Seattle Loves Me

Every time I visit Seattle I feel like I’m coming back to the place that knows me best. Like the city is alive and has been waiting for me to look up and recognize her again.

Strangers and street corners feel familiar, parks and buildings flood me with memories and beg me to make more, and spending time with my favorite friends makes me question why I left.

I got to spend almost a month in Seattle this July, hoping from one friend’s place to the next, working on my laptop by day and revisiting the people and places I’ll always love by night and on weekends. It was a wonderful trip, and badly needed, but also exhausting as I struggled to maintain the 60 hour work weeks I’ve supported while living alone to now having friends come home and force me to interact. Often I would “put my friends to bed” and then pull open my computer again or sneak in a few extra hours over the weekend to catch up. I know this type of “work as often as possible” lifestyle isn’t sustainable, but it is what I’m choosing right now. If want to change it, I will.

So on my last Thursday in Seattle I was exhausted and frazzled when my friends walked in the door at 6pm and needed to begin our night. I rallied fast because I knew it was important to all of us to have a great last night together. Who knows the next time we’d be together like this? Life changes all the time, even in 6 months everything could be different.

A 5 minute shower, a cheese stick, mascara, and a pounded glass of wine later we were jumping into the car to go meet our old roommate May for a BBQ at her place near West Seattle. I couldn’t concentrate as they discussed our route out of Capitol Hill, feeling out of body in a good way as I looked out the back seat window into the lively city, locking eyes with more than one stranger who felt familiar. Seattle always brings me what I need when I stop to let her show me, maybe she’d help me some way tonight.

I leaned into the day dream, imagining the details of all the people that were walking their routes home outside my window. How many were college acquaintances I’d long forgotten I knew? How many were old coworkers that I’d ridden busses with hundreds of times before? How many were great friends that I hadn’t made time for this trip? How many of these strangers would I meet if I moved here?

Only a few minutes later we were pulling into a gas station on the Hill they never go to, stopping to fill up and re-evaluate our route since they’d just remembered that our friend had recently moved to a new place in NorthGate. While they searched for her new address I jumped at the opportunity to grab bread and wine since May was on a no carb, no sugar, no dairy, no fun diet and I knew after the long day/month I’d had I would appreciate some serious comfort food. Besides, it was my last night in Seattle and I wanted to be outside and soak up the city life as much as I could before heading north to the suburbs.

I told them I’d only be a minute as I ran across the street to the co-op, smiling at the car I crossed in front of and feeling welcomed by the young cashier. I found wine and cheese in a minute, running through the checklist of items required for an epic girls night on the patio. Wine, cheese, bread, crackers. But after a few more minutes in the small Seattle grocery I found myself circling the aisles struggling to find crackers for the cheese.

I rushed, uncomfortable that I was making my friends wait, so I stopped paying attention to people I walked by, only focused on scanning the aisles that must hold the secret to the elusive crackers I needed. Single-minded focus on the task at hand.

Cereal, grains, tortillas, chips, bread, cookies. All close to the item I needed but not quite. Where are crackers in a small store?!

As I rounded one corner for the second time I passed someone that felt familiar but I pushed the thought away without turning, telling myself that it was just the hold over from how I always feel while I’m visiting Seattle. I was late already, no time to indulge my imagination.

After another few minutes of failure I dead-ended in front of the check out, slowly turning back towards the aisles as I fortified myself to make one last loop back around before bailing. What even are cheese and wine without crackers?!

Before I could take a step forward there he was looking right at me from across the store. The last person I chose to kiss. Almost ten years ago. I haven’t chosen anyone since.

I’ve kissed four people in my life. One was a movie worthy spring break weekend. One was a regrettable stranger who drunkenly took advantage. One was someone I thought I loved. And one was this person I was looking at now.

I squinted harder to make sure it was really him, but he was frozen staring at me too so I knew this wasn’t an overactive subconscious. My feet felt heavy on the floor, apprehensive to make the first step towards a reunion that could easily go in any direction.

I can’t remember the last time we saw each other, can’t remember the last time we spoke, can’t predict how this will go.

