Missed Connection

Brandon Figliolino

Missed Connection

November 2, 2019

            The weather was dreadful that Friday. I was walking across campus, down the sidewalk behind Mathematics and Sciences. There were dozens of students, bundled in heavy coats, scarves, hats, and gloves. Almost everyone, including myself, were walking at a fast clip. I just wanted to get to warmth. I’d imagine you were, too. Snow had been falling from the sky for days, and while there wasn’t any at the time, I knew we were getting only a short reprieve from it.

            You were walking ahead of me. I couldn’t see your face, but I remember your blue and white winter coat. It looked like it was meant for skiing, or maybe it was snowboarding. I play neither sport, so I don’t know for certain. Atop your head was a blue beanie cap with the Colorado logo on the back.  

            An instant after I saw you, I watched as you lost your footing on a patch of ice. You flew backwards and landed flat on your butt. Your black backpack, which was jammed full, made a thud when it smacked the sidewalk. Other students who saw the fall continued walking, some more cautious now that the saw you take a tumble. I saw one walker grab hold of the railing, just in case. 

             I stopped in front of you. Extending out my hand, I smiled. “Are you okay?”

            You took my gloved hand.  I got lost in your soft face and warm eyes for a moment.  

I hoisted you up to your feet.

            “Yeah, much better now. Thanks.” I watched your breath dissipate in the frigid air.

            I said it wasn’t any trouble, and then continued walking, this time ahead of you. That’s when I took a tumble, right in front of you. My thick boots were no match for the slippery slope of the sidewalk.

            “Ha—it’s my turn,” you said, holding out your hand. 

            “Thanks.” I took your hand. Because I’m the worst at flirting, I blurted out, “They should really put some ice melt down.”

            You chuckled. I dusted the snow off the back of my jeans and sighed.

            “Have a good one,” you told me, giving me one last smile before turning to head forward. “Try not to fall again.” 

            “Yeah, you, too.” I reciprocated.

            Hindsight is always more clear that the present, even for someone like me whose glasses give them 20/20 vision. Running scenarios through my head the car ride home, I thought about how our interaction could have ended different. How we could have grabbed coffee or cocoa, laughing about our shared embarrassing falls. How you could have asked me out. How we could have been friends. Maybe more. How we might not have met at all, were it not for cold weather and poorly shoveled sidewalks. 

            I haven’t seen you again, despite attending school of the same campus. It’s a big campus and I tend to show up for class and promptly retreat home. I don’t give myself the opportunity to find you, or you me. Maybe I want it that way. Maybe I’m afraid of those scenarios that I created for us. Afraid of them not turning out how I wanted. Leaving it as it is is best. 

Wherever you are, and wherever you will go, I hope you’ll never forget to lend a hand to others when they are in need. Whether it’s holding a door open for a stranger, letting someone merge in traffic, or giving them your hand when they fall. Kindness like that isn’t easily forgotten.