TBT #31, Part III: Missed Connections

This post was originally written by Pearle Tuason.

I don’t know how comfortable Matt would be in posting a personal ad; I should ask him, if only to confirm my suposition, but, for whatever reason, it just doesn’t seem his style. The reason behind this thought in the first place, you might ask? Far be it for him to toot his own horn but, well, ladies, he’s available. I’m sure the pieces on this site have aided in attracting some attention from the opposite sex, but wouldn’t it be neat if it resulted in an encounter with someone?

I’ve recently become obsessed with Vancouver’s craigslist site, which is basically online classified ads for everything. There’s this section called Missed Connections, where people post about other people they’ve encountered in passing who’ve made them think, “Hey, maybe there’s something there.”

I’m thinking that someone out there might be Matt’s Missed Connection. The following is what I think she might post, either here or on craigslist. It also makes for the best thing ever this February 25, 2005.

Found you at last, outside poetry class w4m — 21

I can’t believe I’m doing this — it seems really tacky to put myself out on a limb like this — but I just can’t help myself. If you’re not the guy I think you are, I’m sorry I bothered you!!! But, if you are who I think you are, please give me a chance to explain myself.

I was reading this blog on the internet that I found after doing a search on google for King’s and Dal — I wanted to see what another student had to say about this school. I was surprised to find this one site that wasn’t so much filled with stuff about the school itself, but rather, page upon page of stories. I go to Dal, myself (I’m enrolled in English Lit, 3rd year), and I thought I’d known all the 3rd year writers on campus. Apparently, I’d missed one. And I’m sad to say that I had, because lo and behold, here is one writer, writing for this site on his own spare time, creating these beautiful stories that have kept me coming back. He’s made a complete fan of me.

Sometimes he’d write these engrossing stories about a girl he’s got (or looking to have?) in his life, and, I have to say, it made me blush to catch myself sighing at the thought of being that girl. On a number of occasions, I almost posted a comment after reading this one story, but I stopped myself from doing so. I don’t know why. I guess because it sounds so unlike me to do that sort of thing — I’m not usually so forward. But, oh, the imagery, the emotion of both sensuality and longing, longing for the girl of his dreams…

“I’ll fall in love tomorrow with a girl who isn’t real. A fictional character based on some ideal I see in someone I know… And maybe we’ll dance or merely laugh and talk, soundtracked by a cheesy love song from the 1980s that screams of the brilliance of needing someone and the ultimate reality of love. I think we’ll dance because I’ve always wanted to dance.”

I never really noticed you until last week. It could be because I skip a lot, or that you do as well — that class IS pretty stupid. I know why we were both there on that day, though: the prof decided it would be fun if we all contributed to the annals of poetry by each writing one for class, and we had to hand it in that day. So the night before the deadline, I’d jotted down a few lines that vaguely rhymed, called it free verse, and left it at that. The poetry gods must have been alerted of my crime, because the professor asked me to get up in front of the class and read mine.

I’d just read that piece about the dream girl right before I wrote my poem — I couldn’t get it out of my head. My poem ended up being a character sketch of that girl, although secretly, I was trying to make that girl out to be as much like me as possible. It was a really hokey piece; I painted a scene where I’d meet this mystery man at a party. I’m dressed in a black silk dress, and we’re standing on opposite sides of a dance floor. The room dims, and a mirrored ball is lowered slightly, so it catches a beam of light. As it does, my eye catches his and doesn’t shy away as we move towards each other.

I stopped the piece there because I’d hit the prerequisite five stanzas by that point, which I cleverly disguised as artistic lisence. The prof thanked me and asked the class, “OK, first thoughts about this piece?”

A quiet voice rose out of the recesses of the room. “I’d like to dance with her.” I turned quickly to see who said that, and caught your eye. The professor asked you to elaborate.

“Sure, I mean, the scene might be a little cheesy, what with the mirrored ball, and the potential that Luthor Vandross might be playing in the background, but, I dunno. I’d dance with her. ” I started to blush, and you noticed this.

“I’ve always wanted to dance,” you said. And I blushed a little more.

I would have come talk to you after class, but the prof wanted to talk about my poem — he thought it was hokey too. I’m sorry I couldn’t catch up to you, but I’m hoping I can — if you end up reading this, feel free to email me. Maybe we can skip out on Poetry Class together some time. How about dancing instead?

Hopefully,

Girl in the black dress