I don’t know if he or I stepped forward first, but in the space where in a busier place people would have been lined up to check out, we found ourselves standing face to face.

In an instant I became euphoric and impressed, thrilled and grateful that Seattle had once again delivered magic and connection and life to me. “How are you?!!” “How cool is this!?” “I’m not even supposed to be here, just about leave, been working alone in an apartment all week and I’m only walking around for 5 minutes while my friends wait in the car!” “Seriously, what are the odds?”

He was more reserved, nervously accepting my hug and looking around at the locals who were likely watching us as we caught up. “Hey” “Yeah I’m good” “I work and live nearby” “Are you here for Seafair?” “That’s great you’re still so close with old friends.” “Where are you living?” “Do you still see anyone from our trip abroad?”

I wasn’t even sort of concerned about anyone around us, so I’m sure I was making more of a scene and talking louder than he wanted, but I didn’t let him off the hook as I pressed him for more details on his life. “Are you loving your job?” “How is your documentary coming?” “Do you get to walk to work?” “Do you still love living in Seattle?” “Man, I’m leaving tomorrow. I wish we could hang out.” “How are you really?”

He warmed up a little, and there was definitely no drama or tension other than what can be expected from two people who used to be close and now aren’t. We definitely misfired a few times, missing each other’s references or not saying the right type of reply, but in general it went well. He looked good. Seemed good. So did I.

When the conversation lulled I knew I had to bail, I’d already made my friends wait 10 times longer than I’d planned. I joked that I’d probably run into him again in a few seconds while I made one final attempt to find the elusive cracker aisle. “Crackers shouldn’t be this hard to find!”

As we parted ways I knew I wouldn’t see him again for a while, maybe ever, and that was okay. I must have just said something like, “So great seeing you. I hope you’re great,” before walking back towards the aisles and asking the first person who looked like the knew something to point me towards the crackers. Found them immediately.

I chatted with the friendly cashier as I checked out, laughing back as he smiled at me a little too big so I’d know he’d just witnessed our entire reunion. I wasn’t embarrassed since I knew I’d never be back, and instead just enjoyed my time with this new fast friend and hopped my old friend would get in line and join us so we could all share a few more seconds of magics before going back to reality.

He didn’t, wisely hiding out in produce to avoid any other awkwardness, but before I walked out the door I turned back to see if I could catch his eye one more time to say goodbye. He didn’t look up but I smiled and waved to him anyway, wishing him well and definitely entertaining my cashier and whoever else in the store had followed our reunion. I’m so glad it happened.

Once outside the guilt for being so late hit again and I ran across the street to my friends to apologize for being so, so much longer than expected. I rushed around to the back seat of their blue car and threw myself in, trying to explain as I situated my bags. “Oh. MAN. GUYS. You’ll never guess who I just ran into. I’m so so sorry I’m late. But. Wow, Seattle is magic, I mean I just ran into this fucking person of all persons! Can you believe it!?… OH… NO… I’M SO SORRY… WRONG CAR!”

The two women in the front seats were not my friends. This was not their blue car.

I pulled myself out of the vehicle stuttering as I tried to explain, looking frantically for my friends who maybe rightly had left me behind. I couldn’t find them anywhere until I bent back into the car to pull the bags finally out and through the other backseat window I saw them laughing at me from the car parked right next door.

I ran around the car to them and repeated my actions of panic and yelling while throwing myself into their blue car’s back seat. I collapsed into sheer shock as I closed the door and hid. In complete shock that so much had all happened in the span of ten minutes. I had run right by them. What is real life?

I laughed with my friends over the story the rest of the night, and after another glass or two of wine on the patio I’d let go of the embarrassment of it all and settled back into the joy of it. Happy that my last night in Seattle for a while was definitely one for the books.

.

Before leaving the party I decided to text him.

“Really great to see you! Feels like a sign that Seattle still loves me even though I left.”

He didn’t reply. Maybe he changed his number, maybe he looked at it and smiled, maybe he doesn’t want me in his life. Doesn’t matter. I’m happy to know that Seattle loves me regardless.