Can I ask you a question?

I lost my earring at the end of this night. They wanted us to leave so quickly, after I just pulled up a seat. His name is John and I was growing enamored. My friend was his teacher, but I sassed him asking why he made a face. That was the start of it all. He told me people always acknowledge him from above like they know him. It was true, it happened all night. Sitting there with him, he was a celebrity, Mr. Popular. Though I learned his name was John from all the people calling out to him as they passed, I don’t think he ever knew my name, really. The teasing kept us taught, intrigued, engaged, alive. I followed him to the bar outside for another round. He reassured me as I tried to decipher the path of least resistance to the bar and waited for a clearing. There, leaning over, finally feeling in his space. When we sat back down, I ventured to the next level, “Can I ask you a question?”, “Yes, I dove into a pool my senior year of high school and hit the bottom.” I wanted to find out so much more, to delve into this source of strength, to absorb wisdom and grace. I asked him how tall he was, 6’1 in real life he told me. When my friends told me it was time to go, I kissed his cheek, knowing I was in the presence of someone great. When I asked him what he was going to do, now he had finished with college, he replied, keep being awesome.
A few blocks down the street, I turned back to find my missing earring. When I returned through the back door, he had it in his lap. I leaned down and kissed him and he told me he thought it was destiny, safe in his presence, owning his life and immeasurable in his effect.