I moved into my new apartment a couple of months ago. Since that time, I haven’t officially met any neighbors, but I have exchanged friendly “hellos” when passing them in the lobby or in the parking lot. I see one particular guy almost every day; we usually run into each other at the mailbox after work.
Over the weeks, we’ve progressed from “Hello.” to “Hi!” to “How are you?”, but it wasn’t until Saturday, when we happened to see each other at the same restaurant, that our relationship really started to blossom.
“Funny seeing you here,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied.
Best friends.
Yesterday evening, I found myself in the basement laundry room, switching my clothes from the washer to the dryer. As I transported the clothes, I tossed a few delicate items into a pile on the folding table – not dryer appropriate. Once I had loaded the machine with clothes, inserted the five required quarters and pushed the Start button, I scooped up the delicates from the folding table and headed upstairs.
At the top of the stairs, I saw my new BFF through the window, his hands full, struggling to unlock the lobby door. Eager to help my new friend, I shifted my pile of clothes into one arm and opened the door for him.
“My hero!” he joked, (as any best friend would), when I held the door open.
“You’re welcome,” I smiled. “Hey – what’s your name? I see you all the time, but I’ve never actually introduced myself.”
“Dane,” he answered.
“Hi Dane,” I said. “I’m Jillian.”
We chatted for a few minutes, talking about our weekends and promising each other we would share some drinks in the courtyard one evening, then parted ways as he continued up to the third floor.
“Nice to meet you officially!” I called after him before walking into my apartment.
Once inside, I threw the clothes I had been holding onto the couch.
And promptly realized that I had shown Dane a good portion of my bra collection.
Nice to meet you, indeed.
Jillian Wyatt 