He was the last person I had expected to see that evening. I work with a number of different live theatres in this area and one of my friends from this particular theatre had asked if I would help out, filling in as an usher and doing hospitality set up. I had to see the show anyway, so I of course said yes ("no" does not seem to be in my vocabulary). I had no idea he was in the cast.
The last I had seen Matt was the night we ended our relationship. In fact, in terms of my matured life, it could hardly have been called a relationship. It was indeed one of the several of those extremely intense, brief-lived, passionate-beyond-belief romances I have had in my life. It ended as it began, with a long look, a touch on the hand, but with a goodbye instead of a hello. He was classically handsome - in other words, not my type. But he had a way of making me feel special, as if I was the only one in the world that mattered. I have never had that feeling again in my life.
So there I was in the theatre green room, arranging cookies and struggling with an ancient coffee pot, all the while trying to be unobtrusive so the cast could "prepare". I could sense someone come up behind me, but I thought nothing of it. And then I heard that hypnotic baritone voice that had once made me melt in place. "Hey Pook". The years melted, as did I, and I could remember how his arms felt when he held me. Only it wasn't a memory. His arms were around me. And he had whispered that nickname in my ear. And he kissed the back of my neck. And I was 22 all over again.