The One That Got Away

He walked in the cafeteria as if he didn't have a care in the world. He was dressed in black from head to toe and sporting an avant-garde mullet. I thought he looked like a prince. "My Dark Prince," I whispered to no one in particular.

He grabbed something to eat and scanned the place quickly. Someone in my group called him. Or maybe he recognized someone and proceeded to come over. "Oh my God!" I thought. I didn't say a word to him, and barely managed to return his smile.

We weren't in any classes together. He never joined the improv class or even the theater group I was in but he seemed to know everyone that I knew. He preferred to work behind the scenes as opposed to on stage with the rest of us. He'd take care of the lighting, stage props, etc. I was never really one of the cool ones. I don't even understand how come I got to hang with the cool crowd. He definitely was part of the "in crowd". He was very quiet and had a mystique about him. We became friends fast and deep. We talked about philosophy, life and other neat stuff. Though we were young, 18 maybe 19, in our minds we felt already old and used.

I thought he was the most beautiful creature on earth, something about his heritage, half Native American half Italian.

I lost track of him when I dropped out of college. For years I never saw him again. One night, I went to a Peter Gabriel concert by myself. As the crowd was trying to crush me before the gates opened, I let out a cry of pain and a profanity. Someone next to me called my name. I turned to my right, not expecting that the person was actually speaking to me, and could not believe my eyes. "Pietro?" I asked, but I already knew. "Wow! It's so cool to see you here! How have you been?" we both exclaimed. My Dark Prince was back.

His smile was wide and his green eyes were twinkling and it really looked as if he was glad to meet me again after all these years. I had grown into a good looking woman, and was very confident in my charms. Yet, when I saw him, I went back to being a mousy teenager.

I had an excellent seat and told him to follow me, as his was horrendous. We found a spot where we could watch the concert together without being bothered by ushers. We had a blast. I couldn't believe my luck. After the show, we went out for drinks and talk almost all night long.

We resumed our friendship as if seven months had passed, not seven years.

We lost touch again after some misunderstanding between my roommate, Monique, Pietro and me. Two's company, three's a crowd. He got out of my life one more time, and I didn't try to hold him back.

I never found the courage to tell him that I loved him. He did ask me once but I changed the subject. It has been 23 years since our first encounter and 15 since our last, and when I think of him I still have butterflies fluttering in my stomach as if he could walk in any time. Of course that's impossible; we don't even live in the same country anymore. Yet I know that he surprised me once when we stumbled into each at that concert. What were the chances then? What are the chances now?

I am older and not as sexy nor as confident anymore. But somehow this makes me less afraid to admit my infatuation to him. I would love to have the opportunity to reveal to him how he made a lasting impact on at least one person on this earth.

In a way, it saddens me that I might never get closure. My feelings for him were real and intense. I'd like to know if he loved me even a little. What were my chances? Whenever someone says "It’s better to have remorse than regrets," I know exactly what they mean.