Something Worth Remembering

Have you ever wondered what it must be like to experience something perfect? Perhaps something that makes your smile widen or heart pound, or even causes your stomach to fill with butterflies? Or is there no such thing—just an illusion; a figment of imagination?

That's been a question that's lingered in the back of my mind for years: Will I ever experience something or meet someone so special, so incredibly perfect, it's worth remembering?

The truth is, I don't know. I haven't a clue about things like if there really is a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow or a place such as Wonderland. But at the same, I've never bothered to find out. I've never tried to find the answers to my endless questions about everything.

But maybe I should try to.

"Cherry, what now?" I sigh from my end of the phone, unable to hide my dread. Cherry, my best friend, has been trying to set me up with every "hot" guy she sees recently, and it's driving me more insane than myself.

"Well," she begins, her voice all cheery, "I found another one." (By that she means another guy).

"Not again."

"Uh, yes again! And he's really, really cute Izzy. And—how do I say this—different? I don't know, there's something about him."

"So then you date him," I say, scoffing. "I don't want to go on another one of your little blind dates. They're making me crazy."

"Crazy in love? Understandable."

I gasp in mock horror. "No, no. You don't get to push me into another date. They suck, Cherry. They aren't what I'm looking for. And just—well—not worth remembering."

"Oh? In what way?" Cherry's voice reverberates off my screen; she's probably got her ear pressed to her speaker, waiting to hear what I have to say.

"Ugh, Cherry! I'm telling you they just aren't perfect! They aren't it!"

"Hold on, hold on. Izzy. Be real with me. Do you really expect to fall in love with a perfect guy? You really think they exist? Because if so—with your luck and all—where can I find them?" Cherry's voice displays pure amusement.

"It's not funny, Cherry. You and I both may not know it, but there could be someone out there with everything we want. Or need. I'm waiting for that."

"Girl, you're gonna be waiting for a hell of a long time, because they do not exist. You're going on this date—I'll send you all the details—and you're going to have a good time. End of conversation, Goodbye."

And that's the end of it. The call ends, and I'm left to fill the silence of my small apartment with a scream of exhaustion and angst for what is to come.

Cherry followed through with what she told me; I got all the stupid details to this stupid date. It's with some guy named Noah. I thought about just standing him up, but honestly, I didn't have the heart to do so.

Something worth remembering. Hell, I'll make it worth remembering for sure: I'm gonna give this guy shit. I have the heart to do at least that.

I pull on a red bodycon dress, heels, makeup—the essentials. But why I even bother to try when I don't care, I don't know. Habit, I guess.

By the time I make it to the Redmond Cuisine, I'm already tired. And full of dread. The cuisine is one of the best in town, though, so at least there's that.

I open the double doors to a spacious room full of people in expensive clothing sitting at tables covered with food. There's the Redmond Cuisine for you. Perfection.

I immediately head to the bar for two reasons. One, I need a drink. Two, this is where Cherry told me to meet Noah.

The bar is crowded as usual, but I find a lone bench at the end of the counter to sit at. It has leather patting, and it's so soft I partially sink into it.

"Hi," I say to the bartender closest to me. "Could I get a scotch on the rocks, please?"

"Coming right up," he hollers to me before going back to juggling bottles and shakers.

After about five minutes he gives me my drink, and I'm still alone. My blind date is late. Maybe he stood me up. Just great.

Fifteen minutes; half an hour. My blind date, Noah, never showed. I don't know why, but I feel kind of disappointed. I thought I deserved better than that.

Just as I stand to leave, some guy sits down next to me, flashing me a white smile. What happens next makes me feel so stupid, which is I sit back down on the bench.

"Hi there," he says, looking at the menu. Is he talking to me?

"Uh—hi." Awkward.

"What's your name?" He finally looks over at me, still smiling.

"I—I don't tell strangers my name," I say uncomfortably. "Who are you?"

"I thought I shouldn't tell strangers my name." He smirks. "But my name's..." He pauses as if he's forgotten his own name. "Steven."

"You sound unsure about that," I tell him, drinking the last of my scotch.

He laughs nervously. "Yeah, well, it happens."

I nod, though I'm unsure of what he means.

