**********

She was close to me and my heart still aches for her.

We didn’t know each other long. But we saw each other almost every day. Sadly, she never knew. She never knew how I felt inside. I never told her.

I thought about her often. When I drove home from work, when I hiked the hillside trails alone, lying in my bed at night–my thoughts always returned to her.

The more time I spent with her, the more I talked to her, the more I discovered about her, the more I wanted. I wanted to know everything about her, and I wanted a lifetime to do it.

Say my name, just say it. And I would replay those moments in my head so many times. I would hang on her every word. And when she looked at me I would melt.

Just friends.

I wanted to share with her all my favorite spots around California. The mountains, the valleys, the secret campsites and hiking trails, little trout streams, small mountain towns… all those special places I’ve found during my wanderings and swore that I’d return to one day with someone special.

Someone very special she was, indeed. One of those special someones that makes a guy say, “wow” when you first meet her. She was that to me from the very first day, from the first hello.

It had been so very long since I’d had those feelings. So many long years. I wasn’t ready to meet someone like her. But I did. It happened.

I wished things could have been different. I wished *I* could have been different. I wished I could have been the guy she wanted. Or at least, the guy I *thought* she wanted. But I never knew. I never told her. Now all I have are memories of that special someone who got away.

I’m glad for those fleeting moments I had with her. That’s all I have.

That will have to be enough.

**********

His stomach growled, and he thought about the crate of oranges in his truck. He loved oranges. Out here in the desert, he ate them almost exclusively. A few times a day he would stop in the middle of nowhere, sit on his tailgate, and eat 3 or 4. This way he didn’t have to carry water or food, he could just eat his oranges. Passersby would sometimes see a neat little pile of orange peels on the side of the road, and you could track him in this manner, if you really wanted to, all the way across the West, by tracking the orange peels from town to town and place to place.
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The door opened and she walked in.

He had seen her before in his dreams, many times like this, and she was perfect. A wisp of hair fell nonchalantly across her face, and she smiled as she ran her fingers through her long, dark hair. It was a smile of confidence and grace, and he shuddered. With a free hand she lit a cigarette, and stood there for a moment, letting him take her in. After what seemed a long while, she carefully stepped across the cluttered room and whispered in his ear.

That’s the way it always happened. He shook his head and tried to think of something else, as he turned to look out the window of the café. In the distance an arm of lightning touched down, and a moment later he felt the thunder in his chest.

He was tired of driving that night and wanted to rest. This little place in the middle of nowhere called to him, as his old Ford pickup hummed down the highway. At first a faint glow, and then a neon sign, and then he pulled into the parking lot. He sat there for a moment with the engine running, contemplating his actions, where he had been, and where he was going. The rain was coming down much harder now.

Inside the cafe he reached down and lifted the cup to his lips. Cold. How long had he been sitting in the booth? The coffee was terrible, even when hot, but he hardly cared. He sat there, staring at the surface of the liquid, stirring it slowly, stirring his thoughts away.

The door opened and she walked in.