KATIE K.

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     I could try to get to know her. I've got her license plate. How hard is it these days to track down someone if you've got a bit of information about her? I could get her address and stake out her house, learning enough about her comings and goings to guess the public places she most likely frequents -- which supermarket, which bars or coffeehouses, whether she's enrolled at the college. One day I could bump into or happen by her, asking for the time or delivering a well-rehearsed comment as spontaneously as I possibly can. Hey, I'm not half-bad to look at; she might welcome the chance to enter into conversation with me. I just know we have a lot in common, Katie K. and I, I just know we'd hit it off.
     And what if it's meant to be? What if we're a perfect fit? What if we are soulmates made so right for each other that destiny disdains to do one more thing to help us? All you have to do is meet, Fate might be saying, the rest is taken care of. 
     The light turns green, and Katie's shiny car begins to move away. I wave -- she doesn't see me. I wave again, my hand moving from side to side in tight, mildly frenetic jerks. "Katie," I murmur in an effort to somehow get her attention, "Katie." I tap the window. "Katie . . . hey, Katie. . . ." She doesn't look.     END