Boys and shooting stars

I met a boy.

It was Monday afternoon. At five forty, I ventured out my apartment. My hair was still wet from the speedy shower that I had postponed for as long as possible because I didn't really want to go outside. I had to though, because I'd promised I would participate in a study on gambling.

I got the call last Friday, and I was flustered, because the person on the other end spoke English to me, and I wasn't sure whether it was because he thought that I needed it, or because he needed it. I almost responded in Norwegian, but I caught myself after a pause that was too long, and said that I was available. I didn't think much of it until the Monday when I had arranged to be at the faculty building. I'd had a long day with an early grammar lecture and a literature seminar, but there was no way out. I said I'd participate, so I couldn't not show.

I considered skipping the shower. I mean, who cares if some old, bald researcher sees my greasy hair and the t-shirt with the offensive slogan? But in the end, probably because I arranged to go out to eat with my friend after the experiment, I managed to coax myself into the shower.

On my way across the bridge, I saw a shooting star. I remember it very clearly, because I haven't seen them very often. The last time I can distinctly remember seeing one was when I was twelve years old. I was outside past my curfew with two friends, one boy and one girl. The boy, I had a crush on. The boy had a crush on the girl. We were lying on top of a wooden castle in a playground, just looking up at the stars, and there were a lot of shooting stars to see that night. Most people think that shooting stars are rare, but they're not really. I read somewhere that you can see them every ten minutes or so, usually. But I guess I just don't have time to look up at the night sky that often, so when I saw the shooting star that night, it was still special. It was big and bright, and gone almost before I realized that it had been there.

I reached the faculty building, and took the elevator to the fifth floor, because I was late. I was supposed to be there at six, and there was only a couple, maybe three minutes left. When I walked out of the elevator, there was no one there, which I thought was odd. Where were all the other participants? I thought I might have ended up in the wrong place, because stoned monkeys could probably find their way better than I could. I was studying the floor map intently when a door opened. I turned around just in time to see a dark head of hair peer into the hallway. I thought he might be looking for me, but he didn't say anything, and he was at the opposite end of where I expected to be picked up for the experiment. So I waited some more. The head of hair appeared a second time, and this time he spoke to me. He asked me if I was Heidi, if I was here for the gambling experiment. I nodded and smiled, thankful that I wasn't in the wrong place, although, admittedly, my lack of ability to navigate had caused me to be a little late.

I crossed the hall, and it was then I got a good look at him. Rather than old and bald, like I had imagined, the German accent on the phone belonged to an absolutely gorgeous young man with beautiful blue eyes and dark hair that begged to be played with. He introduced himself as Leon. I smiled and said that my name was Heidi, although we had already established this. I followed him into the room, and he explained that I needed to put on a pulse monitor. He held up a watch and a strap that he said was supposed to go around my chest. It needed to touch my skin. I asked him if there was a place I could put on this device, because the testing rooms had little windows in them, and while I didn't exactly think that he would peek, I try not to make a habit out of stripping off my shirt in places where people can easily see it. But he assured me that he wouldn't look (I might have blushed a little at this, I'm not sure), and I went into the tiny little room and took of my sweater and the tank top I was wearing underneath. My hands were actually shaking a little bit, but I managed to get the strap around my chest, and the watch around my wrist. He gave me a questionnaire to fill out, regarding my gambling habits, which are pretty much non-existent. Then he told me to relax for five minutes so that he could get a reading of my base heart rate. I sat in the little room on my own for those minutes, and suffice to say that my thoughts weren't exactly relaxing, and my heart rate was... kinda high.

When I was done, two other test subjects had arrived, and he was a little flustered, so he asked me what I'd been doing. I told him and then he directed me towards the computer in the little room, and told me to follow the instructions on the screen. I did as I was told, and it was over in no time at all. I think it's safe to say that I do not have a gambling addiction. Then I was given a final questionnaire that asked me about how I felt during the gambling portion. It also indicated that I not have a gambling problem, and, if my textbook on motivational psychology is anything to go by, that I suffer from depression. But that is a post for another day.

Then it was time to leave. I didn't want to go, but I couldn't really think of a way to stay either. I asked him if there was a way to get the results, once they had them. He explained how long it would take to get the results, and then how long it would take for them to be published in paper form. And then there was nothing more to talk about, so I put on my coat and left.

When I got home, I cursed the world for letting me meet him in this kind of setting. I had his phone number, so I decided to do a bit of good natured stalking. Don't judge. You don't know how extremely gorgeous he was, and well... I told you what he did to my heart rate, didn't I? He had texted me the same day to remind me to show up for the experiment, so it was easy find out what his full name was, and that made it easy to find him on facebook. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's totally creepy that I did all this, but you know what?

The world is a cruel bitch for letting me meet him like this. I'm still hoping for some kind of miracle to throw him into my path again. I don't believe in love at first sight, but I do believe in attraction It's silly and stupid, but as far as attraction goes...

I'm head over heels.