The Road Runner and The Coyote

Ah, the thrill of a chase. In LA, it’s customary for people to stop what they are doing in their everyday lives to watch a car be pursued by the police. They weave in and out of traffic without a thought to the lives around them and we all stop to take notice. Why? Because in each and every one of us, there is some sick morbid curiosity of how it will all play out. Will he get away, will he be apprehended, or worse, will he crash???..

Let's face it, no one goes to NASCAR races to watch rednecks make left hand turns all day. They go for the start, finish, and the fiery crashes in between. Hell, Vin Diesel has made an entire career out of driving fast, blowing stuff up, and quirky puns and catch phrases. The thing about the chase that is so mesmerizing, is that crazy feeling of uncertainty.

One guy chases the girl of his dreams, the best “girl” friend that chases the hot unattainable guy. Both parties have to know their role, and know the rules. If one chases the other, and never catches it then the race is fruitless. But, if the guy in the back just throws his hands up and says eff this, the power shifts and so do the roles. This process seems to me like it is never-ending in the world of dating. We are all merely road runners and coyotes simply out to catch that one thing it is that we are all seeking.

Maybe I'm reaching a stage in my life where I find the whole premise of the chase somewhat, dull and unamusing. Or perhaps I just get tired of feeling I'm going after something I’ll never catch. There's no harm in walking away, and saying I'm done chasing my own tail, and you! I’ve come to find the so called “pretty boys” are quite possibly the worst, as they are overly cocky ones. There's some sense of power and entitlement in the getting the woman to chase you, that makes them treat the opposite sex like they are dispensable. I come from the school of thought, that in a functioning healthy courtship, people don't chase one another, they run along together. There's nothing worse than investing your feelings and heart into something with no pay off. After all, if you're constantly on the run, when do you get to ever just enjoy the other persons company, the fruits of your labor?? Playing hard to get, simply gets old. To the point where even Wile E Coyote holds up his sign that says, “F@#$ this.” Then, the giant boulder that inevitably falls on his head shortly thereafter. Luckily for me, there aren’t too many boulders where I live, or I would have needed to find new health insurance by now.

I had a short forty-five minute layover in Atlanta the other day. Atlanta Hartsfield is by far one of the busiest airports in the country. So imagine my surprise when I passed by the Sam Adams bar in Terminal C and low and behold I find.. My road runner. Of all the airports, in all the world, he somehow ended up in mine.

Ah, the one that got away. He's a beautiful specimen let me tell you, and our personalities are beyond electric together. But we were also both stubborn asses who were used to being pursued by the opposite sex, and neither one of our prides was about to back down to a friendly challenge. Our courtship, though fun, was a relentless game of cat and mouse, innuendos, and dirty jokes, but combined with the distance factor. Well, it was simply a case of wrong place, wrong time.

A lot you may think my blogs are all about the blame game and only paint me as the victim when in fact you couldn't be further from the truth. When I'm wrong, I’ll be the first to admit it. And in this particular instance, it was 90% my fault. All this time, I had pinned him to be the road runner, when in reality the only one running was me. I'm a true romantic at heart, but I was all too familiar with the impact that distance can have on even the sturdiest of relationships. I had been there, done that; I had so many of those "I survived this relationship” t-shirts that I just wasn't ready to open myself up to that kind of vulnerability again. Sure, not all situations are created equal but the countless hours spent on a plane certainly gets monotonous, as do the constant questions about your whereabouts when you're not in each others lives. And there’s always the “where is this relationship going” question. And we all know the answer to that. Nowhere. Absolutely, nowhere.

But here we were again, just the two of us in a sea of people looking to make their connections, while the two of us were wondering if “our” connection was still there. Our eyes met from across the bar, and suddenly we were the only two people in Terminal C.

With less than ten minutes before we boarded our separate planes to our very separate lives, it was like nothing had changed. We still laughed, we still smiled, and there was still that sense of... Wow. If I didn't know any better the screen of our movie went from color to black and white, and we were now standing in the middle of our very own Ingrid Bergman/Humphrey Bogart movie. As I turned my head to blush and laugh at his jokes and his cute lil southern drawl... He grabbed my cheeks and pulled me in for a good one. While unexpected, it was certainly welcome, and oh so familiar. Had we just revolutionized long distance relationships with layover dating? Maybe not, but it didn’t make the moment any less enjoyable. No sooner had our lips parted than they announced final boarding on his flight.

"Well, I guess… here's looking at you kid.." he laughed, as he threw his bags over his shoulder and ran off.

And just like that. He was gone again. This time, it was me that was the coyote: holding up my “?” sign, more confused than ever. Had I made a mistake of running too far ahead that my coyote simply gave up? Or, when it was my turn to chase him was I simply just too stubborn and dug my heels in, instead of just buying a better pair of running shoes?

Maybe I'd never have all the answers, but we’d always have Terminal C, and that right there was enough to make me stop and think... And smile.

Meep Meep,

Game on bitches.

Oh crap, I have a flight to catch.