Energy: John

The knock on my door came late that Thursday evening and I opened it with a smirk on my face. Standing on the doorstep were two of my brothers, Carter and James, and a third man whom Carter introduced as his boss.

“You were supposed to text me when you were in the Uber,” I grumbled, feigning irritation.

“Oops,” Carter said, laughing.

I had not known they were in town until the late afternoon, when Carter sent a text asking if they could stay the night. I was thrilled to see them, but flustered by the short notice, looking around my messy house, at the piles of laundry on the floor, the dishes in the sink. My suitcase sat, empty still, needing to be packed for my long weekend away, which was to begin early the following morning.

“It’s a good thing I love you so much,” I replied. “Come on in.”

They entered my living room and I observed them, noting the boyish laughter and the unusual chattiness. They had been out at the bar. I was surprised by John, Carter’s boss; he didn’t fit the image I had envisioned when Carter first told me he was bringing his boss: a middle-aged professional with a suit and tie and a straight face. Instead, John wore a fitted t-shirt and a hoodie and a pair of jeans, held around his narrow hips with a belt. His young face was framed by a pile of long, blonde, unkempt hair.

Suddenly, I felt self-conscious. I was freshly showered, no makeup, with a strangled mess of hair that left dark, wet streaks down my pajama top, loosely covering my braless breasts. I apologized for the state of the house, offered everyone beers, gave big hugs, and told them I needed to go pack before I could relax.

They were in and out of my bedroom as I sat on the floor, folding clothes and placing them mindlessly in the suitcase. John came in, perched himself against my desk, and started peppering me with questions.

“Carter says you’re into emotional intelligence? How do you define that? How is it different from traditional intelligence? What do you think of my new business idea? What makes you you?”

Carter laughed in the doorway to my room. “I knew you guys would get along. I’ve been waiting for this for so long. You’re kind of the same person.” He said to me, “John loves weird, deep conversations.”

“This is how humans are supposed to interact,” John returned. “No surface-level, small-talk bullshit. Allie, want to cut my hair?”

I laughed. “Are you serious?”

And then I played barber over my bathroom sink, taking pieces of his long blonde hair between two fingers, meticulously snipping with large craft scissors.

When I paused, apprehensive, John said, “Don’t worry; I don’t care what it looks like. I just want it shorter.”

While I intimately held his face between my hands, staring at him, this man I had known for less than an hour, checking for locks I had missed, John continued talking. We discovered shared interests in scuba diving and Spanish and psychology and travel. Within that first hour of knowing John, I felt I knew him. And also, I felt attracted to him. What is wrong with me? I thought.

Soon, they headed back out the door in search of late-night food. I heard them come in at some ungodly hour and observed them sleeping across my living room the next morning, as I tip-toed quietly to my kitchen.

I left for San Diego that following day, and the boys had gone by the time I returned. John wouldn’t leave my mind, though. I was inspired by his conversation and his energy. And I knew I needed to see him again.