that most women own a copy of The Princess Bride. Oddly, every woman with us except one did, proving my point despite it being nothing more than a joke. Later, when we were alone, her mood changed dramatically. Blame the drink, perhaps, because we certainly were drunk; but she simply would not let it go. She refused to be considered a stereotypical girl, something that I had never - ever - assumed of her. She raged about this before we arrived at her home, before we'd gotten into her bed, and before we'd gone to sleep. She would not accept the illogicality of her argument, would not rest until I'd apologized a hundred times.

She was a different person then, and I'm not sure to this day if the person I fell for ever really was her. I suppose we're all actors at times, and when we want to, we can play the role well.  ¶ 10:51 AM