I’m still in love with Miranda. I want you all to note that as I tell this short little story.
Today, for the first time, I went to Centreville Baptist Church’s College Life Bible study group. I have to admit that one of the main reasons for my attendance was to meet a pretty girl to distract me from my feelings for Miranda. I know, I know–that’s wrong of me. But Miranda distracted herself from me when she was IN the relationship with me; distracted herself with another guy, became best friends with him when she claimed that I was her best friend. Anyway–I went to the group, not a pretty girl in site. Oh well, I think.
But then, about ten minutes after the class had started, in walks a really quite beautiful Indian girl. Her name was Esther (well, it still is Esther) Immanuel. Ain’t that a swell name? Egh…kinda.
Well anyway, throughout the hour-long class, I was constantly looking over at her. Partly because she was so pretty, and partly because, get this, she was looking at me! I mean, I was looking all around the room at the other people, but mostly at her. And so was she, it seemed. Either I was really particularly weird looking this morning, or I was actually somewhat presentable. It was incredible.
Don’t get me wrong, folks: she was nothing like Miranda. Miranda is so much prettier, so much more beautiful than Esther (I think that’s how you spell it). But still….
So what I did when the class was over was I followed the other people downstairs into the main hall (I think it’s actually called Fellowship Hall), and I catch Esther with my eyes walking to the far side of the room. She sat down on the bench there (she, as well as everybody else, was waiting for the first service to finally let out). So I started walking over towards her very, very shyly. When she saw me, she smiled as anybody else would.
When I got to her, I said, “Hey, are you new here?” I know, I know: not the brightest thing to say. But that’s me.
“No, I’ve been coming here,” she said.
“Yeah, I’m new,” I replied. “This is my first time. Are you Indian?”
The whole time we talked, she was smiling. I guess that’s a good thing. Actually, maybe she wasn’t smiling. Maybe she was trying to disguise a laugh.
Crap.
So she tells me yes, she is Indian. I told her how my mom rents the downstairs rooms of our house to people, and that one of them was Indian.
“Harishankar,” I tell her.
She didn’t understand me.
“Harry Shanker,” I then said with my Americanized version of the name.
“Ohh, oh, ‘Harishankar.’” She enunciated it perfectly, almost saying it slowly.
“Yes, Harishankar.” And then I asked her, “Hey, do you go to the Thursday night youth group here? The one for college-age folks?”
The expression on her face said that she had never heard of it. And she hadn’t. So I told her all about it–at least what I knew–and I asked her if she’d like me to find out more information about it, such as what time it meets on Thursday.
She said sure, and then she stood up from the bench. I looked at her kinda funny, and she said, “I can go with you.” Meaning she would follow me to whomever I would ask.
So that’s what we did. We asked a dude where and when the Thursday-night meetings are, he told us, and then the church service that was running late finally let out. So Esther turns around to go into the sanctuary, and then turns back around to face me.
I tell her, “You should come next Thursday. I’ve never been, myself, but it’s supposed to be fun.”
I forget if she said yeah or okay, but she said something. Then she said, “Well, it was good talking to you. What’s your name?”
Doh!
“Chris.”
“Chris,” she repeated. “I’m Esther.” Then she took off.
Still don’t know how to spell that name….
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