"Why are you here all alone, a pretty girl like you?" The way he calls me pretty gives me butterflies. Ew, am I that easy?

"My best friend set me up with some guy and he never showed. Bummer, but at the same time I'm relieved." Why did I just say that? Goddamit.

"Relieved? How come?"

I look Steven in the eyes, debating telling this guy I've never met, all my worries. Maybe it's the scotch that compels me to. "I doubt this guy would be any different than all the others I've been set up with. Basic. Unmemorable. Forgettable. Do you know what I mean?"

Steven nods, but his eyes give away his uncertainty. They're so green it's almost unreal. "What makes all these guys so 'forgettable?'"

"Everything," I say, sighing. "They don't try to get to know me for who I am, only for who they think I am. There's never—"

"A spark? Real interest?" Steven finishes for me.

"Exactly." I shake my head. "I'm sorry for burdening you will all my—I don't know—dumb hopes and worries. This is probably not why you came here: to listen to me complain."

"No, no," he says touching my shoulder. Once again, my heart drops by something so simple. "I like your company. You're real."

Real. I'd never used that word to describe me, though at the moment it feels true. I like the way Steven says it. He makes it sound special.

"You seem to be very different, too, Steven. So fine—my name's Izzy."

"Izzy," he says, mesmerized, while swirling his drink in one hand. It's merlot. "I like that name. So—"

"Childish?" I laugh.

"No, beautiful." He gives me a shy smile. I've only seen this guy smile so far. But I can't complain; it's a million-dollar kind of grin.

I find myself blushing. I can't see it, but I can sure as hell feel the heat rise to my cheeks. For someone who's particularly pale like me, blush stands out. Oh no.

"Can I get you another drink?" Steve asks.

"Uh—yeah, sure. I'll have what you're having."

"Merlot. My go-to." He orders the drink for me while sipping his own.

"Merlot, huh? Does that have a back story?" Wow, Izzy. Stupid question.

"Yeah, actually. My family owns a wine business. Merlot is our specialty."

"No kidding. That's awesome. You part of that business?"

"Yup. Been in it for, what, five years now?"

"Wow. Well, then my story should be nothing but shit compared to yours."

"Now I have to know," Steve says like he's genuinely excited to learn about me, which makes my heart do this backflip motion. He hands me the glass of merlot.

I end up telling him all about myself. Or at least the things worth telling. He tells me about himself, too, and I'm blown away by his stories. His ancestors came from Italy to the U.S. in, like, the 1800s, and his family wine business was started generations ago.

Steven is perfection. But in all the different ways I thought perfection was.

After a while, I pull my coat over my shoulders, ready to leave. Steve studies me, eyes wide. "It has been wonderful getting to know you, Izzy."

I smile. "You, too, Steven. You were really great tonight—I've never really talked to anyone like that before. Thank you for letting me."

"It was a pleasure. And I hope..." He looks me in the eyes. "I hope I've been someone worth remembering, Izzy. Someone worth you."

This strikes me silent. I see the glimmer in his eyes, and can't help but hope I'm worth him, too. He definitely is to me.

He starts to leave but turns back to me, handing me a sheet of paper with his number on it. "Call me. Please."

He turns back around, heading toward the door. I'm still standing in the same spot, glancing down at the paper. On it is his number and the name Noah.

Huh? Like Noah the guy who stood me up; my blind date? Or—no. Noah, my blind date, who didn't stand me up. The guy who claimed to be Steven, who talked to me all night. The guy who was perfect in all the ways that mattered was not Steven but Noah?

I'm star-struck, mouth gaping open and eyes wide. Someone worth remembering. The guy worth remembering is Noah, who made up a name to make me believe he wasn't my date.

Something or someone worth remembering. The meaning of this is different for me now. I thought to be worth remembering you had to go all out, be somebody perfect. But maybe the things worth remembering are the little things or gestures; the people who take the time to be worth it. The ones not with money or charm, but heart.

I realize I have found someone worth remembering for all the right reasons. Not for perfection, but imperfection. Not for the outside, but for the inside.

But even with the imperfections, meeting Noah will forever be perfect to me. Something worth remembering.