A beautiful day... remembered 15 years later

 From archie and me--MEMORIES OF LOVE

   The following week was short. I was going to visit Tanya in Boston for Memorial Weekend, so I would take Friday off. But it became even shorter when our servers crashed on Monday, leaving us with no access to our work. People were just mingling around, waiting for the network to be back up.
   Archie came to my cube and asked me if I had any questions, which he never did, because he knew I’d tell him when I did. We started chatting and he said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do, maybe I’ll go to the driving range... Would you like to come?”
   I couldn’t believe my ears! This was the first time he dared to ask me. He would usually escape situations where there was only the two of us.
   “But... now?” I responded shyly.
   “You are right. I shouldn’t corrupt you...” he said. (Coward!)
   “No, no. You have asked already, so now I want to go.” I realized I was very close to missing a golden opportunity because of my resistance, so I had to fight back to regain it. But he didn’t resist anymore, and off we went. I tried not to make my happiness too evident, but I was overjoyed. I was going to learn the basics of golfing from my favorite mentor.
   Archie drove us to Shoreline, right where both he and I had been just two days before, right where I had wished he was, and where he indeed was, as I remained oblivious to his presence. I asked him about it again, and he said it was around 8 p.m., when walking back to his car, that he saw me. Also in the car, he told me that his mom was a math major like him and that both his mom and dad were professional basketball players in their youth. His dad played in the 1960 Olympic Games for Taiwan.

   He kept his golf equipment in the car: clubs, shoes, and gloves. When we arrived, he put on his shoes, bought the tickets, and we walked to the driving range. Once there, he showed me how to hold the club and how to swing. In no time I was hitting my first shots. Fun! Hopefully, one day I’ll be able to join him and his sister for a golfing day, I thought.
   After golfing practice, he said he was thirsty, so we went to the restaurant. I had recently been instructed how to behave in terms of paying when going out with a prospective date in this country—if you like the guy, you never offer to pay. I followed the advice to the letter and, as soon as the drinks were ordered, excused myself to the bathroom. “I’m going to wash my hands,” I said. Yeah, I was proud of myself.
   He took his beer and I took my orange juice. We sat on the patio admiring the lake view for a few minutes before strolling around the lake.
   “What is the Spanish word for swan?” he asked.
   “Cisne,” I responded.
   “Do you know the tale The Ugly Duckling?”
   “Yes. I’ve heard it, but remind me, because I don’t remember
now.” Silly me! The excitement must have blurred my memory.
   He told me the story of The Ugly Duckling as we walked. And several other things that I would remember if it weren’t for how ecstatic I was about the whole thing. When I told my matchmaker (Sarita, that is) about the beautiful day I had, in her usual encouraging approach, she said, “That’s almost like a date.” I knew it wasn’t, but it had been a lovely afternoon. Talking to Sarita always made me feel that I was not the only one who had feelings in this story. That night I wrote in my diary: “I don’t want to daydream but I really like this guy.”